Page 54 of Slap Shot Surprise
“I just have a good memory,” she said.
“Have you thought about what you’ll namethisbaby?” I asked.
“Not really. I figured I’d wait and see if it’s a boy or girl first.”
“When do you find out?”
“At the next ultrasound.”
I nodded. “When will that be?”
“Around twenty weeks, so halfway through. Which would be around Thanksgiving.”
Thanksgiving. The season would be in full swing, and there was no way I’d get time off to shoot up here. “I probably won’t be able to make that one,” I said apologetically.
“It’s okay. I don’t expect you to.”
“Maybe you could take a video for me.”
She smiled. “I will.”
Our food arrived, and everything looked fantastic. I polished off my burger and fries in minutes. “Well, you were right,” I said, laying my napkin on my empty plate. “The sign didn’t lie.”
Her eyes sparkled as she ate a spoonful of her soup. “Told ya.”
I sat back and looked around. The diner wasn’t too busy at this hour—it was only about five o’clock—and most of the customers were older. A few old-timers seated at the counter kept turning around to look at us, and I wondered if maybe they were hockey fans. But the way they kept pinching up their faces, their eyes going beady beneath their brows, made me think again.
“You know those guys at the counter?”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Oh,” she said. “Yes. Those are friends of my dad’s. Gus and Larry.”
“They’re giving me the stink eye.”
She set down her spoon and picked up her iced tea. “Just probably wondering who you are, since they know everyone in this town. I’ve known them all my life. Larry’s a barber—and the town grump—and Gus is a retired mail carrier.”
“Is it possible they’ve heard about . . .”
She looked dubious. “I doubt it. I just told my family on Monday, but then again, this is a very small town. News spreads fast.”
“They’re definitely looking at me like I’ve done something offensive.”
She laughed. “Ignore them. They’re harmless.” Patting her stomach, she said, “I think that’s all I have room for. Let’s get the check. You probably want to get on the road, huh?”
“I should.” But in all honesty, Ididn’treally want to. I wished I had more time with her. I’d ask to see the house where she grew up and where she worked and maybe where our kid might attend school. Was there an ice rink around?
“I’ll be right back,” she said. “I need to use the bathroom.”
While she was gone, I paid the bill and tipped the server. When she returned to the table, she looked surprised. “Hey, I was going to treat you, since you cooked last time.”
“Too late.” I slid out from the booth. “Ready to go?”
“Yes. Thanks for dinner.”
“You’re welcome.” I kept my head down as we went outside, avoiding the scrutiny of Gus and Larry. I could stare down any menacing six-foot-plus forward at a face-off, but for some reason, I could not bring myself to make eye contact with those two old geezers.
Outside, we walked down the block toward my car. We’d dropped hers off at her house on the way over. “If you like ice cream, that’s the best place to get it,” she said, pointing to an old-fashioned storefront with a sign that said The Sweet Shoppe. “That’s probably where I’ll be eating my pickles and salted caramel vanilla.”
I laughed. “That sounds terrible.”
