Skating Over the Line

  I considered going back to my apartment for a nap but then found myself returning to my car. Napping alone didn’t sound like fun. Pulling up at Lionel’s place, I smiled at the sight of his testosterone truck. Napping with someone sounded way more interesting.

  The front door to the house was locked. The sign told me the doctor was in, so I headed down the gravel path to the barn. Elwood greeted me, and I gave his flank a scratch. Today, Elwood was sporting a military camouflage beret.

  “Where’s Lionel?” I asked.

  Elwood turned and trotted down the center of the barn. I followed. The sound of spraying water made me smile. Lionel had installed a full bath in the barn so he could clean up after his messier procedures. By the sound of things, he was currently scrubbing away.

  All thoughts of car explosions, scary men, and my missing father went out of my head as I imagined Lionel’s well-muscled body lathered up and glistening. I heard the water being turned off, and I waited outside the bathroom so I could jump Lionel when he emerged. The handle turned. The door opened. And I let out a scream.

  Twenty

  “Dad, what the hell are you doing here?”

  Hair dripping, my father smiled. “Hi, honey. I hated leaving you earlier, but I had to get out of there. You understand.”

  I didn’t understand anything, especially why my father was standing outside Lionel’s bathroom in a partially closed bathrobe. Black chest hair and wet skin made me avert my eyes. “I’ve had the cops looking everywhere for you.”

  Dad retied the bathrobe belt and shrugged. “Guess they didn’t look everywhere; otherwise, they would have found me.”

  My father the comedian. “You disappeared two days ago without a word, and then I see you this morning surrounded by the same guys who threatened me. What the hell is going on?”

  “Nothing.” My father watched to see if I would let it go.

  Nope. I crossed my arms and waited.

  A cow mooed. A horse neighed.

  Finally, my father said, “I needed coffee and a decent breakfast, so I went into town. Those guys must have spotted me going into the pharmacy for a few personal items. Then you showed up. By the way, you really need to have a conversation with your boyfriend about his shopping list. No bacon or hash browns in his fridge. That can’t be healthy. Although I can’t complain about the view. There was a blonde dropping off a pony today that was va va va voom, if you know what I mean.”

  I blinked. Stan had been here this morning for breakfast. That meant he’d stayed here overnight. Who the hell was the blonde? My blood pressure started to rise. “Lionel knows you’re here?” I asked, balling my hand into a fist.

  “I would never stay somewhere uninvited. I thought about bunking inside the rink, but I’m not much for sleeping on the floor.” Stan ran a hand through his wet hair and smiled at something behind me. “Hey, here’s my roommate now.”

  Sure enough, Lionel was standing directly behind me. He didn’t look pleased. That made two of us.

  “How’s it going, buddy?” Stan’s voice echoed in the barn’s hallway. “I was just telling Rebecca here how good you were to put me up for the past two days. No telling what would have happened to me without you.”

  Two days?

  Lionel shot a dirty look at my father and then gave me one of his smiles. Normally, I found that smile irresistible. Being lied to made me immune. “I think we should have this talk alone.”

  To emphasize his point, Lionel grabbed the sleeve of Stan’s robe and helped propel him down the hallway.

  “I can take a hint.” Stan gave me a wink. “I’ll be in the back room, in case anyone needs me. Lionel has a great setup in there. Could use a softer couch and some import beers in the fridge, but who am I to complain?”

  We watched my father disappear into the back room. Then, turning to Lionel, I asked, “You’ve been letting my father stay here?”

  Lionel shrugged. “I didn’t know what else to do. He showed up two nights ago, looking for a place to stay. I couldn’t tell him no. He’s your father.”

  Somehow Lionel made it sound like this was all my fault. “You’re right. He’s my father. So why didn’t you tell me he was staying here with you?”

  “He asked me not to.”

  Wrong answer.

  “He asked you not to? I left a message on your phone this morning, telling you how scared I was. And you let me worry even though you knew my father was shacked up in your backroom eating pork rinds and checking out your top-heavy blond clients.”

