Page 55 of Ice Ice Maybe
“Are you free to leave?” Mom asked hesitantly.
“Free as a bird. This was all a misunderstanding that I could clear up with the proper papers.” Dad shot us a wink.
Why did I feel those papers were official US currency? Had he actually bribed a police officer to get out? And how is excessive speeding a misunderstanding?
“Jim has offered to show us a local spot famous for their fried chicken,” Dad added. “And the chicken is spicy!”
“You got that right!” Jim said. “But allow me to give you a crash course in Southern lingo: in Tennessee,spicychicken is calledhotchicken. And trust me, what passes for ‘hot’ around here would make your California jalapeños taste like bell peppers.”
I blinked twice, twisting to the officer. We were going to go eat hot chicken with the guy who arrested Dad? This was getting more bizarre by the minute.
Jim nodded enthusiastically. “You’re going to love Hattie B’s Hot Chicken! It’s so good you will lick your fingers, and after that, you’ll even want to lick mine!”
More sniggering ensued from the two of them as I almost threw up in my mouth. Nolan and Mom were both frozen, and I thought that maybe I’d dozed off and was dreaming.
“Let’s get going!” Dad exclaimed. “Life is short. I know better than anyone after almost kicking the bucket with that strawberry.”
Dad and Jim strode out, still chuckling like schoolboys, while Nolan, Mom, and I exchanged mystified looks.
“Were those strawberries laced with hallucinogens?” Nolan asked. “It’s like I’ve stepped into the Twilight Zone.”
“You and me both.” I nodded, still stunned. “I’ve heard of people having radical mental shifts after near-death experiences, like they finally discovered the meaning of life, but this is too bizarre for me to process right now.”
The table at Hattie B’s Hot Chicken was a sight to behold, laden with an array of Southern delights. Fried chicken in various heat levels dominated the spread, accompanied byBelgian waffles, tangy coleslaw, pimento mac and cheese, and crinkle-cut fries. Banana pudding rounded out the feast, promising a true Nashville culinary experience.
Nolan, Mom, and I watched with bated breath as Dad reached for his first piece of “Shut the Cluck Up” chicken. We’d all chosen the “Hot” level, but Dad had insisted on the highest spice level, brushing off our concerns and the employee’s warnings. As he took his first bite, we tensed, ready for potential disaster. Almost immediately, Dad started sweating, reaching for his sweet tea. But to our amazement, that was the extent of his reaction. His face turned red and his nose ran, but there was no need to rush him to the emergency room.
As we ate, Dad dominated the conversation, regaling Officer Jim with stories from his courtship days with Mom. It was a side of him I’d rarely seen: warm, animated, and full of nostalgia. He recounted their first date at a drive-in movie, how he’d spilled popcorn on her lap. Mom chimed in, laughing as she remembered his attempts to appear “cultured.” The stories flowed, each one revealing a softer, more human side of my father. As I watched them, I felt a glimmer of hope. This near-death experience had truly shaken something loose in Dad, reminding him of what mattered. For the first time in years, I dared to believe that he might finally refocus on his relationship with Mom, and by extension, with me as well.
As Nolan drove to the hotel, Mom reached forward from the back seat, placing her hand on Dad’s shoulder. “Everett, are you okay?”
Dad was still smiling.
Smiling!
“I’ve never been better,” he declared. Out of nowhere, he asked, “Nolan, have you ever thought about moving up in the company? Doing something else instead of driving the Zamboni?”
Surprised by the question, Nolan quickly glanced to his right at him before getting his eyes back on the road. “I love my job, sir.”
“Well, we’ll table that discussion for another time,” Dad said cryptically.
After arriving at the Hutton hotel and leaving the BMW with the valet, we checked-in and were immediately escorted up to the breathtaking two-level Hutton Suite. The massive 3000 square foot space had a huge living area that included a marble fireplace, contemporary furnishings, a dining room, office, three bedrooms with en suite bathrooms, a full size kitchen, and floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a stunning view of Nashville.
Nolan pointed to the familiar luggage neatly aligned side-by-side near the railing at the top of the spiral staircase. “Our suitcases are here.”
Dad nodded, a pleased smile on his face. “Not a surprise. Captain Jack is quite efficient, isn’t he? Remind me to give him a raise. Okay, follow me!”
He gave us an enthusiastic tour of the suite’s lower level, since he had stayed there the last time the Sea Lions played the Predators in Nashville.
Continuing the tour upstairs, Dad pointed to the first door. “Zena, this is your room here. And Nolan, you’re at the end of the hall on the right.”
Nolan and I exchanged confused glances.
“Oh, we’re not sharing the same room?” I asked, trying to keep my voice neutral.
Dad looked puzzled. “Why would you be? Mitch isn’t here, so you don’t have to pretend to be anything you’re not. Besides, you’ll finally have some privacy, right, sweetie?”
I tried to remember the last time he called me “sweetie” but could not recall. I simply nodded and lied. “You wouldn’t believe how much this man snores. It was a wonder I could even sleep.”
