Page 3 of Fake-Off with Fate
There’s only one problem with my new situation. I’m a city guy, through and through, and Maple Falls is tiny. Seriously, I feel like I’ve been kidnapped and taken to the woods to be held until my ransom is paid.
I’m renting a small cabin while I figure out what part of town I want to live in. So far, nothing compares to my apartment in New York, which is in the old meat-packing district, halfway between Chelsea Market and the Whitney Museum. Twelve-foot ceilings, with weathered brick walls and giant casementwindows. Just add bamboo floors and an outdoor space and it’s the perfect find. I’m leasing it out to a former teammate during the season so I can have it available in the off-season.
In Maple Falls, I have the choice of residing in the woods or living in town. As far as I’ve been able to discern, the two are not that dissimilar. Seriously, I have never seen this many trees.
I’m so distracted contemplating my questionable domestic situation that I practically jump when the landline rings. And here I thought the old phone was nothing more than decoration. Picking it up, I stare at it like it’s going to bite me. “Hello?” I say somewhere near the vicinity of the giant mouthpiece.
“Is this Jamie Hayes?” a gruff voice inquires.
“It is.”
The tone immediately becomes more jovial. “Jamie, this is Mayor Thompkins. I’d like to welcome you to Maple Falls!”
I suppress the burst of laughter bubbling up inside of me. If receiving a call from the town’s mayor doesn’t smack of hick living, I don’t know what does. “Thank you,” I tell him. “It’s nice of you to take the time to reach out.”
Before I can find a way to cut the call short, he says, “I’d like to invite you to join me for supper tomorrow night. You know, give you the rundown of our little paradise.”
I have no idea why he thinks I need that information, although I’m guessing Dale would support my attendance, so I tell him, “That would be nice. What do you have in mind?”
“What are you in the mood for?” he counters. “We have Italian, Chinese, pizza, a sweet little diner that serves the best burgers this side of the Mississippi …”
Before he can finish regaling me with more options, I interrupt him. “Burgers sound great.”
“Meet me at Shirley May’s on Main Street at seven,” he says. “I can’t wait to tell you all about Maple Falls.” Then he hangs up.
Picking up my cellphone, I press the button with Dale’s face on it. He answers immediately. “I just got off the phone with the mayor,” I tell him.
My statement is met with a snort of amusement. “Bill Thompkins is nothing if not eager.”
“So you’ve already talked to him?”
“Once, and it was a lot.”Shoot, maybe I didn’t need to take this meeting.
“It sounds like you don’t want to join us,” I say disappointedly. “What could he possibly want to talk to me about?”
“He doesn’t wantyouto talk at all. He’ll spend about two hours telling you the history of Maple Falls and then if I had to guess he’ll ask you to co-chair Maple Fest.”
“Maple Fest …”
“It’s an annual event that put Maple Falls on the map before the Ice Breakers.” He’s quick to add, “It’s supposedly a lot of fun, but if I were you, I wouldn’t get involved.”
“You don’t have to worry about me.” Co-chairing a small-town festival sounds like as much fun as being a grand marshal of a parade—which is something I’ve done and don’t ever need to repeat. So. Much. Horse. Poop.
“You ready to meet some of the guys tomorrow?” Dale asks. “The whole team isn’t here yet, but those who are have already started some preliminary practices. They’re a great group.”
Instead of answering his question, I ask one of my own. “How’s Harry Franks handling my arrival?” Harry and I played college hockey together, and we didn’t get on. While we were decent teammates, our personalities clashed. I'm charming, and he’s more like a viper on blades.
“He’s not exactly thrilled you’re joining us, but he’ll take it on the chin.”
“Thanks, Coach, that’s a real comfort.”
“Seriously, Jamie, Harry’s a good guy if you give him a chance. In fact, I think the two of you might just turn out to be great friends.”
I’m sure he’s wrong, but I don’t tell him that. Instead, I say, “Harry has a hard time with boundaries.”
“You mean because he asked out your college sweetheart?”
“While I was still dating her,” I remind him.
