The Penalty Box (37 page)

“That's something you need to discuss with her.”

“Paul?” Katie's mother joined them at the door. “Come in, come in, please.”

Paul hesitated, then stepped over the threshold.

“Have you eaten?” Katie asked Tuck.

“I had some peanuts at the bar,” Tuck said happily.

“You want a hamburger, sweetheart?” Katie's mother cooed. “I'll make you one of my jumbo bacon burgers.”

“Yes!” Tuck punched his fist in the air triumphantly, following his grandmother into the kitchen.

Katie looked to Paul. “I'm so sorry about this.”

“It's not your fault.” He sounded discouraged.

“What's up?” Katie asked. She and Paul may not have gone out for all that long, but she still felt she knew this man. She knew when he was troubled, and she knew when he was in pain. Tonight he was both.

Paul was staring at her mother's doll-packed curio cabinet. “Look, I don't know how to say this.”

“Then I'll say it for you,” Katie said softly. “You fired her.”

“Yeah.” Paul looked grateful she'd taken the words out of his mouth. “I'm really, really sorry, Professor, but—”

“Hey.” Katie tugged on the sleeve of his shirt. “You don't need to apologize. You were more than generous giving her a job in the first place. It was up to her to make a go of it.”

Paul glanced uneasily in the direction of the kitchen. “I know, but I worry about Tuck.”

“You did the right thing bringing him here, Paul.”

Paul frowned. “I don't think your sister was very happy.”

“She never is.”

“I promise I'll give her a good reference if she needs one. She's a good waitress, she just . . .” He shook his head, looking for the right words. “. . . seems resentful that she has to
work
, if that makes any sense.”

“It does. Mina has always thought the world owed her something. Why, I'm not sure.”

“I hope your mother doesn't hate me for this,” Paul said. He laughed glumly. “I also hope Cobra doesn't come and break both my arms.”

“Snake,” Katie corrected. “I wouldn't worry about him. He's a pretty decent guy. Sometimes I like him better than Mina.”

They shared a bittersweet moment of laughter before awkward silence descended. It dawned on Katie that she'd taken his ubiquitousness for granted. In just a few months, she'd be back in Fallowfield, where every little thing Paul van Dorn said and did wasn't written in the paper or dissected over burnt coffee at Tabitha's. She would miss him. He'd become part of the fabric of her life.

“I guess I should get going,” said Paul.

“You sure you don't want something to eat?” Katie offered. “If I know my mother, she'll be making enough burgers to feed an army.”

“I should really get back to the bar, keep an eye on things.” He smiled sadly. “Sorry again about your sister.”

“Again, you have nothing to be sorry for.”

“See you, Tuck!” Paul shouted so they'd hear him in the kitchen. “See you, Mrs. Fisher!”

“Bye, Paul,” both Tuck and his grandmother called.

Paul leaned over and kissed Katie on the cheek, a move both unexpected and thrilling. A fraternal kiss, nothing that could be misconstrued.

“Drive safely,” Katie told him as he walked out to his car.

“Will do,” he called back.

Katie stood watching in the doorway as he backed out of her driveway at lightning speed. Then he was gone, leaving her to brood over the mess both she and her sister seemed to have made of things.

 

 

Restless
,
Paul decided
not to head back to the bar right away, but to cruise around Didsbury and try to clear his head.

Firing Mina had left him rattled.
Was
he being a prick, depriving a single mother of an income? Katie didn't think so. Truth was, he was relieved to be rid of Mina. Her attitude and unreliability blew him away. If he'd ever talked to any of his coaches the way Mina had talked to him, his hockey career would have been even shorter than it had been.

He wasn't driving anywhere in particular, just driving. But every road held a memory—one of the hazards, he supposed, of returning to the town you grew up in. He pulled up in front of his own house, cutting the headlights but keeping the engine running. What, if anything, did the outside of the house convey about the man who lived inside? Nothing. It was completely nondescript, devoid of any personality. He kept staring, trying to picture himself in it five, ten, thirty years from now. Tried picturing himself living here with a wife and family. He couldn't. Shit, he couldn't even picture himself here with a dog. He couldn't see himself here in the future, and he didn't really see himself here now.

He switched the headlights on again and drove back to Main Street, following the old trolley tracks that still ran down the center of the road. Saturday night and the only place hopping was the Penalty Box. He parked behind the bar and killed the engine, trying to imagine himself growing old in this town. He'd turn into Dan Doherty.

Ambling back into the Penalty Box, he stopped to say hi to the regulars before taking his usual seat at the end of the bar, the same one that had been occupied by Tuck earlier. Mina had pulled herself back together and was hustling back and forth delivering drinks, but that didn't stop her from flashing him a dirty look. Paul ignored it. He opened his mouth to tell Frank to pour him a Boddington's, but his bartender was one step ahead of him, plunking a beer down in front of him before moving away to tend to another customer. Paul stared uneasily at the dark brown draught before lifting it to his lips.

Was he that predictable?

The middle-aged men who earlier in the evening had been ogling Mina approached him, wanting autographs and NHL war stories. Paul obliged, but even while he was speaking there was another conversation going on in his head: What if the fans stopped coming? Would he still want to be here, night after night, if there were no autographs to sign, no glory days to talk about? Would he really be happy being “just” a bar owner who coached youth hockey on the side?

“Gentlemen, can you excuse me a moment?” Paul slid off his bar stool, clutching his beer. “I just remembered something I need to take care of.”

The men were gracious, clearing a path so he could depart. No need for them to know what needed taking care of was his mental health. He had to get out of the bar. Now. He felt the way he did when he realized he'd never play pro hockey again: boxed-in, panicky, in need of escape.

