Page 16 of Enemies in Paradise

Not sometimes. All the time.

Before she started losing her memory, Mom used to say I was born with a bullhorn instead of a voice box. When I got embarrassed after saying something too loud, she’d tell me to give myself time; I’d figure out why God gave my gift to me and how I could use it.

I figured out at least one reason for my “gift” two years ago when I started coaching the four girls who first joined my team. Once they got used to my loud voice, they stopped freezingevery time they thought I was yelling and started following my directions. When they’re on the ice, they can hear me through their helmets and over the noise of the skates, sticks, and pucks. My voice is an asset.

The eight girls who are new to the team this year—bringing our total to almost every ten-year-old girl in Paradise—however, still go wide-eyed with fear whenever I speak above a whisper.

“I told you,” I say as softly as possible—for me, anyway. “To be on the team, you need to be able to tie your own skates.”

I told their parents, too. The problem is, the girls have to gear up in the apartment. Their parents help them with that, but the girls can’t put skates on until they get to the ice. For the first few practices, parents walked their kids out to the bench and helped them get their skates tied. But most of the moms and dads didn’t know how to tie them properly, so I ended up doing it over, anyway.

I guess that sent the message I’d take over skate tying, so now they just send the girls out to the bench after helping them suit up. Other than a wooden bench I built and lugged out here a few weeks ago to replace the old, rotting one, there’s nowhere for parents to sit and watch. And nobody wants to hang out in the cold watching me teach kids basic skating skills. We haven’t really gotten to the hockey part yet.

“I’m working on getting approval for an outdoor shelter next to our rink,” I tell the girls. That’s also in the proposal I’m waiting for the city council to look at.

I want the shelter big enough to have concessions and enough seating for people to watch the games. But the shop has to be torn down for that. There’s not enough room for parking, significant green space, and my shelter if the shop stays.

I have the girls’ attention, so I continue. “Then you’ll be able to get uniforms and skates on in one place. Until then, let’s make the best of what we’ve got.” Because, unless my proposal getsapproved, we may not even have the little we have for much longer. Especially if Cassie buys the shop.

I try a smile, which works as well as the tone I thought was gentler. But the new girls’ eyes are remain wide and unsure if I’m mad.

I quickly add an “Okay?” to soften my words.

“Okay, Coach Bear. We can make the best of our situation, right girls?” Hazel, the self-appointed captain of my little ragtag team of ten-year-old girls, looks at the others, who all nod in agreement.

I breathe a sigh of relief and send Hazel a grateful smile. “Right, then. Line up on the bench and I’ll get your skates done up. Janie, can you give me a hand and start at the opposite end?”

Janie is the one girl who knows what she’s doing, and the main reason for this team. Britta saw the same fire in Janie that she had at her age. The difference is, Britta never got to play hockey. That’s why she got me to start this team—to give girls the opportunity she didn’t have.

I started coaching because of Britta. The passion I’ve developed for this unpaid job, on the other hand, is all on me. I don’t know how it happened, but I love teaching these girls about hockey. Not just because I’m the one giving them an opportunity they wouldn’t otherwise have. This isn’t about me. Watching these girls improve on and off the ice is inspiring. The skills they learn here increase their confidence in every other aspect of their lives.

There’s not enough room for all the girls on the bench, so a few stand as Janie and I tie skates at opposite ends of the bench, working our way to the middle.

“Don’t open that, Cora,” I say to the blonde girl who’s prying open the door on the emergency box staked next to the bench.

“What’s in here?” she asks as the door opens. “What’s this rope and other stuff for?”

“It’s to rescue anyone who falls through the ice. Don’t take anything out of there!” I’m frazzled, trying to get skates tied and keep girls focused and don’t notice they all go quiet until Hazel says, “We could fall through the ice?”

I look up to twelve pairs of wide eyes staring at me. I sigh. “No one is falling through the ice because no one is going on the ice unless it’s safe. And you’ll know it’s safe because I check it before each practice and you’re not going on the ice unless I’m here with you and I tell you it’s safe. Got it?”

They all nod somberly. I know I’ve given their parents these instructions. I assumed it was their responsibility to tell their kids, but apparently I need to make sure I reiterate rules about safety when I have them.

“Who’s that lady you were talking to, Coach?” Hazel breaks the silence when I lean down to double check the laces on her skates.

“You did pretty good here, Hazel,” I say, avoiding her eyes and her question. “But remember, tuck the lace through three times to get a tight winch that won’t come untied.”

I show her again with the other girls watching. When we started, most of the girls wore old figure skates. Then Georgia and Zach donated some money for pads, sticks, and other equipment. That helped convince more parents to not only let their daughters join the team but also pony up for skates and uniforms. Everything was moving in the right direction until the girls voted on Paradise Squirrels for the team’s name.

I’m not really excited about that mascot, but at least they chose blue and red for the uniform colors. Pink and purple were their second choice, so things could have been a lot worse. No one is intimidated by a pink squirrel.

I wish every hurdle I faced with this team were as easy to clear as the equipment and uniforms had been. I thought those would be the hardest, but now we might lose our rink, and that’s a much bigger issue. This is where I learned to skate andplay hockey. The pond has always been here. I thought it always would be.

But with all the development in Paradise over the past few years, land is too valuable to let it sit like Lynette Baker’s done with this ground she inherited from her parents. It used to be farmland, but she didn’t want to farm it. Everyone in Paradise uses the empty fields and the old irrigation pond for recreation. They have for as long as I can remember.

About a month ago, Zach let me know Lynette planned to sell her fields and this irrigation pond with them. I wanted to be mad at him for encouraging her to sell, but it’s the smart thing to do. She’ll need the money as she ages, and she’ll get a lot for the ground.

I may be scared to go in front of the city council to speak, but Lynette is easy to talk to. I do it all the time. So I had no problem when she put her land up for sale asking her to hold off putting up the pond acreage until the city council decides about my eminent domain proposal. Either way, she’ll get money for the pond, although a little less from the city. But she was okay with that, especially when I told her my team was named for her squirrels.

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