Chapter 6

-----------------

I watch tensely as he begins to stroll over to us. Confident and tall, I can hear each long, even stride as the typical, shiny black boots hit the ground with a dull thud. Any panic he was feeling last night over the phone isn't showing now.

Jack and Chase are watching intently, taking in their father for the first time in years. With a deep breath, Jack stands up, jumps down off the bleachers, and stands on the grass. Chase follows, standing next to his brother.

I remain seated next to Fulton, holding his arm very tightly. For the first time, I notice that Fulton appears rather tense. He realizes that I sense this, and in an effort to be strong, he gives me a smile, and squeezes my hand with his hand- the hand on the arm that I don't have in a death grip.

When Portman gets over to us, nobody speaks for a few moments. Everyone except for me is looking at the ground. Wow, this is awkward.

I guess I'd better get this rolling then, huh?

"Hello Portman," I say in calm, relaxed voice that doesn't suit the situation.

"Hello Julie," Portman says in a strained voice that isn't his own. "Hey, Fulton."

"Hey Portman," Fulton says, nodding.

Silence reigns again.

"Um, this is Jack," I say, standing up and pushing our slightly older son forward. "And this is Chase," I add, now pushing our other son forward.

"I know," Portman says, looking at them and smiling. "Hey guys."

"Hello..." Jack trails off, before intently noticing his sneakers.

"Yeah," Chase adds quickly, "Hi."

"What's up, you two?" Portman says.

Rather than answer the question, Chase says, "What do we call you?"

"What?" Portman asks, as if he hadn't heard correctly.

"What do we call you?" Chase repeats more loudly.

Portman looks bewildered, much to my delight. "What do you mean?" he asks.

"What do we call you?" Jack finally loses his patience before Chase can answer. "Mr. Portman, Dean, Dad, or what?"

"Oh," Portman says, and appears to be thinking. "Dad is fine."

Chase stares blankly at him, and Jack looks like he can't believe it.

Portman looks back at them for a moment or two before turning his attention to me, "How have you been, Julie?"

"I've been fine, what about you?"

He looks at me very intently before answering. "I've been okay," he says, finally. "What about you, Fult? How are ya?"

"Living, dude, living. What brings you back to Minnesota?"

Portman doesn't answer. Instead, he looks back to the boys. "I hear you two play hockey."

"Yeah, we play," Chase says, eyes lighting up. "Since we were seven. We've been watching hockey since we were about three, though."

"Really? What positions?" Portman asks enthusiastically, and the three of them -Portman, Jack, and Chase- seem truly at ease for the first time.

"I'm a defenseman," Chase says. "Usually on the right side."

"Nice," Portman smiles. "What do you play, Jack?"

"I'm a forward, left wing or center," Jack answers.

"I played wing, too," Portman smiles. "It was fun. They wanted me on the forecheck, but I played defense from time to time, mainly when somebody else was out."

"Is he lying, Mom?" Chase spins around and asks me.

"No, he's not lying," I smile at Chase. Portman was a good hockey player. A very good one, and he did play as a forward.

"Didn't you used to play hockey, Mom?" Jack inquires.

"Yes," I smile. I can almost feel my shoulder pads and the goalie mask around my head.

"What position did you play, Mom?" Jack asks.

"I was a goaltender…you know that," I smile again.

"Yeah, but you don't talk about it a lot, so we forget," Chase answers.

"Uncle Fulton used to play too," I say, grinning at Fulton.

"Uncle Fulton?" Portman says, but both Fulton and I go on as if he hadn't said anything.

Fulton smirks. "Yeah, I played. I beat people up."

"You had that killer shot," Portman says, "Remember? First time I saw it, I was just so amazed. I'd never seen anything like it. I thought all those kids were wussies for diving out of the way, and then you nearly killed me with that shot."

"You showed us that shot, Uncle Fulton, it was really scary!" Chase says, eyes wide and bouncing back and forth his feet. He looks like a kid in a candy store. "What position did you play?"

