Cold as Ice (11 page)

“Busy,” she responds. Her black straight hair, parted in the middle, accents her dark, heavy eyelashes. She's wearing jeans with studs that run down the outside leg and a shirt that's a bit too small.

“With what?” Carla presses. There must be something important taking her away from family visits.

“I've been working weekends.”

“Last I spoke to you, you were working as a receptionist.”

“That was a long time ago,” she says.

“Mia's working on a fashion show,” Gavin says, placing a hand on his fiancée's knee. “She's been working really hard. All those early mornings and late nights.” He gazes at her with pride. “It's going to be worth it.”

Mia grins. “I'm hoping it will be a success.”

“What is it for?” Carla asks, eyeballing an orange stain on the cream carpet.

“It's new designers. All of them graduates and wanting to show their fashions.”

“Why are you involved?” Carla asks, trying to piece together exactly what Mia does. She's been with her brother for two years, yet Carla has no idea what his fiancée does or anything about her.

“I have a fashion degree. Haven't done anything with it for some time, and then some college graduates and I decided to showcase what we've done. There are amazing designers who live here, and we don't ever get to see their designs.”

“You'll have to let me know. I'm interested,” Carla says, standing up and grabbing hold of a tall houseplant by its basket and dragging it over to cover up the stain.

“What are you doing?” Gavin asks.

“The plant looks better here.” Carla steps back to look at it and sits down.

“So, you're interested?” Mia asks.

Carla nods, pleased by the position of the plant.

“Do you think Channel Five would come, give us some exposure?” Mia asks.

“I'm not sure. I can give you the person to talk to.”

“That would be great. Thank you!”

“Oh! Congratulations on your engagement!” Carla tells Mia.

She grins.

Carla looks at Mia's left hand. Still no ring. That's disappointing. “Any wedding plans?”

Mia shakes her head.

Carla might regret saying this, but as a friendly gesture, she suggests, “If you need any help or want someone to go shoe shopping with, I'd be happy to come with you.”

“Okay.”

“Carla has a thing for shoes,” Sadie says. “She owns something like fifty pairs.”

“Hard to resist, aren't they?” Mia says. “I have eighty.”

Carla's eyes pop. “Lucky!”

“Dinner's almost ready!” her mom shouts.

Carla pulls out her cell phone to check the time and to see if Devin has left any messages. It's after six. He should be here any time, Carla thinks, placing her phone back in her purse. Her stomach feels rocky.

“Carla, do you want something to drink?” Mom asks.

“I can get it,” she says, eyeing the baby picture of herself on the fireplace. She stands up, her legs jumpy. She can't stay still, knowing Devin will be here in her parents' house. Nonchalantly, she walks by the fireplace and with a gentle hand folds over the frame and walks into the kitchen, where Sadie is holding Brinley and talking to Aunt Marie.

“Hi, Sadie,” Carla says, taking a glass out of the cupboard. She goes over to her sister and offers her finger to her niece. “Hi, Brin.” The baby smiles back and blows a string of bubbles with her lips.

“I think she's teething. The drool is unbelievable,” Sadie says, wiping her daughter's mouth.

“You teethed early,” Mom says, stirring the spaghetti sauce over the stove. “Give her a cold cloth. That always used to help you guys. I didn't buy those fancy teethers they have out now.”

Sadie goes into the drawer to pull out a cloth and turns on the tap.

“It's so good to have you kids here,” her mom says, putting a cookie sheet of garlic toast into the oven. “You've made your dad's day.”

Carla pours a glass of ginger ale, hoping it will settle her stomach. Why is she so nervous? It's Devin, the guy with the attitude. She's not interested in him. He's just surprising her dad for his birthday, no big deal. He'll sign the jersey and then leave. Devin just wants her to make positive comments about him so he gains more public support. It's a competition off the ice. The one with the most attention sells the most product. Not that they would know or even check, but the more they're favored, the chances are they'll stay and make a bigger name for themselves.

