20. Chapter 20

I should thank Cassie.

If not for her, I'd never be angry enough to confront Grandpa about choosing to help a stranger over his own grandson. As soon as I leave the shop, I drive straight to his house. He and Granny are headed to Arizona to look at houses and won't be back until next week, so this may be my only chance before Tuesday's city council meeting to convince him, face-to-face, that he's made a mistake.

Granny opens the door and I give her a hug and peck on her cheek before I charge through the house to Grandpa's den. The smell of steak and potatoes follows me from the kitchen into the TV room where Grandpa is in his recliner, reading the newspaper. He's had a man cave since before they were a thing, and he doesn't like people barging in, especially when he's reading.

But instead of the scathing look I expect from him, I barely get a glance. "I thought you'd show up tonight."

I lose the rational words I've been prepping in my head, and burst out with, "You can't let Cassie turn in those papers!"

Grandpa looks over his reading glasses at me, then folds his newspaper across his lap. "And why is that?"

I stare hard at him. His uncharacteristic calm is disconcerting, but even more so because I'd expected him to at least raise his voice when I confronted him.

"You know why." I stumble over the words, questioning if Grandpa really does know why historic status will put a permanent end to my plans, or even why the pond is so important to me.

"Pretend I don't." He takes off his glasses and grips me with his gray eyes.

I swallow hard to push back the lump of anxiety threatening to block my airway and the words I need to get out. "If the city council signs the documents to make the building a historic site, it can never be torn down. Even if Cassie doesn't buy it, or her bookstore goes bust after a year, I can't sell the city on my proposal. They won't keep the pond without the green space that will replace the building. They want a park with the pond and won't even consider buying the pond unless the shop can be torn down."

"That's not true." Grandpa pops the footrest on his recliner and pushes all the way back.

"What do you mean, it's not true? You know it is."

"I have the last say on whether the shop is designated historic. I'm the last one to sign."

I don't even know how to respond to that, so I sit first. I hate it when Grandpa is vague, expecting me to put the pieces together while not giving me any clue what the final picture is supposed to look like.

"Why are you letting her submit the papers to city council if you don't plan on signing them?" I ask finally.

"Because if the city council doesn't go for your proposal, even if Cassie isn't able to buy the shop, I don't want someone else coming in and tearing it down. I'm willing to say goodbye to a piece of my family history, but only for family. Only for you, apparently, since no one else but you wants to tear it down."

That takes me back, but only for a second. Then I see what he's trying to do. "Grandpa, I will not feel guilty about trying to keep the pond that meant so much to Mom. It's more important to me—and to you—than the shop. She told me more than once that she'd loved skating there with you when she was a kid, and she loved teaching her own kids what her dad had taught her."

"I'm not trying to make you feel bad," he says in the gruff voice I'm more familiar with than his calm one.

"But don't you see what you've done? I don't have a chance getting my proposal approved now." This may be the first time I've raised my voice to Grandpa, and I don't feel good about losing my cool.

"What makes you think you don't have a chance? I thought you believed in what you were doing." Grandpa's voice gets louder too, and seconds later Granny peeks her head into the room.

"Everything okay in here?"

"Fine," Grandpa and I both snap.

"It doesn't sound fine," Granny scolds.

"We'll keep it down, sweetheart," Grandpa tells her, politely, but in a way that seems as if he's shooing her out of the room.

"Thank you, dear," she says, cheerfully ignoring his dismissive tone. "Can I get you something to eat, Baby Bear?"

My eyes dart to Grandpa. This is not the time for Granny to use the nickname she and Mom had for me when I was little.

"Sure, Gran. Thanks." I give her a quick smile, careful not to dismiss her the way Grandpa did, but also wanting her to leave.

As soon as she's gone, I turn back to Grandpa. "I believe in my proposal, but how am I supposed to get the city council to believe in it too if Cassie's giving them another option for the property? Not only that, but she's presenting to them the same night I am."

"And that's what you're mad about? That she has the same chance you do to sell her idea to city council?"

"Yes!" I blurt. "I'm your grandson!"

"So, you're entitled to the building?" Grandpa gives me a pointed look.

The obvious answer is yes. But that's not the right answer. At least, it shouldn't be. I wasn't raised to believe I deserved to have something someone else had earned.

So I don't answer at all. I stare at my hands instead.

Grandpa points the remote at the TV and clicks on the news, a sign that our conversation is over. But as I'm about to stand, he turns his head to look at me.