  “Okay.” Lionel took a step toward me. “I probably should have told you your dad was safe.”

  “‘Probably’?”

  Lionel’s left eyebrow twitched. “Definitely. But he said he was worried about you and thought it was best no one knew where he was.”

  “Why?”

  “He said something about being scared the guys who are after you would use him as a hostage. He was trying to keep you safe.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Did he try to sell you some swampland, too?”

  A slow flush crept up Lionel’s neck. “Look, it was late and I was half-asleep when he showed up. I figured you’d thank me for taking him in. So I did. Sue me.”

  I looked for something to throw at him. Nothing. Unless I chewed through a wooden beam, which I was almost angry enough to do. “I’ve been worried sick and you want me to thank you? A decent boyfriend would never have kept his girlfriend in the dark.”

  Lionel’s eyes narrowed. “A decent girlfriend would’ve pulled the rink off the market and decided to stay here where she belongs.”

  The rational part of my brain told me to stop now before I said something I would regret later. Unfortunately, Lionel had waved the proverbial red flag. I couldn’t help myself. I had to charge. “I was hoping you’d understand that I was selling the rink because I had to. Mom loved that place, and it deserves an owner who feels the same way. Instead of letting me deal with it in my own way, you decided your macho way was right and I was wrong. Well, since we both obviously suck at this relationship, there’s only one thing left to do.”

  I marched down the hallway to the poker room. The Simpsons blared from the TV while my father sucked down an orange soda from his perch on the couch. My father’s clothes were strewn all over, a pair of BVDs hanging on a lamp. Yuck.

  With a flick of the remote, I faded Bart to black. “Come on, Dad,” I said, grabbing his duffel bag and shoveling clothes in. “It’s moving day.”

  Dad grunted. His mouth was too crammed with cheese puffs to talk.

  I didn’t wait for his conversational skills to return. I just grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet. “Let’s go.”

  We were halfway down the hall when Dad said, “I can’t go anywhere. Those crazy Spanish guys will still be looking for me.”

  “They’re looking for me, too. Guess they’ll find us together.” My feet kept moving down the barn aisle toward the entrance. The crunching of hay told me my father was following behind. Elwood made a move toward me and then stopped as I kept trucking. I felt a twinge of sympathy for the affection-seeking camel. Then I got angry. Elwood wouldn’t be lacking attention if it weren’t for Lionel’s keeping my father’s whereabouts a secret. The man was a menace.

  The menace was leaning against my car door as I approached. He gave me a tense smile. “Becky, we should talk about this problem like adults.”

  He might have been right, but I wasn’t feeling particularly adult at the moment. Popping the trunk, I pitched Dad’s duffel inside and turned toward Lionel. “Talk to Elwood. You and I have nothing to say to each other.”

  I got into the car and watched Dad shrug in Lionel’s direction. He got into the car as I revved it to life, then asked, “Where are we going?”

  Stepping on the gas, I said, “The rink. From now on, you’re staying with me.”

  * * *

  I should have learned by this point that being impulsive always got me into trouble. At a high school sleepover, I’d
accepted a dare to make a snow angel while naked. That got me a trip to Doc Truman’s office for a mild case of frostbite in a place I’d rather not mention. This time, my knee-jerk reaction had landed me with my father for a roommate.

  “Where should I bunk?” he asked, strolling around the living room. He picked up a framed photograph of Mom and me at high school graduation. “I wish I had been in this photograph. It would have been nice.”

  That would have required his actually being there. I clenched a fist. “You can sleep in my room. I just have to clean up a bit.”

  Stan flipped on the television, and I went to relocate my stuff. Maybe it was an extension of my earlier juvenile behavior, but I wasn’t about to let him sleep in my mother’s bed. He’d lost that privilege a long time ago. The fact that she was no longer in it didn’t matter.

  Once my clothes had changed closets, I popped some Motrin, left Dad alone in the apartment, and headed back down to the rink, hoping that maybe loud music and hyperactive kids would take my mind off my problems.