Her mom stares into the sauce. “I look forward to when there will be more grandchildren.” She smiles. “I love a full house.”

“Maybe Mia and Gavin will have kids right away. He's always talking about being a dad,” Sadie says.

“I want them,” Carla snaps, taking another sip.

“I know you do,” her sister says.

“Well, one day,” Mom says. “Will you have any more?”

Sadie's eyes are fixated on her mother. “Maybe when Brin's five.”

Mom wipes her dry hands on her apron. “Don't wait that long. Brin needs someone to grow up with, have someone to play with. If you wait that long, they won't be close.”

“Who says?” Sadie brings her daughter to her shoulder.

“That's the way it is.”

“Gavin and I are five years apart and we're close. I think,” Sadie says.

“Sure. Now that you're adults.”

“The time has to be right,” Sadie says, looking at her sister.

“You'll know,” Carla says, peeking at the pot of boiling pasta. “I think you should add more noodles.”

Her mom stirs more noodles into the pot.

“It's a lot of work,” Sadie says, giving Brin a squeeze.

“Right now it is,” Mom agrees. “It doesn't matter how many children you have, it's not an easy job, but it does get easier. Think of the joy children bring.”

“Are you trying to convince me?” Carla asks, taking note of how many times her mom has looked into her eyes.

“No! You have to find a guy first,” she says, moving the pot of sauce to the counter. “Sadie? Can you tell everyone dinner is ready?”

“Can I cut the bread?” Carla asks, opening up the oven door.

“It's not ready yet,” Mom says, pulling out a cutting board and handing it to her. “Is that the doorbell?”

Carla's stomach sinks. Her body is all shaky again. She pats her hands on the tea towel on the counter. “I'll get it!” And dashes out of the kitchen to the front door. She glances in the mirror, wipes a strand of hair away from her face and exhales as her hand touches the knob. Slowly, she opens the door, takes a peek to see if it's really him. Devin. All six feet of him, with broad shoulders and a thick neck, wearing faded jeans and a black V-neck shirt; he smiles, making her stomach sink.

She swallows hard. Even his dark eyes are smiling. They look past her and he lets out a smirk: Carla's family has crowded into the foyer.

“Hi!” Carla says, opening the door wider. “Come in. You found it!”

He takes a big step inside and says hello.

Carla spins around.

“This is quite a welcome,” he says to the gathering at the door.

Carla blushes. “They're excited to meet you,” she says. “Everyone, Devin Miller!”

Her brother steps forward and extends his hand. “I'm Gavin. Pleasure to meet you. I'm a huge fan.”

“Come in!” Carla says again, closing the door.

Devin walks past her and she gets a whiff of his soap, a mix of sweetness and cinnamon or something earthy, she can't quite tell.

“I heard it was somebody's birthday,” Devin says, walking into the room.

Her dad gets off the couch and walks toward the hockey player. “I wondered what all the fuss was about at the door,” he says. He pats Devin's arm and shakes his hand.

“Happy birthday!” Devin says. “I brought you something.”

“You did?” Carla and Dad ask in unison. Her eyebrows come together, watching Devin rush to the door, open it and bring back a hockey stick.

“Carla told me you're a Warriors fan. Thought you might like the stick I used to score against Chicago the other night.”

“The game Saturday?” her dad asks, pointing in midair. “Wow!” He's staring at the stick like it's made of gold. Devin hands it over.

“For me?” Dad asks. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“This is something! Thank you!” He holds it up, studying the markings on the shaft. The top of the stick is numbered nineteen. “And you don't want it?” he asks, as if it's a crazy gesture.

“Nah, it's yours.”

“Thank you,” Dad says again. The guys all come together to take a look at his prize.

“You didn't have to do that,” Carla whispers.

Devin smiles.

“Thank you,” Carla says, looking up into his eyes, getting lost in them. They suck her in and she can't seem to pull herself away. Finally, she bends down and grabs the gift bag. Remembering she brought a black marker for Devin's signature, she grabs her purse as well. “Here, Dad. Happy birthday!”