"Now that you're mad, are you really ready to fight for what you want?" Grandpa raises an eyebrow.

I meet his eyebrow with a long stare. In the background, the weather woman announces warmer than usual temps are on the way. Paradise will be in the forties next week.

"I've always been ready to fight for it," I answer, but my eyes travel to the TV screen and the weather report.

Britta's words about an indoor rink come back to me as I realize I'll have to cancel practice next week until temps drop below freezing again. The ice will be too thin.

Grandpa's voice draws my attention back to him. "No, you've been ready to fight me for it. I'm easy to win over. You're my grandson, and I love you."

He clears his throat, seeming as surprised as I am that he used the L-word.

"Except I didn't win you over," I mumble, trying to get us back on familiar ground.

"You won me over, but if you want this park and pond to work, you need the city's support. Mine's not worth a hill of beans if they're not behind you, and you know it." His steely gray eyes bore through me. "How's your presentation coming?"

I swallow hard. I've been working on it, but every time I imagine standing in front of the city council, I break into a cold sweat. But I'm not about to admit that to Grandpa.

"I'm almost ready."

"Is it good?"

I shrug.

"Then you're not almost ready." He turns back to the TV. "It's got to be perfect."

"What's the point if the city has another option to consider?" Anger bubbles up again, as much because he's promised to sign the historic status approval as I am by the fact I know he's right about my presentation.

"Do you think it's a better option?" He re-positions himself in his chair, settling in as the news ends.

"Of course I don't."

"Then I guess your presentation better be good enough to convince the city council yours is the best plan," Grandpa says with less emotion than the newsman saying goodnight to his viewers.

"Doesn't matter how good it is if I freeze when I try to speak to them."

"Then I guess you better practice hard enough that you don't freeze," Grandpa shoots back.

I blink a few times, letting what he said sink in while my frustration softens into confusion. "Is that why you're doing this? To make me get over my fear of public speaking?"

Grandpa shakes his head. "Not entirely, but it will do you some good. The only time I've seen you fight for something you want is on the ice when someone's trying to steal the puck. Cassie's taken control of this game. You need some motivation to get it back."

He doesn't wait for me to answer, just turns up the TV for Wheel of Fortune. I stay where I am, letting a dozen emotions duke it out inside my head.

I want to stay angry at Grandpa, so I can blame him if I lose the shop. I want to still be frustrated with him for not helping me convince the city to develop the pond and shop into a park. I want to grab the remote from him and change the channel, because Pat Sajak is annoying.

But the other feeling emerging is a sense of pride. Grandpa seems to think I've got a shot with the city council, but he wants me to believe it, too. At least, I think that's what he was saying. That's why he put this fight into hockey terms…to motivate me.

He's right. I fight hard on the ice. And I want this badly enough to fight hard off the ice. So, maybe if I stand in front of the city council picturing them in helmets and pads—instead of underwear, like everyone keeps telling me works—I can fight. Maybe I can even forget about my nervousness and take control of the puck.

But I won't do it alone.

I'll have my team with me.

I smile at the thought of my girls convincing the city council they need a rink. Because who's got the courage to say no to a dozen pre-teen girls?

Darlene Voglmeyer. That's who.

So my presentation will still have to be perfect. That thought is intimidating, but at least I've got the motivation now to really work on it.

I stand and kiss the top of Grandpa's head. He flinches with surprise, but there's a hint of a smile on his face when I say, "Love you, too, Grandpa. Thanks."

After wolfing down the dinner Granny has waiting for me, I spend the rest of the night not only working on my presentation but also calling the parents of all the girls on my team. They don't hesitate in their willingness to help and I can't believe I hadn't thought about it before. I was so caught up in what this fight with Cassie was for me; I didn't even consider that other people might fight with me.

Many of them learned to skate on that same pond. They may not share my love for hockey, but they have their own memories they want to preserve.

Even as I work on my presentation, though, I can't quit thinking about Cassie for a variety of reasons.

Specifically, her plumbing.

I mean, the studio's plumbing.

The pipes in the building are as old as the building itself. They're cast iron, so they could last forever. But between the roll of toilet paper, and whatever else the squirrels may have knocked in the toilet, there's a major clog just waiting to happen.

Cast-iron pipes are amazing, but they do narrow with time because of rust build-up. I need to snake the pipe to make sure that the debris hasn't further narrowed the pipes. If water can't get through, the pressure will force a burst, usually at a seam or an elbow.

