Pipe Dreams(46)

They couldn't, though.

It was only a small consolation that the game six loss wasn't Beacon's  fault. The defensemen screwed up early in the first period, giving  Detroit an easy goal with an odd man rush. Then the forwards seemed to  freeze up, and it was downhill for the rest of the game. They lost 5 – 2.

The series was now 3 – 3, and the pundits were having a field day.  "Brooklyn Chokes" blared more than one headline. The talking heads began  to drop statistics like raindrops. "Seventy-eight percent of teams who  never led during game six will lose game seven." And, "No team who's  squandered a three-game lead has ever advanced to the finals."

Beacon listened to all of this chatter with half an ear. No matter what  anyone said, when a series went to game seven, the odds were still  fifty-fifty. He didn't need Elsa's new math tutor to know that.

Still, it didn't feel good.

At the briefing the morning after their loss, Coach Worthington  practically had smoke coming out of his ears. "Let's go over the footage  again," he said a million times. He talked plays and habits and  formations until every player went glassy-eyed.

After a light workout in the weight room, he walked home to pack for yet  another trip to Detroit. On the way he tried Lauren on his Katt Phone.

She answered on the second ring. "Hi there."

"Hi yourself. Missing you like crazy right now." He hadn't sought solace  in her bed after their most recent loss, but it sure had been tempting.  They texted into the wee hours instead.

"How's morale?"

"It's not great. How's Manhattan?"

"The usual. It's Sunday, though. So I'm working at home instead of at my desk."

"Ah. Wish I were there."

"Soon," she said, reminding him that the play-offs-no matter how exhausting-didn't last forever.

"I got a question."

"Shoot."

"Any chance you're coming to Detroit for game seven? A guy can dream."

She laughed. "I'm not traveling with the team, if that's what you're asking. That's Becca's job again."

"They sell plane tickets at the airport, though. I've heard that's a thing. Can I buy you one?"

"Do I get an hour to think about it? I need to look at tomorrow's schedule and see what I can rearrange."

"Of course. And, honey-if it's really not good timing, you can say so. I just miss you."

"I miss you, too. And I love to watch you play."

"Take a look and let me know. Either way, we'll get our chance soon."

"If you guys make it to the Stanley Cup final, wild horses won't keep me away."

"I love you," he said. He was just going to keep saying that forever, and he wanted her to know it.

"I love you, too. Now let me get some work done and I'll call you later."

His feet had reached Willow Street, so he let himself in. He heard pop  music from the second floor and NPR in the kitchen. Mike headed for the  kitchen and a glass of water, startling Hans, who looked up from the  kitchen table with a sheepish expression. He clutched his phone in one  hand, the screen lit.

"What's the matter, bud?" Seemed like nobody in his life was happy this week.

Hans shoved his phone into his shirt pocket. "Nothing."

"Is it auditions? Or is Justin the problem?"

Hans laughed and shook his head. "Neither. Just poor timing."

"I'm the king of poor timing," he reminded the babysitter. "What's the matter?"

"It doesn't matter. I don't want to add stress to your week."

Oh, hell. That probably meant that it did matter a great deal. "Just try me."

"Got a text about a really neat gig, but I can't do it. They want me to sub for one of the musicians in Hamilton."

"Hamilton?" Elsa came skidding around the corner. "Really? That's so cool! You have to do it!"

"When is it?" Mike asked.

"Tomorrow night. But they'll probably call me again some other time."

Tomorrow night. Game seven in Detroit. "Oh, shit." Hans had turned down  gigs before to accommodate Beacon's game schedule. But never an  important one. He'd already bought plane tickets for Elsa and Hans to  fly out for game seven. They left tomorrow afternoon.

"I'll stay home in New York with Hans," Elsa volunteered immediately.

Hans was already shaking his head. "You have to see the game. It's okay. They'll give me another chance to sub."                       
       
           



       

"No! This is big! And you told me Broadway pays really well. I'll go with you tomorrow night and wait in the lobby."

"Oh, Elsabelle," Hans said, his smile sad. "It's four hours. I appreciate your sacrifices but that's not practical."