“Thanks, honey.” He takes the gift, reads the card and pulls out the white jersey while Carla and Devin watch patiently. Her dad lets out a rambling thank you. He focuses on the jersey for a minute, collecting his thoughts.

“Do you like it?” Carla asks. “If you prefer the blue jersey, I can return it.”

“No, no, this is great.” He puts it over his head. “What do you think?”

“Looks good!” Carla tells him. “Did you want Devin to sign it?” She gets out her marker, waiting for a response.

“Would you do that?” Dad asks.

“Of course!” Devin grins and takes the marker, his fingers grazing Carla's. He braces his hand on her dad's back and signs by his silk-stitched number.

“Care Bear! You didn't tell me you were bringing someone for dinner,” her mom says, wiping her hands on her apron. “That's why you were checking to see how much food I was making.”

Devin throws out his hand. “I'm not staying.”

“You must! I made lots.”

Devin looks at Carla.

“You can stay if you want,” she says, her stomach spinning around like a washing machine. She can't quite believe that he's here either.

“I don't want to impose.”

“If you don't have plans,” she says, “my dad would love for you to stay.”
I'd love for you to stay.

“Come on!” Mom says. “Sadie? Can you grab another place setting? We have room.” Her mom returns to the kitchen.

Her sister waltzes into the kitchen. “Anything else need to be on the table?”

“No. Let's eat,” Mom says and leads them to the table. “Dinner!” she calls out, and everyone slowly makes their way to the table.

“Well, this is certainly a surprise,” Dad says, wiggling a chair out for Devin and gesturing for him to sit down. “I wasn't expecting this.”

“I wasn't expecting Carla to bring a date,” Gavin says, laughing.

Carla's face heats up as she takes a seat beside Devin. “We're not together,” she starts to say, and then her mother's voice takes over, like a bomb has gone off.

“Help yourself! There's lots. I'm taking out another bread from the oven. Do you have a plate, Devin?”

“Yes. Thanks!”

“Well, then, start eating!” She claps her hands and sits down, eyeing everyone's plate, waiting, making sure everyone has food.

Carla uses the tongs to plop pasta on her plate and passes it to Devin.

“Devin? Take more!” Mom says.

“Mom?” Carla says, glaring, and then bites her lip. She decides not to tell her to leave him alone, to mind her own business.

“Here!” Mom says, passing the salad bowl to Carla. “Do you want to give this to Devin? He needs salad.”

Carla doesn't acknowledge her mom; she takes the bowl in one hand and moves it to Devin.

“Devin?” her dad asks. “I heard Mario Visconti is a real prick.”

“No. He's a nice guy,” Devin says, lowering his fork to his plate. He gives her dad his full attention, but everyone at the table is interested in the conversation, all eyes in Devin's direction. “He was traded from Pittsburgh to Carolina. I played with him for a season until I was traded. He's an enforcer.”

“Is that a tough guy?” Mom asks.

Devin nods and Dad springs on to another question.

“It must be hard to settle into a city and then have to move away,” he comments. “Where are you from originally?”

“Seattle.”

“You're close to home, then. You must have been to Vancouver growing up.”

Devin swirls his pasta on his fork. “A few times.”

“Let him eat!” Mom says. “His food is getting cold. Sadie, can you pass the bread?”

“How did you two meet?” Sadie asks, looking at her sister from across the table as though she's waiting for a juicy story. “Did I miss that conversation, because having a child will do that. A kid takes away brain cells; I'm sure of it.”

“I agree,” her husband says, reaching for his glass of water. “She's not as sharp as she used to be.”

Sadie turns her head and glares at him.

“Hey, you started it,” he says. “Sadie used to remember what bills needed to be paid before we got the bill!” he exclaims. “Now we get a bill and she leaves it in the drawer. I have to remember to pay them or we'll be getting late charges.”