So the next day, after I finish putting in a toilet at one of Georgia's cottages, I head to the shop to both feed the squirrels and check the pipes. I don't know if Cassie will let me in the door, but I at least have to tell her she might have a plumbing problem.

Grandpa won't let any other plumbers besides me take care of the plumbing here, so if Cassie doesn't let me check the pipes, she'd better hope nothing is wrong with them.

Leaving nuts out for the adult squirrels is easy enough, but hand-feeding the babies takes some time. Their formula has to be mixed, then strained, then mixed again to make sure there are no lumps in it. After that, I cradle the first squirrel around his belly and use the syringe to feed him a little at a time.

He's so compliant that I can't wrap my head around how something this little and helpless could cause such a disaster yesterday.

I wish I had someone with me who could feed the other squirrel, because this isn't a fast process. Cassie is an obvious choice, but there's no way I'd ask her, even if I heard her next door—which I don't. Not after the way I talked to her yesterday, and not while she's working hard to make sure I never get my pond.

When I'm done with the squirrels, the sun has set, and I still have to check the pipes. So I find Cassie's info and send her a text.

Checking the pipes in the shop and studio for blockage. Hope that's okay.

BEAR

When she doesn't answer, I decide to check the shop's restrooms first, even though they're less of a worry than the studio's. I don't want to go into the apartment without her permission. But the pipes are all connected, so if there's a problem over here, there will be in the studio too.

Just as I suspected would happen, when I try the faucet, the sink fills. Something is obviously keeping the water from draining. The toilet also threatens to overflow when I flush it.

I snake the sink drain, but that doesn't fix the problem, which means things are even worse than I suspected. And if they're bad in here, they're worse in the studio where I suspect the source of the problem is.

I spend the next hour doing what I can to unclog the pipes, but the more I investigate, the more I'm sure the entire building needs a major re-pipe. To me, this is one more reason to raze the whole thing, but I am aware of my biases, so I keep it to myself.

My phone dings, and I pull it out. Cassie's name is on the screen with a three-word answer: That's fine, BJORN.

I almost laugh at the aggressiveness of it. I don't know why she refuses to call me Bear, other than to annoy me.

Except…she called me Bear yesterday. At least, I think she did. I was too angry in the moment for it to register.

A warm flicker of hope threatens to catch fire, but I quickly tamp it out. I can't risk reigniting the torch I've been carrying too long for Cassie, especially when I've got a face-off with her and the city council in a few days.

I tuck the phone back in my pocket and pack up my tools to take next door. As I drop the last wrench into my toolbag, I hear a dull clinking on the other side of the wall, where the studio bathroom is. I can't quite place the noise… it's not pipes… more like a —

—At the same time I pinpoint the sound, water turns on. The rings on the shower curtain. That's the sound. Cassie is taking a shower.

Didn't I tell her not to turn on the water?

I take my phone out and reread the too-short message I sent her that says nothing about not using the water. I should have checked the studio plumbing first, because now, on top of being worried about the pipes, I can't stop thinking about the fact Cassie is in the shower.

As if to confirm my worst fears, a loud rattling shakes the pipes to the toilet and under the sink. An even louder screeching follows the rattling, then crescendos before coming to a stuttering stop.

I have enough time to take one nervous breath before the crash comes. Seconds later, a much louder sound follows.

"Oh shhhh… eepadoodle."

I've been a plumber long enough to recognize the sound of a pipe bursting. Cassie's screams I'm less familiar with, but I'm certain that's the other noise coming from the studio.

I grab my bag and rush toward the door to the studio. The noise of rushing water mingled with cursing gets louder the closer I get, so I don't bother knocking. I burst through the door at full speed.

The light is dim, and I crash into what's on the other side of the door.

It's Cassie.

I crash into Cassie.

The floor is wet and slippery, and we both lose our balance. On instinct, I drop my toolbag and wrap my arms around Cassie to keep her from falling.

This makes her scream louder, so I loosen my grip.

That's when I realize she's wearing a towel.

Only a towel.

I step backwards, intending to let go of her, but there's something behind my feet that takes my legs out from under me. I fall backwards, grasping for anything to hold on to.

But I'm already holding something.

Cassie's towel.

My butt hits the floor first. In the split second before my head hits the floor, I see two things: the toolbag I've stumbled over and Cassie.

Maybe all of Cassie.

Then her towel lands on my head and we are both saved… Sort of.