4. Rory

Chapter four

Rory

T he overly sweet scent of Dottie Perkins' lavender perfume swirled around me as we squeezed through the town hall entrance. Her elbow jabbed into my ribs while she spoke as much with her hands as her mouth.

"...and can you believe the nerve of that man? Proposing to close our rink! Why, I remember when you and that Bennett boy practically lived there. I told the late Mr. Perkins we should pitch a tent for you on the ice. Such sweet little troublemakers," Dottie prattled on, and her voice boomed over the hum of the gathering crowd.

I nodded in response while my eyes scanned the room. Familiar faces from Whistleport blurred together into a patchwork quilt of concern and curiosity. Old Mr. Havelock's persistent wheeze provided a steady backbeat to the nervous chatter.

"Earth to Rory!" Dottie's voice sliced through my thoughts. "I asked whether you've seen Brooks yet in this crowd. Lord knows that boy's return is all anyone can talk about. Today, when I got my perm, Kayla Montgomery nearly swooned when she heard he's back."

"Not yet," I admitted, wincing as someone's chair screeched across the tile flooring. "I'm not worried. He said he'd be here."

"Oh? And when exactly did you two have this little chat, hmm?" Her elbow pounded my sore ribs once more.

Before I could pull together a wordy response that said nothing, Mayor Flannigan's gavel cracked against the podium. The room quieted, save for the rustle of jacket removals and the occasional muffled cough.

Just as the mayor raised his gavel again, I heard the door creak. Brooks slipped into the back of the crowd, doing his best to avoid drawing attention, but he failed. I snickered to myself, thinking he was like a moose trying to tiptoe down Main Street.

The crowd gasped. Heads turned, whispers began, and suddenly, the discussion about the rink melted into an effort to gain the attention of Whistleport's hometown hero.

Old Mrs. Pendleton, her arthritis-gnarled hands clutching her purse, screeched, "Land sakes, is that Brooks Bennett?" She stood and dramatically held a hand to her forehead.

Ziggy Knickerbocker rose from his chair a few rows ahead of me. His eyes were as wide as hockey pucks as his gaze locked on Brooks.

Even stoic Silas, leaning against the back wall with his arms crossed, couldn't hide his surprise and appreciation. His eyebrows shot up, followed by a grin, a smile, and a nod of respect.

Still at my elbow, Dottie Perkins acted like she'd won the gossip lottery. She clamped her fingers on my arm, the acrylic nails digging into my skin. "Oh my stars," she breathed, her voice trembling with delight. "It's so awful that Myrna can't be here!"

Brooks kept his head down through the commotion and didn't acknowledge the noise. He slid into an empty chair at the back.

I caught his eye for a brief moment and gave him a small nod. He returned it almost imperceptibly before turning his attention to the mayor at the podium.

Mayor Flannigan redirected the crowd to focus on the primary issue of the night. His voice boomed through the hall with a dark gravity that was sharply different from his usual upbeat nature. "Friends and neighbors, we find ourselves at a crossroads tonight. Our beloved Whistleport Ice Arena is under threat. It has been the cornerstone of our community for over fifty years, and I implore you to do all you can to help save it for future generations.

He paused and looked around the room. Everyone leaned forward, hanging on every word.

"We've made many efforts to patch the building's infrastructure as it continues to deteriorate, but now it is crumbling so fast that we can barely keep up. The cooling system is close to failure, and I'd rather not speak about the locker rooms in front of those with tender sensibilities." A few nervous laughs rippled through the crowd.

"If we put all of our effort into this project, it would risk draining the town's budget dry. We'd have nothing left for the upkeep of the docks, boardwalk, and City Hall itself."

When the mayor paused, everyone spoke at once. Panic pulsed through the crowd. Without even thinking twice about it, I stood while my heart pounded in my ribcage.

"Mr. Mayor," I called out in a steady voice. The room was suddenly silent. Hundreds of eyes focused on me while I swallowed hard.

"That rink isn't merely another historical building in Whistleport. It's where I, and countless others, learned to skate, holding onto the hands of parents, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, and grandparents. I scored my first goal there and nursed heartbreak at center ice. Without the arena, I would have never become a coach for your children."

I inhaled sharply while individual memories began to flood my mind. "Half of the kids in our town learned the meaning of teamwork there. So many of us gather there on viciously cold winter nights to cheer until our voices give out. The arena is the winter heart of Whistleport."

Many heads nodded, and I heard several calls of "Yes," followed by, "He's right," before Mayor Flannigan's gavel slammed down again. He opened the floor for discussion to a flurry of raised hands.

Silas took the floor first. He pushed off from the wall he'd been leaning against, his usual easy-going demeanor replaced by a quiet intensity. He cleared his throat, drawing the room's attention.