"I have a better idea," Mike said. "Can you all give me a few minutes? Hans-you didn't turn it down yet, right?"

The babysitter shook his head.

"Just give me an hour. I might have a solution."





TWENTY-SIX


DETROIT, MICHIGAN

MAY 2016


Lauren's travel companion maintained a stony silence on the  ninety-minute flight from La Guardia to Detroit, her earbuds jammed into  her ears. From the seat beside her, Lauren stole occasional glances at  Elsa, remembering how hard it was to be thirteen.

At that age she'd felt mostly grown up. She'd been the same highly  organized, disciplined go-getter at thirteen as she was today. But  nobody had been ready to acknowledge it. Parents and teachers still  treated her like a child. And her body was doing all sorts of  embarrassing new things.

You couldn't pay her to be thirteen again. No sum would be enough.

At the baggage claim in Detroit, a driver waited with a sign reading  BEACON FAMILY because Mike had made all the arrangements. Elsa gave both  the sign and the driver a glare, just in case nobody in the Detroit  metro area had missed her displeasure at traveling with Lauren.

It's not personal, Lauren reminded herself during the forty-minute drive  to the hotel. When they got there, it was already five o'clock. "Shall  we go out for dinner?" she asked Elsa. Though sitting across the table  from someone who didn't speak to you didn't sound like that much fun.  "Or we could eat whatever concessions they have at the rink, but that's  not for two hours."

"I'm not very hungry," Elsa said. "We can wait."

Okay then.

When the car (finally!) pulled up at the hotel, Lauren was relieved to  discover that keys to their adjoining rooms were ready and waiting. "The  puck drops at seven thirty, so we have a couple of hours," Lauren said  in the elevator. "We'll leave at seven? We can either walk through the  convention center or ride the shuttle."

"Fine."

Sigh.

Lauren opened Elsa's room door first. It was a nice double. Inside, she  opened the lock to the adjacent door. "I'll just be through here if you  need anything," she told the girl.

Elsa didn't say anything. She just climbed onto the bed and pulled out her iPad.

Lauren went back into the hallway and keyed into her room, which  contained a king-sized bed and Mike's luggage. He'd left a note on the  bed.

Lo-

Thank you so much for everything. Hope she hasn't been too hard on you. (But I'm willing to bet she has.)

Can't wait to see you tonight.

Love you,

M.

Aw. A few hours with a grumpy teenager weren't so bad. She tucked the  note into her purse and hung her garment bag in the closet.

She unlocked the door which adjoined Elsa's room, but when she opened  the door, she found that Elsa had already closed hers. TV sounds came  through the door.

Leaving Elsa in peace, Lauren took out her eReader and climbed onto the  bed. A nap sounded good, which was odd. She hadn't napped in years. But  this week she'd felt oddly tired. So tired, in fact, that she didn't  even make it through five pages of her book before falling asleep.

When Lauren opened her eyes again, she was disoriented. The room had  deepened into shadows, and for a moment she wasn't sure where she was.  When she woke completely, her eyes flew to the clock. It was six thirty.  She'd slept more than an hour.

Jumping up, Lauren went into the bathroom to splash water on her face  and brush her teeth. Feeling almost human, she went to knock on the door  adjoining Elsa's room. "Honey? Will you be ready to go in thirty  minutes?"

Silence. Even the TV noises were gone.

Lauren tapped again, but the girl didn't answer, and she didn't hear any movement. Grasping the knob, she tried to open it.

Locked.

A chill snaked up Lauren's spine. Her mind offered up an ugly scenario.  What if Elsa got even with her by disappearing? She could only imagine  the phone call she'd have to make to Mike. I've lost your child.

Don't panic, she coached herself. While a rogue thirteen-year-old on the  loose in Detroit was not ideal, there was no reason to think that any  harm had come to Elsa.

Luckily, Lauren had held onto one of the key cards to Elsa's room. If  the kid was just playing possum in there, Lauren would know in a moment.  She grabbed Elsa's key and went out into the hall. She knocked briskly  on the door. "Elsa, please open the door. I'm going to come in either  way, okay?"