Page 58 of Ice Mechanic

“Over some tasty lasagna?” I finish.

He rubs his whiskers with thick, calloused fingers. Seeing his weathered hand moves me. I have a strong suspicion thattheseare the hands that taught April to fix cars.

I decide, right then and there, that if it’s the last thing I do today, I’ll make sure April’s dad eats.

“If you’re not interested…” I get up.

He grabs my hand. “I’m interested.” Releasing his grip, Mr. Brooks gripes, “It’s not often I get to talk about hockey. The company here is sub-par. No one watches the game with me.” Herolls his eyes as if to saywhat a disgrace. “The cafeteria’s this way.”

The nurse shoots me a grateful look and I smile, following the old man as he and his cane patter into the cafeteria.

We take a seat and he immediately starts talking about hockey, but I stop him.

“Let’s have a few bites first.”

He watches me dig in and, when he doesn’t follow suit, I gesture to him. “Do you mind joining me? I feel awkward eating alone.”

His eyes narrow as if he can tell that I’m setting him up but, after a few beats, he picks up his fork.

April finds us when her dad’s plate is clean and we’re debating the top ten greatest goals of all time.

“It was Ovi!” I insist.

“Young man, I question your taste if you can’t appreciate Orr’s play in the nineties?—”

“Dad?” she squeaks.

We both turn.

I greet her with a smile.

Mr. Brooks greets her with suspicion.

April clutches her bag. “What are you doing?”

“Eating,” I say, showing her my empty plate.

“Yeah, I ate the food.” Mr. Brooks brandishes his plate and grumpily scolds, “you nurses don’t have to harass me.”

April presses her lips together and I feel the overpowering urge to give her a hug.

After a deep breath, she nods. “Good job, Mr. Brooks. I’m so glad,” her voice breaks, “so glad to see you eating.”

He waves her away. “Can you excuse us? Chance and I were in the middle of a conversation.”

As hurt spears through April’s eyes, I clear my throat. “I should go. My team is probably looking for me.”

“So soon?” Mr. Brooks frowns in disappointment.

“I’ll be back,” I promise him. “And hopefully, you’ll be ready to admit that Ovi’s one-handed no look wasthemost spectacular goal of this century.”

“Orr is the most iconic goal and I will take that to my grave,” he fires back.

I wave goodbye and gesture for April to follow me into the hallway. She walks with her hands slipping into the front pockets of her over-alls and her eyes on the ground.

“Are you okay?” I ask when we’re alone. “You seem tired.”

“I’m fine,” she says. And it’s the most unconvincing ‘I’m fine’ I’ve ever heard. “Thanks for…” She gestures to the cafeteria with her eyes downcast. “His lack of appetite has been a concern.”

---