“Turn right at the stop sign.”
I put on the blinker and made the turn, and she directed me to park on the street wherever there was an empty spot. In summer I imagined all the trees lining the street provided leafy green shade; right now the bare branches stretched black against the pale overcast sky.
Jordyn led the way through the wrought iron gate and up the short sidewalk to the big gray stone house. She didn’t knock or ring the bell, just opened the door and stepped into the foyer.
We were greeted by a rush of warm air and the scent of roast beef. My stomach gave a robust rumble as a woman emerged from the kitchen. “Hi! You’re here!”
I shut the door behind us, closing out the frosty air, watching the woman approach. She was petite, like Jordyn, but rounded, her ash blond hair in a shoulder length bob.
“Let me take your jackets,” she said, beaming at us.
When that was done, Jordyn introduced her mother to me, and I shook her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Banks.”
“Call me Pam.”
Then Jordyn’s father appeared, clearly eager to meet one of his favorite team’s players. He was an inch or two shorter than me, a fit-looking man in his forties, with some gray hair at his temples, wearing dark-rimmed glasses.
“This is my dad, Mark,” Jordyn said. “Dad, this is Chase Hartman.”
“Nice to meet you, Chase.” Mark gave me a firm handshake and a keen inspection.
I smiled my most innocent grin. “Good to meet you as well.”
“Come in, come in.” Mark led the way past a smallish living room at the front of the house and a dark oak staircase that climbed to the second floor, to a great room at the back, combining kitchen, dining, and living space, French doors at the rear presumably leading out to the yard. A TV mounted on the wall was on, playing a hockey game, and a newspaper and an empty glass sat on the coffee table in front of the tan leather couch.
“What can I get you to drink?” Pam asked, bustling behind the long island that separated the kitchen area. “I’m having wine. Would you like some, Jordyn?”
“Sure, that would be great.”
I opted for a beer, which Mark was also drinking, and Pam got us all settled in with drinks and a platter of snacks. Mark turned down the volume on the TV, but brought me up to date. “Canadiens are leading three–two,” he said. “Penguins are going to have to quit taking stupid penalties.”
“I hear you like hockey?”
“Yep. I have to say, it’s pretty cool to have one of the Aces sitting here in our family room.”
“Well, thanks. I’m still in awe of the fact that I’m visiting Jordyn Banks’s parents. I’m a big fan of your daughter’s music.” Well, I was a fan of everything about her.
“She’s very talented,” Mark agreed with a proud look.
“She gets that from me,” Pam said with a wink.
Jordyn laughed. “Neither of you can sing.”
“True.” Pam sighed. “But I do love music.”
“We’re not sure where her talent came from,” Mark said. “It kind of mystified us when she was a kid, singing all the time.”
“When she was three we bought her a toy piano for Christmas,” Pam said. “She pounded on that thing constantly and made up songs. Some of them were a little awkward.”
“Like what?” I leaned forward, intrigued.
“Stop, Mom.” Jordyn rolled her eyes.
“No, no. I want to hear.” I shot Jordyn an evil grin.
“Well, back then we had a cat,” Pam said. “We’d promised Jordyn she could name the cat whatever she wanted, and she decided to name it Snatch, because he would snatch things with his paws.”
I listened, my jaw going slack as my mind worked. Yep, I heard right.
“So she made up this song about a pussy named Snatch,” Pam continued, eyes dancing.
I turned to Jordyn, dying to tell her what a dirty girl she’d been even at age three, but restraining myself.
She covered her face with her hand. “I was three! I didn’t know what it meant!”
“How did you keep a straight face?” I asked Pam and Mark.
“It was difficult,” Mark said.
I leaned back into the couch, grinning. Okay, this wasn’t so bad. If Jordyn’s parents could make jokes about a pussy named Snatch, we were going to get along just fine.
“Tell me more,” I invited.
Pam smiled and sipped her wine. “Well, she loved to sing, obviously, but sometimes she got the lyrics wrong.”
Beside me, Jordyn groaned. “This was such a bad idea.”
“Like, ‘We built this city on sausage rolls.’?” Pam grinned.
Mark chuckled. “I remember ‘See that girl, watch her scream, kicking the dancing queen.’?”
“Is that wrong?” I asked, tongue in cheek.
Jordyn elbowed me.
“And the Eurythmics song…‘Sweet dreams are made of cheese,’?” Mark added.
I cracked up. I changed my mind. This was a first-rate idea.
Even Jordyn was smiling. I liked that she could take a little teasing. I liked how her parents joked about her with obvious love and affection.
We ate dinner, a delicious meal of perfectly cooked roast beef, mashed potatoes, and gravy. Hopefully I didn’t embarrass myself with how much I ate, but damn, a home-cooked meal was awesome.
However, Jordyn’s dad took the opportunity to grill me about my play so far this year. Jordyn apparently hadn’t told them about my wrist, which was great, because I didn’t want anyone other than the team to know about it, but I found myself wanting to explain it to Mark. On the other hand, I didn’t want to seem like I was making excuses for my shitty play.
I was hearing the chatter that fans were losing patience with me. My minutes were being cut, and I was spending more time on the bench. I fucking despised it with a burning hatred, and it made me both angry and depressed. I had my appointment in Rochester in a couple of weeks, and even I was now admitting that I needed to figure out what the hell was going on with my wrist.
“It’s been a challenge this year for sure,” I said, looking down at my plate. “I’ve been working on some things to try to get better.”
Jordyn shot me a nervous glance. She swallowed. I could tell she wanted to say something too.
I could also see that her dad wanted to say more, but caught the glare she sent him and didn’t.
“I know I’m letting the fans down,” I said quietly. “Believe me, I know it. This isn’t how I’m capable of playing.”
Mark nodded, the atmosphere in the room now thick and heavy. “What’s up with all the injuries?”
I grimaced. “Bad luck. Boosh is out. Gander’s out. Rupper’s day to day.” We’d called up some guys from our minor league team.
“So you’re not going to the Grammys, obviously,” Mom said to Jordyn. “Are you disappointed to miss them?”
Jordyn sighed. “Sure. I could’ve gone, but…it feels awkward.” She shrugged. “I’d rather just stay here.”
“When are the Grammys?” I asked. I hadn’t thought about this, even though I knew she’d been nominated. Jordyn hadn’t mentioned it at all.
“A week from today,” she answered. “Sunday night.”
We were in town and not playing that night. I made a mental note of that.
“When do you go back to see the specialist?” Pam asked her daughter.
“End of March.”
“How’s your throat feeling?”
“It feels great. Fine. I’ve been writing…just wish I could sing.”
“Be patient, sweetie,” Pam said. “It’ll be worthwhile.”
“I know.” She sighed, then changed the subject. “So, Chase really enjoyed Blue Man Group.”
Grateful for the change, I said, “It was really cool. A great show.”
We talked more about that through the dessert Pam served, a homemade apple pie that I nearly wept over, and then we moved back to the family room and watched the hockey game, chatting about inconsequential things. With Jordyn snuggled up against me, I relaxed again.
When we left, I said, “Thanks so much for inviting me, Pam. That was the best dinner I’ve had in a long time.”
“You’re so welcome. It was lovely to meet you, Chase, come anytime.” She stepped nearer and patted my arm, adding in a low voice, “I hope Mark didn’t upset you with all his questions.”