Chasing Rainbows A Novel - By Long, Kathleen Page 0,64

my voice. “But you have fun.”

“How about a cup of coffee then?” he asked, his eyes widening with the taunt.

I grinned, giving a slow shake of my head. “Never touch the stuff.”

He laughed as he turned back toward his mother and her guests. “So you keep telling me, Number Thirty-Two. So you keep telling me.”

o0o

By the time I got to the rink, I’d rehashed the scene at Mark’s house so many times my forehead hurt from frowning.

David was nowhere to be found but players and families had begun trickling in from the parking lot.

Ashley sat in the snack bar, nursing a large Styrofoam cup of hot chocolate.

“Where’s your dad?” I asked.

She wrinkled her nose. “What’s wrong with you?”

Was I that transparent? I waved off her question dismissively. “Nothing.”

One perfectly applied pale brow arched subtly. “Sounds like you’re stuffing your feelings.”

I couldn’t help but laugh a little. I’d forgotten how dangerous new information could be during the teen years.

“I had a little argument with my brother.” I shrugged. I neglected to add the fact I’d made my mother cry and I’d stormed out of the house like someone more the age of...well...Ashley. “Where’s your dad?” I repeated.

She drew in a slow breath, took a dramatic sip of her chocolate and slowly shook her head from one side to the other, sending her perfectly glossy hair swinging. “You won’t believe it, but there’s a sale at Macy’s. He said he’d be back in time to lock up.”

I sank into a chair.

A sale at Macy’s? David?

I made a face.

Ashley threw her hands up in the air. “I think he’s channeling Mom or trying to keep up her reputation while she’s in the hospital, or something.”

“Did you see her today?” I asked.

Ashley nodded. “Most of the afternoon.” Her features brightened, her eyes dancing. “I think she’s coming home tomorrow. And we had the best talk.” Another shrug. “Probably the meds making her nice.”

More like the scare making her realize all she had to appreciate.

I reached out to ruffle Ashley’s hair and she expertly dodged and blocked my hand. “Do you know how much time it takes me to look like this?”

A laugh bubbled between my lips. “Just testing your reflexes.”

Forty-five minutes later, the ice was a wreck from the game’s first two periods and I’d inhaled so many chocolate chip cookies I thought I’d explode. I’d been staring into space for who knew how long, when Ashley popped around the corner, startling me so much I squeaked.

She grinned--an ornery, up-to-no-good grin.

“What did you do?” I asked, immediately expecting the worst.

She frowned, and I could read her unspoken thoughts. I was acting like a grown-up. Imagine.

“Want to run the Zamboni with me?” Her inflection climbed through the roof.

Zamboni.

I’d tactfully avoided all talk of Zamboni operation since my first few days at the rink. I had no intention of revisiting the topic now.

“Nope.” I spoke the word sharply, turning to wipe down the already spotless counter.

“I can teach you, Aunt Bernie.” A slight pause. “Please?”

I scowled, obviously having spent too much time around Ashley’s father. “You want to teach me?”

She nodded, visibly encouraged by my question. “You know you want to do this. Face your fears and all that stuff, right?”

I reached up to rake a hand through my hair, knowing the short waves would be left in a disastrous tangle, but not caring.

Face my fears.

The kid was good.

“Who’s going to drive, you or me?”

“Me.” She slapped her chest. “You can ride with me. I’ll teach you every step.”

“What about the snack bar?”

“We’ll put up a back-in-ten-minutes sign.” Obvious excitement shimmered in her eyes. If the kid was this enthusiastic about teaching me how to drive the death machine, how could I say no?

I pressed my lips together then forced out one word. “Okay.”

Ashley clapped, then spun on her heel. “Let’s go.”

I quickly scribbled the note for the snack bar and followed, dread simmering deep inside my belly.

My father always said I could do anything, especially something other people already knew how to do. Certainly, driving the Zamboni-from-hell fell into that category.

I mean, thousands of people probably knew how to drive a Zamboni, right? And you didn’t hear about Zamboni deaths all that often, so chances were I’d survive to talk about this.

But several minutes later, as the big machine lumbered across the ice and the cold rink air slapped me in the face, I longed for a barf bag.

I hadn’t realized precisely how terrified of the machine I was until I sat down next to