"I was a defenseman, Chase, like you. Though, I usually played on the left side."

"What's your favorite hockey team?" Jack turns to look at Portman.

"I'm a bit partial to the Anaheim Mighty Ducks…and I like the Chicago Blackhawks, because I'm from Chicago, but I think I truly like the Ducks. I admire some of the other teams, too," Portman says. "What about you two?"

"Ducks? You're such a loser," Chase says, "I like the Oilers, and the Tampa Bay Lightning. They started winning when we were three and haven't stopped since!"

"Bandwagon fan," Portman smiles. "What about you, Jack?"

"I like the New York Islanders. There's this player, Guy Germaine, he's really good. He's just such a complete player." Jack says. Fulton, Portman, and I all look at each other. "What? Should I not like the Islanders?"

"We used to know Guy Germaine," Fulton explained. "I grew up with him, and your parents met him a little later on. His wife, Connie, grew up with us too. We played hockey with him."

"Really?" Jack says, and both his and Chase's eyes are wide now. "Next time you see him, could you tell him how great I think he is?"

"Yeah sure," Fulton smiles, "When we see him."

"You've met him before," I say smiling, "Seven or eight years ago. He and Connie came with their baby to visit us."

"Cool," says Chase. For a moment, everyone is quiet, and then Chase turns back to Portman. "Hey, we-" he indicates to himself and Jack, "-have a game today. Are you going to come?"

Portman looks hesitant, but hides it quickly. "Sure I'll come…if your mom says it's all right."

Portman looks at me. Fulton looks at me. Jack and Chase turn to look at me. The pressure's on.

"Sure, it's all right," I say a bit hesitantly. Wonderful. More time with Portman. I'm barely hanging on as it is. This is torture for me.

"Well then, I'm coming," smiles Portman. "What time is the game?"

"It's at 4:00," says Jack. "What time is it now?"

Fulton checks his watch and answers. "It's 2:05."

"Mom, I'm hungry," Chase says to me.

"Me too," says Jack.

I'm realizing that I haven't eaten today either, and that my stomach is digesting itself as we speak. I think for a minute, and turn to Fulton. "Well," I say, "we could head over to Goldberg's Deli and get sandwiches or something."

Goldberg's Deli is still run by Greg Goldberg's parents. Greg, more commonly referred to as Goldberg or Goldie, used to play hockey with us, and was a good friend of mine for quite some time. Goldie doesn't live in Minnesota anymore. He moved out to California with Russ Tyler and Kenny Wu, two other former Ducks and good friends. I hear they've opened a center for underprivileged kids. Sort of a youth center for troubled kids to go to, with counseling and a gym, with a place for meals and to spend the night. Last I heard, they were not only getting money from the state, but they were taking turns running the place and working a second job to earn money. Guy Germaine, Adam Banks, and Luis Mendoza, all former Ducks and old friends, now professional hockey players, are all mentioned as charitable donors of cash and supplies.

"Hey, yeah! They have the best sandwiches at Goldberg's Deli!" Chase says excitedly to Portman.

Portman laughs, "I know, I've eaten there, kid."

"Well, let's get a move on, then, I'm hungry," Fulton says brightly, turning and heading back for the car.

"Are you riding with us?" Chase asks.

Portman glances at me. "Actually, I think I'll follow in my own car. It'll be pretty cramped with the three of us in the back seat. I'll see you guys in a few minutes."

Jack and Chase watched Portman stroll back to his car, then turned to face me. They smiled, and then reality seemed to hit them. They headed for our own car, talking in quiet voices, leaving me standing there. I let out a deep breath and start walking back towards the car myself.

I back out of my parking spot, and start for Goldberg's Deli. I can tell the boys were talking with Fulton before I got in the car, but stopped when I joined them. The boys continue mumbling quietly to themselves in the back seat, and I pull out on the main road.

I keep waiting for Fulton to say something, but he doesn't, so I roll down the window and end up letting my mind wander.