He ducked into the back office, quietly closing the door behind him. He remained there, eyes closed, trying to get his inner bearings. He was ravenously hungry. He'd leave, grab a bite to eat, go home, think.

Grateful for something to do, he swiped his denim jacket from where he'd tossed it on the couch earlier in the evening and put it on. It felt strangely light. He looked down: the left front pocket was empty. His wallet was gone.

“
My sister didn
't
steal your wallet.”

Katie's words were clipped as she glared at Paul over her iced tea. She didn't know what to make of it when her cell phone rang in the middle of the afternoon and it was Paul, asking her to meet him at Tabitha's. Her heart had swooned a bit—maybe another session of no-strings-attached sex?—before shifting into anxiety mode. Though she hated the interruption to her writing schedule, she agreed to meet him and hustled over from the library, only to be confronted with this.

Paul brooded over his coffee. “I'm telling you, Katie. I left Mina alone in my office when I took Tuck to your mom's. When I got back, the wallet was gone. Frank says no one went in the office between the time I left the bar and the time I came back.”

“Are you sure you brought your wallet with you? Maybe you left it another coat.”

“I've torn my house apart. I've torn my car apart. I've torn the bar apart. I'm a conscientious guy. I
know
I walked into the Penalty Box with my wallet last night.”

“How?”

“Because I remember stopping at the ATM to withdraw five hundred dollars and putting it in my wallet before going to the bar.”

Katie crinkled her nose. “What did you need five hundred dollars for?”

“I withdraw five hundred dollars every week.”

“For what? I couldn't spend five hundred dollars a week here if I tried.”

“We're getting off the subject. I'm sure your sister took my wallet.”

“Did you confront her?” Katie asked angrily.

“Not directly.”

“What does that mean?”

“At the end of the night I assembled the whole staff and told them I couldn't find my wallet. I asked that if any of them found it to please return it to me, and there would be no questions asked.”

“And?”

“What do you think? No one came forward.”

“It's been less than twenty-four hours. For all you know, you could go to the bar tonight and it could be sitting there on a table. Or one of your employees could stop by your house today and pop it in the mailbox. Just because no one came forward doesn't mean someone is guilty, especially my sister.”

Paul's hand reached across the table. “I know this is hard for you.”

“Damn right it's hard for me,” Katie replied, gently removing her hand from under his. “Mina's messed up but she would never do that, Paul. Believe me. She's not that stupid.”

“She was stupid enough to invite her biker friends to the bar and to bring Tuck to work with her! She's stupid enough to get herself fired. How do you know she didn't take my wallet as a way of saying ‘Fuck you' for letting her go?”

“She's not that dumb,” Katie repeated staunchly.

“That's what you want to believe.”

“I don't understand what all this has to do with me.” Katie didn't want to deal with this. All she wanted was to finish her book, go back to Fallowfield, and resume her life.

“I need you to talk to her, Katie. The wallet's got all my credit cards in it, as well as some stuff of great sentimental value. Ask her if she has it. Tell her she won't get in trouble if she does. She can even keep the goddamn money if she wants, I don't care.”

“What am I supposed to say? ‘Mina, did you steal Paul's wallet? You're his prime suspect because you're such a skank.' ”

“She's the prime suspect because she's the only one who had access to it,” Paul countered tersely.

“
And
because you think she's a thieving ex-addict.”

Paul began kneading the back of his neck. “Katie, I know your sister took the wallet, okay? Now are you going to help me or not?”

Katie rose, throwing two dollars down on the table to cover her tab. “No, I'm not. My sister didn't take that wallet. If you want to accuse her of theft, you're going to have to do it yourself.”

 

 

Katie's conversation with
Paul ruined her concentration for the rest of the day. Leaving Tabitha's, she'd headed back to the library, intent on burying herself in work. Unfortunately, her brain refused to cooperate. She'd write a sentence, then drift off into the stratosphere, imagining a confrontation with Mina. Write another sentence, and imagine Paul showing up at her mother's front door, begging forgiveness after finding his wallet under a pile of junk in his office. When it became clear she wasn't going to get any writing done, she came home, helped her mother start dinner, and then went out for a run to clear her mind. She could always work for a few hours after supper if she needed to.

The thought hounded Katie as she wrapped up her evening run. She truly believed her sister wouldn't be that obvious or that dumb, but you never knew. And Paul! She couldn't believe he wanted
her
to go to her sister to get the wallet back—not that Mina took it. Katie found it hard to believe that Frank could tend bar on a busy Saturday night
and
keep track of whomever might be going in and out of Paul's office. No way. Mina was being blamed because of her past. It wasn't fair.

Calmer now, she jogged back to her mother's house intending to shower before sitting down to dinner. Her mother was parked in her usual spot on the couch, face buried in the paper as she waited for dinner to be done.

“Hi, Mom.” Katie was breathing hard as she moved past her toward the kitchen.

“You don't smell very good,” her mother observed.

“Neither do you,” Katie teased, mopping dripping sweat from her brow.

Her mother's eyes peeked at her over the top of the paper. “You watch it, girlie.”

Katie smiled, hearing the affection in her mom's voice. She was in the middle of pouring herself a tall glass of water when the phone rang.

“Want me to get that?” she yelled. She was always very respectful of being a guest in her mother's house, not automatically picking the phone up without checking first. “Yes, please,” her mother called back.

Katie wiped her sweaty palms off on her shorts, then picked up the phone.

“Katie? It's Snake.” He sounded upset.

“Snake,” Katie replied. “What's up?”

“I thought you and your mom should know that, uh, an ambulance just took Mina to the hospital.”

Katie squeezed her eyes shut.

“It looks like she OD'ed or something.”

“Tuck?” That's all Katie could manage. Any more and she'd start screaming.