"Folks, I suggest something like a town-wide fundraiser. I'd be willing to chip in a portion of Tidal Grounds' profits for the next month or so." He paused, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. "And I reckon we could get other businesses to join in. Maybe set up a kind of local sponsorship program?"

He glanced around the room, making eye contact with other business owners. "It's not just about the money, you know. It's about showing that we're all in this together. That rink... it's part of what makes Whistleport, well, Whistleport."

Silas shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. "Plus, I figure if we save the rink, I might sell a few more post-game lattes. Win-win, right?"

His words, delivered with his characteristic mix of sincerity and gentle humor, resonated with the crowd. A few chuckles and nods of agreement spread through the room.

"Just something to consider." He settled back against the wall. "After all, a rising tide lifts all boats... or in our case, maybe it's rising ice that lifts all skates?"

The room groaned good-naturedly at his pun, but that didn't stop people from seriously considering his words. Silas was a master at bringing everyone together. His suggestion struck the perfect balance between practical action and community spirit.

Before the mayor could respond, Dottie Perkins shouted, "Yes! Yes! We could revive the Winter Carnival!" Heads turned in her direction. "My great-aunt Mildred always told stories about the grand event that brought the entire town together during the first week in December. They had hockey, figure skating… the works!"

She looked around the room, eyes twinkling behind her cat-eye glasses. "Can you imagine? We could have all that and more! And think of the tourists it would bring in. Why, we could charge admission, set up hot chocolate stands... oh! And we simply must have a winter queen pageant. I nominate myself to organize that part, of course."

Dottie winked at no one in particular. She held her hands up to her head. "I still have my tiara from the 1972 Miss Whistleport contest. I bet it would look lovely on one of our young ladies. Or maybe I could dust it off myself, for old times' sake?"

She chuckled at her own suggestion, oblivious to the mix of amusement and exasperation on the faces around her.

"And imagine, with all the excitement, we might even convince our hockey star to appear. Brooks wouldn't mind signing a few autographs for the cause, would you, dear?

All eyes swiveled to Brooks, who looked amused and alarmed at being suddenly pulled into Dottie's grand vision.

"Well, what do you all say? Doesn't that sound like a hoot and a half?"

The room buzzed with a mixture of excitement and skepticism. Old Mr. Havelock spoke up with a verbal pin designed to puncture Dottie's high-flying balloon. "That's all well and good, but some of these repairs should have been done yesterday. They can't wait until December."

Ziggy Knickerbocker stood next, gripping the back of the chair in front of him with white knuckles while kicking his toe against the floor. "Um, so I had an idea," he started, his voice cracking slightly. "What if we got some of the pro teams involved? Like, maybe they could do exhibition games here or something?"

He looked around the room, gaining confidence as he saw people nodding. "I mean, think about it. The Bruins or maybe one of the AHL teams... People would totally pay to see that, right?"

Ziggy's gaze landed on Brooks, and his eyes widened with sudden inspiration. "And, uh, maybe Mr. Ben— I mean, Brooks could help set it up? With his connections and all?"

Ziggy shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "We could make it a whole event, you know? Like, autograph sessions and skills competitions. Our team could help out, maybe do a demo game or something."

He suddenly grinned from ear to ear. "Man, can you imagine skating on the same ice as the pros? That would be sick!"

Ziggy paused, blushing slightly, climbing down from his emotional peak. "I mean, uh, it could be great for the town. And the rink. Sir," he added, nodding awkwardly at the mayor.

A flood of suggestions followed, some more creative than others. Mrs. Pendleton proposed a bake sale, and the high school principal suggested launching a "Save the Arena" campaign on social media.

Surprisingly, through it all, Brooks was silent. He sat still with an inscrutable expression. He did pay attention, scratching his stubbly chin as he listened to every word.

Finally, Mayor Flannigan put the gavel down and raised his hands, calling for an end to the discussion. "These are fantastic ideas, but we must face one significant fact. The immediate repairs will cost $500,000 on their own. Then, we can start to talk about the cost of ongoing maintenance and upgrades."

I heard defeated sighs ripple through the room. Finally, from the back, Brooks called out, "What if we brought in corporate sponsors?"

All heads turned toward him. He stood. "I've got connections in the NHL. Maybe we could build a partnership and leverage backing from equipment companies. I could speak with my agent. He's probably familiar with that sort of thing."

An excited buzz swept through the crowd while the mayor nodded. "I can see that as an avenue worth exploring, Brooks. We all appreciate your suggestion."

As the meeting adjourned, the crowd began to disperse. I caught snippets of conversations and heard the sound of renewed hope. My fellow residents lingered in small groups, discussing the various proposals presented.

I watched Brooks walk through the crowd, shaking hands and exchanging brief words and occasional hugs with old acquaintances. He did his best to maintain a low profile, but nobody could ignore his presence.

As he neared the exit, I saw Ziggy Knickerbocker practically vibrating with excitement, waiting for his chance to speak to his local hero.