  For a while, it worked. “Dancing in the Streets” blared from the speakers. The Motrin helped ease the ache in my hands, and scooping popcorn into colorful bags allowed me to take my aggression out on butter-flavored kernels instead of Lionel’s head. I had calmed down enough to admit ending our relationship was a bit drastic, but not enough to forgive him for keeping me out of the loop. I needed to scoop a lot more popcorn for that.

  One of my teenage employees arrived to relieve me. I headed to my office for some serious investigatory thinking.

  “Rebecca.”

  I looked up and was almost blinded. Pop was decked out in a black pompadour wig and a skintight jumpsuit. Every last inch of it was covered with sequins. Pop looked like the disco ball from hell.

  “What’s with the outfit?” I asked.

  Pop’s face fell. “Tonight is the Indian Falls Dinner Dance at the center. That agent is coming to see my act. You didn’t forget, did you? You said you were going to come cheer me on.”

  Damn! I had forgetten. There was even a notice at the front of the rink telling everyone we were, like all other local businesses, closed tonight for the big event. Considering the week’s events, it wasn’t surprising I’d forgotten. Too bad that didn’t alleviate the guilt.

  “Don’t worry, Pop,” I said, forcing a tight smile. “I’ll be there. What time do you go on?”

  “The gig starts at eight. You and Lionel should come early and get a good spot up front. We’re going to have a big turnout. There were even some college kids eating at the diner who wanted to know who could attend. I made sure they knew the whole town was going to be there.” Pop shifted from foot to foot, sending his already-sparkly sequins into high gear. I hoped the center had good insurance. Pop’s ensemble might cause seizures.

  “I’ll get there early,” I said, thinking, So I can get a spot as far away from the stage as possible. I already had a closetful of imitation Elvis scarves.

  Pop nodded, sending his wig slightly off center. I helped him right it and mentioned, “Lionel won’t be coming tonight. We broke up.”

  “What? Why?”

  I sighed. “I went over to see Lionel and found Stan coming out of the bathroom in Lionel’s robe.”

  Pop’s eyebrows disappeared under his wig. “Lionel’s gay? I never would have guessed. He doesn’t look gay.”

  Oops. “He’s not gay. Dad needed a place to hide out, and Lionel let him crash in the poker room. Except he forgot to tell me about the arrangement.”

  “And you’re upset about that?”

  “Yes.” Pop gave me a “You’re crazy” look, and I said, “I was worried about Stan. Those guys who came after you were chasing after him this morning. Sean went out looking for Dad, but he couldn’t find him. All the while, Lionel knew Dad was safe, and he let me worry for nothing. That sucks.”

  “I can see how that would set you off. Lionel’s a smart guy, but he doesn’t have my knack for understanding the opposite sex. That comes with a lot more years of experience.”

  A half century more. I wasn’t willing to wait that long.

  Suddenly, I got an idea. If I had to suffer through Pop’s gyrations, so did Stan. It was the least he could do for making me worry. Maybe I could make him stand in line for a scarf. That would almost make the evening worthwhile.

  “Let’s take Stan to your gig,” I said with a smile. “He’s upstairs watching reruns.”

  Pop looked like he wanted to ask about Dad’s new living arrangements, but he didn’t. Pop was right: Years of experience made a difference.

  Stan’s response to attending the Indian Falls Dinner Dance wasn’t enthusiastic, but he reluctantly agreed.

  Pop practiced his moves in the living room while I went back to change clothes. I had never attended an Indian Falls Dinner Dance, but I was pretty sure a denim skirt and a polo shirt weren’t appropriate attire. I slipped into a black halter dress with a cute flirty skirt and a pair of my highest red heels. After breaking up with Lionel, I felt the need to impress. Problem was, next to the dress, the white bandage on my hand looked conspicuous.

  I glanced toward my mom’s chest of drawers and took a step toward it. After she passed, Pop packed up a lot of her things and gave them to charity, but a lot remained. After moving in, I’d dusted and straightened this room, but I hadn’t been able to bring myself to go through Mom’s stuff.