It doesn't take much concentration for me to get around Minneapolis anymore. The car pretty much drives itself. It wasn't always like that though. I used to get lost. I remember the first time I got truly lost in Minnesota.

Portman was taking me to a rock concert in a park by a lake. If I hadn't been so busy being nervous, I would have realized that "in a park by a lake" could have meant anywhere. Minnesota has some obscene number of parks and lakes. But I was nervous. It was our first date. I didn't realize this park could have been anywhere.

We got lost. Horrendously lost.

"I've never even heard of Hennepin, Minnesota!" Portman roared, slamming on the breaks as we passed a "Welcome to Hennepin" sign on an all but deserted road.

"Where were we supposed to be going?" I asked quietly.

"I don't know anymore. Some park just outside Minneapolis."

"We've been driving for hours. Do you think we could pull over and ask somebody for directions back home?" I asked, tired of riding in the car. It was getting late, towards curfew time, and I really wanted to get home. My nerves had left me after hour number one of being lost. We were well into hour number four, about twenty minutes from hour number five. We'd spent the evening driving in the car. I was hungry, and tired, and starting to be sorry I went.

"Julie, look around. Do you see anyone I can ask? Do you see anywhere I can pull over? Do you see anything at all?"

I looked around. "Not really," I admitted.

"So if I see anyone, I'll pull over," he snapped.

"Fine," I snapped back. Bastard. Get us lost and get snappy with me like it's my fault? I don't think so.

Portman turned the car around and we drove along in silence for a while. I watched the stars. I don't know what Portman was doing. Hopefully, he was watching the road.

"Hey Julie?" he said after about half hour of silence.

"What?"

"I'm sorry."

"For what?" I figured he was talking about snapping at me earlier.

But apparently not. He didn't speak right away. "This whole lousy night."

"What are you talking about? This night wasn't so lousy," I said.

"Yeah it was. I promised we'd go out to a concert in the park. I planned to take you out for pizza or something. But instead, I got us lost. You haven't had anything to eat. I'm hungry. I was an asshole for snapping at you. I just…this was not the way I wanted our first date to go," he finished. He said all this very quickly, then immediately drew a deep breath.

"Hey, it's not a big deal. I haven't been miserable. I like being with you. So what, our first date wasn't perfect. At least it wasn't horrible and awkward like first dates are on television."

"Yeah, but still, you deserved better tonight."

"Yeah, I probably did," I said seriously. Portman took his eyes off the road for a moment and just looked at me, completely taken by surprise at my answer. I bet he was expecting for me to say it was all right. He tried to mask his surprise and looked back to the road. I let him sweat for a minute. "Got ya," I finally murmured.

"What?"

"Got ya."

"Got me?"

"Yeah, I got you."

"Got me how?"

"You expected me to say I didn't deserve better."

"Well, yeah, but it's still true that you did."

"In all the time you've known me, have I ever acted stuck up like that?"

"Umm…no. But most girls get pissy like that."

"I'm not most girls."

"I know that. You're much prettier and less stuck up than most girls. Especially at Eden Hell Academy."

"Eden Hell: rich bitches whining about Gucci bags…there's a sign for Minneapolis. Take that exit."

"I see it…Yep, that's Eden Hell. I hate the girls there."

"But not me, right?"

"No, of course not you. I wouldn't have asked you out if I hated your guts."

"I know…so are you asking me out again, or what?"

"You actually want to go out with me again?" he asked, surprised.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"God, Julie, didn't you learn anything in Mrs. Mangle's tenth grade English class? Don't answer a question with a question," he said, referring to our nutty tenth grade English teacher. If you answered a question with a question, she'd flip out and go into this speech about how only idiots answer questions with questions.

"Oh, shut-up," I grinned, "or I won't want to go out with you again."

"Do you really want to go out with me again? I mean, after tonight and everything…" he still sounded disbelieving.

"Yeah," I answered. "I really do."

I glanced at him. His eyes were still on the road, but now he was smiling.