Page 138 of The Hockey Grump Saves Christmas

“They brought dinner.” I nod toward the kitchen where Aunt Lou is busy unpacking what looks like enough food for about twelve people.

“And these,” says Wyatt, opening the cooler and triumphantly producing a six-pack of beer.

“Excellent. Come on in, my friend.” Gabe pats Wyatt on the back and leads him to the kitchen.

“Oh, and Natalie,” Aunt Lou says without looking up from her food-sorting, “your fly is undone.”

“Aunt Lou, that was fucking delicious,” Wyatt says, pushing away the plate he’s just cleared of baked ham, veggies, and all the trimmings.

“Truly spectacular,”Gabe says.

“See,” Aunt Lou says to Wyatt. “Gabe can show his appreciation without resorting to vulgarity.”

Gabe cups his hands under his chin and affects an angelic smile.

“Don’t be too nice to him, Lou,” Wyatt says, “or I might have to unfriend him again.”

“Oh, please don’t do that.” Aunt Lou stands to gather the dishes. “You’re so much happier now that you have your buddy back. If I’d known you were such good friends I’d have asked you to bring Gabe up to Warm Springs for a visit years ago.”

“Somehow, I managed to find my own way here anyway.” Gabe half turns and rests his arm across the back of my dining chair.

“And thank God for that.” I give him a quick peck on his bristly cheek.

“This whole thing makes me so happy.” Aunt Lou stacks the dirty plates and I plonk everyone’s cutlery on top. “Who’d have thought it? My nephew’s best friend in love with my niece.”

“How many siblings do you have, Lou?” Gabe asks.

“Three sisters. All with one kid each—these two, then one more niece in Los Angeles.”

“Rachel’s a doctor,” I explain. “A kids’ doctor. Married to a plastic surgeon to the stars. They just finished building this huge house in the Hollywood Hills with a pool and a guest house and a spectacular view over the city and the ocean. I haven’t been yet, but she sent us photos.”

“How come you never got married, Lou?” Gabe asks my aunt’s back as she carries the dishes across to the kitchen.

“Hey.” I nudge him. “That’s a bit personal.”

“Oh, I don’t care. You can ask me whatever you like,”Aunt Lou says. “If I was my own psychiatrist, I’d say the answer is likely that spending my days listening to people’s problems with their partners and their kids put me off having either of my own.”

“Aren’t you lucky to have us then?” Wyatt follows her to the kitchen. “And not only because I brought dessert.” He picks up an Ironmen tote from the floor by the island. “A fan dropped these off at the stadium for me.”

He plonks it onto the dining table and retakes his seat.

I reach inside the bag and pull out a variety of Easter candy. There are chocolate bunnies and eggs, marshmallow chicks—the works.

“You should take these to the kids’ program next week,” I suggest.

Gabe and Wyatt have joined forces to start a combined Apollos and Ironmen initiative bringing in school teams to play on their rinks.

“No one should eat fan food,” Gabe says.

“Why not?” Aunt Lou asks as she puts the last plate in the dishwasher.

“Rule of the game. Never eat fan food,” he replies.

“Because it could be poisoned,” Wyatt says.

“Poisoned?”Aunt Lou and I exclaim in unison.

“Yeah, could be someone just pretending to be a fan,” Gabe says. “But really they support the opposition and have laced it with something to make us sick enough to miss a crucial game and give their side the advantage.”

---