  Eureka. The drawer was filled with slips and scarves. Pawing through the silky material, I came up with a black-and-red satin scarf. A little creative wrapping and my arm looked like it was doing a Michael Jackson impersonation. Not great, but better than looking like an unraveled mummy.

  In the living room, Stan had changed into his slick salesman look—gray pants, shiny silver dress shirt, and a skinny black tie. He was now giving Pop pointers on how to rotate his hips without dislocating them. Helpful, if not a little strange.

  The rink was quiet as our unusual-looking group headed down the stairs and into the warm summer night—and smack into a large group of Spanish dudes.

  And they didn’t look happy.

  Twenty-one

  Oh crap. The big guy in front barked something in Spanish at us. Pop looked at me. I looked at Stan. Stan blinked. We were all stumped.

  Pop swaggered forward and planted himself in front of the biggest dude. He looked up at him, causing the pompadour wig to slide dangerously backward. He straightened the wig and said, “Get lost or else.”

  I couldn’t help but wonder, Or else what? Pop wasn’t exactly dressed for street fighting.

  A little guy took a step forward and waved a wooden stick in our direction. Another one took a metal ratchet out of his pocket and slapped it against his hand while circling behind us. There were seven of them and only three of us. We were outnumbered and surrounded.

  I considered screaming for help, then chucked the idea. Everyone in the rink had gone home or to the dinner dance. I took a step back behind my father. Easing my cell phone out of my purse, I pushed the Sheriff Department’s speed-dial number. The beep from the phone made my shoulders tighten as I waited for the men to notice and get really angry.

  When they didn’t, I asked, “Why do you guys keep coming to my rink?” I hoped my voice was loud enough to reach Roxy or whoever was manning the department’s phone. “Please don’t hurt my grandfather or Stan. I’ll do whatever you want.”

  At least I would until Sean got here—and that better be soon.

  Pop gave me an outraged look and bellowed, “If you want to hurt Rebecca, you’ll have to go through me first.”

  There were seven of them, one of Pop—and he looked like a light breeze would blow him over. Not good for our side.

  The Spanish-speaking guys looked at me with a variety of bewildered expressions. Strange. They talked among themselves for a moment, gestured wildly to me, then looked down the street as if worried the cops would arrive.

  For the first time, I took a really good look at the group. They were w
earing matching red-and-white bowling shirts. My heart rate slowed and I took a deep breath. It was hard to be completely intimidated by a renegade bowling team.

  A third guy spoke very slowly, careful to enunciate every word. This time I understood something. “We do not … you … want—” The rest of the sentence required a Spanish-to-English dictionary. Too bad the library was closed.

  I took a step forward and asked, “Does anyone speak English?”

  All seven heads shook from side to side. No English here.

  Now what?

  A blaring siren rang through the warm night. Red and blue lights flashed. A Sheriff’s Department cruiser raced down the street and skidded to a stop on the other side of the parking lot. Under the dim streetlight, we all watched Sean emerge from the car, pull his gun, and run toward us.

  “Law-enforcement officer! Everyone put your hands behind your heads.”

  Pop and Stan complied. The bowling team just blinked.

  Sean’s eyebrows pulled together, and his hand tightened around the gun handle. “I said—”

  “Wait. Wait. Wait.” A short, roundish guy sporting a familiar red-and-white shirt raced down the sidewalk, waving his hands over his head. “Don’t shoot. My friends will not hurt anyone.”

  The matching-shirt gang looked relieved. They smiled and hurried over to the newcomer, who was now bent over, panting. There was a shiny bald spot on the top of his head.

  “English,” one of the men said, pointing to their track star.

  “If you speak English,” Sean said, gun still at the ready, “tell them they are under arrest for harassment and assault.”

  The panting guy turned to his friends and rattled something off. They all began talking over one another. Some barked out a few angry words while pointing at Stan.