Page 11 of He Has Trouble (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
Chapter 5
“Dad, put your arm through the shirtsleeve. I’ll button it.”
“Where are we going?”
“To the Rizzo’s’ for Christmas dinner.” It was more than alarming to witness the deteriorated state of the old man’s mind. He was barely sixty years old, but he may as well be eighty. It was no wonder he hadn’t realized I’d been put on suspension for the incident with the ref. Not the first time that had happened. I’d always been convinced the refs were out to get me ever since my mother’s condition required my dad to stop paying attention to me, leaving me to hitch rides with whoever I could to get to practices and games. The Rizzo’s took over, but that hadn’t eased my anger. Maybe made it worse, piling resentment on top of the self-pity.
My father had started out being on my side in the battles with the refs once upon a time. Then he became indifferent and finally angry. I could identify with that.
It was a lot easier to be angry than sad. I should know. I’d been an emotional coward for a long time. I’d been better when I was with Angela, but I’d decided all on my own that wouldn’t last, allowed myself to be convinced by my agent that I needed a fresh start. Allowed myself to believe I needed to prove something to the world before I could have her. I hadn’t realized my agent’s sister had designs on me and I’d been flattered. For a while. Before I realized I’d been a fool.
Helping my old man to his feet, I took the knit cap with the Toronto Stars logo emblazoned on it from a bag I’d tossed on the kitchen table earlier. There’d been no tree to put it underneath.
“What’s this?” Dad said.
“Your Christmas gift.” I pulled the hat onto my father’s head as I watched the old man’s reaction, realization dawning on him.
“You play hockey for that team.”
“Yeah. I do.” I put an arm through the crook in my old man’s elbow, grabbed the bag with the rest of the gifts I’d brought for the Rizzo’s, and led him to the back door.
“Since when did you get so tall?” My father looked up at me with bloodshot eyes as we walked out onto the back steps. Luckily there’d only been a dusting of snow.
“Since you shrunk down in your old age.”
“Don’t be a wiseass. I’m still strong enough to give you something to think about.”
I snorted. I’d been given plenty tothink aboutby my father in the years since my mother had passed. Not much of it good. But still, as I held onto my old man, walking with him the short distance to the back door of our neighbors and friends, the real frailty of him—mental and physical—sent a shot of fear through me.
The Rizzo’s’ back door was opened for us before I had a chance to knock. I stepped inside the warm, aromatic kitchen bustling with noise and coordinated movement like a ballet of Italian family holiday cooking. My smile was automatic even as my chest tightened at how much I’d missed these holiday dinners with the Rizzos during my self-imposed exile. Now it felt like home and at the same time foreign to me because it had been a while.
Stepping into Maria Rizzo’s open arms, I gave her a kiss on the cheek and let the solid maternal warmth of her seep in.
“Merry Christmas,” she said and so did I, with meaning this time. Mr. Rizzo shook my father’s hand and then turned to me.
“Sorry about that mishap last night,” he said. “You don’t need to worry about Tim bothering you. He’s been warned about opening his big mouth. And warned about blackmailing you for money.”
“Thank you,” I put out a hand to shake the man’s hand, but Frank Rizzo clapped me in a bear hug instead. It was hard to believe this vital man wasn’t much younger than my old man. Several of the other ladies from the Rizzo clan chimed in with denigrating commentary about Tim, some in Italian, punctuated by holiday greetings while they worked at making ravioli and getting it into a pot. I caught sight of Angela in her holiday apron carrying a pot filled with water to the stove.
“Let me get that for you,” I said. Rushing to her aid in the crowded kitchen before she had a chance to put me off.
She pretended surprise. “I wouldn’t think of burdening our famous guest, dropping in from his world travels.”
I raised my middle finger and she laughed. Frank grabbed my hand. “None of that now. This is a holy day, remember.” His smile belied his scolding.
“Go on into the living room, the three of you. Watch a game.” Mrs. Rizzo shooed me, my old man, and her husband from the kitchen.
“That’s right,” Frank said as he led us through the short hall to a cozy living room decked out with an oversize tree. “We’ll get a chance to watch the Toronto Stars play without their star player and see if they fall apart.”
“Go ahead. Rub it in.” Funny, but I felt no resentment at the jab, not even a flicker of irritation at the reminder that I’d been suspended. We sat my old man in a recliner.
“Can I get you anything, Mack?” Frank said.
“A drink.” Dad was quick to respond and I noticed the shake in his hand as he gripped the chair.
“Not yet. How about some coffee or water?” I said, gritting my teeth. My old man made a whatever gesture with his shaky hand. Frank gave me a pat on the back before he disappeared back into the kitchen. I took a seat on the couch with Eddie.
“You staying a while?” Eddie asked.