"Thanks, Mr. Bennett! I can't wait to tell the team about your ideas."

Brooks chuckled, warm and genuine. "Just Brooks is fine, Ziggy. And hey, keep working on that slapshot. Rory tells me few goalies in Maine can stop it."

Ziggy beamed and then scampered off, leaving Brooks and me face to face.

"Looks like you've got a big fan club here in town."

Brooks shook his head, but it was impossible to hide his gentle smile. "What do you expect me to say? The kid's got good taste in role models."

We both laughed. It struck me how quickly we'd fallen back into our old rhythm despite the years and miles between us.

"So, corporate sponsors?" I raised an eyebrow. "That's some big-league thinking there, hotshot."

He shrugged. "Nothing else sounded like it could bring in the big checks we need. This place deserves a fighting chance."

I nodded, understanding completely. "It's good to see you fired up about something local again. I wasn't sure how you'd feel about the old place."

Brooks scanned the hall, taking in the faded banners and scuffed floors with a fond expression. "Honestly? It's about twice as homey as I expected. There's just something about this town."

"Oh, I know," I agreed, experiencing a surge of affection for our quirky little corner of the world, clinging to the rocky shore, fighting back against the pounding waves of the Atlantic Ocean. "Speaking of home, my mom's been asking about you non-stop since she heard you were back. She's still not back in good enough shape to make it here tonight. Want to come say hi? I promise she won't keep you all night."

Brooks' face lit up with genuine warmth. "Margot Blake? Now, there's a force of nature I've missed. How's she doing?"

"Recovering from a fractured hip," I explained. "She had a bit of an adventure on her bike. I guess we both have parents who refuse to slow down, but she's doing well, all things considered."

"Sounds like the Margot I remember," Brooks chuckled. "Lead the way. I could use some of your mom's famous charm right about now."

As we stepped out into the crisp night air, the scent of pine and salt carried on the breeze. A sense of rightness settle over me. Brooks' return might have stirred up a whirlwind of emotions and memories inside, but underneath it all, I couldn't stop believing that we'd finally found that last missing jigsaw puzzle piece that made our town whole.

As we strolled down Maple Street, I listened to the distant lapping of waves against the shore. Warm breezes would arrive soon, but I could still smell the faint scent of woodsmoke from a fireplace, working to fight off the chill of an early spring night.

The silence between Brooks and me would have been awkward a day earlier, but now it was comfortable. Along the sidewalk, the streetlights glowed warmly over the rows of clapboard houses, their windows gleaming like friendly eyes in the darkness.

"So," Brooks said, breaking the quiet, "are you living with your mom now?"

I nodded. "Yeah, just until she's back on her feet. Or rather, her hip. I'm renting out my place for the duration, and it's been... an adjustment."

An adjustment. What an understatement. I thought about the late-night expeditions in search of ice cream, the constant fussing, and the loss of privacy. Still, there was also the laughter, shared memories, and comfort of family. It was complicated, just like everything else in my life lately.

"I bet," Brooks murmured. "Life with Dad's unlikely to be a picnic for me. What about your father? Heard anything?"

"Oh, you know, Dad," I sighed. "Still off chasing his dreams in California. He calls once a week, asks how Mom's doing, and then launches into tall tales about his latest business ventures."

Brooks placed a comforting hand on my shoulder, the warmth of it seeping through my jacket. "I'm sorry, man. Must be a constant challenge for you."

I shrugged, trying to ignore the lingering tingle from his touch. "It is what it is."

As we rounded the corner onto Lighthouse Lane, I noticed Brooks slowing his pace; his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Wait a second," he said, coming to a stop. "Is this the way to your mom's house, too? I mean—"

"Welcome to the neighborhood, neighbor." I grinned.

Brooks' eyes widened as realization dawned. "You're kidding me. Are we next-door neighbors?"

I pointed to the two houses, both with warm light spilling from their windows. "That's us on the right and your dad's new place on the left."

Brooks crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, I'll be damned. Small world, huh?"

"More like a small town," I chuckled. "Mom said that when your dad bought the place, he stopped over and said something about wanting a change of scenery."

"And you didn't think to mention this earlier?" Brooks asked, his tone caught between amusement and disbelief.

I shrugged, trying to look innocent. "Must've slipped my mind. Besides, I figured you'd want to discover some things for yourself."

Brooks shook his head, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "You haven't changed a bit—still full of surprises."

As we stood there, considering our new living situation, I wondered how it would influence our future. Having Brooks next door would make things interesting, to say the least.

As we stepped onto the porch, the door flew open before I could even reach for the knob. My mother stood there, backlit by the warm glow of the entryway, her silver hair catching the light like a halo.

"Brooks Bennett!" she exclaimed, her face lighting up with unbridled joy.

Brooks' posture softened immediately, a genuine smile spreading across his face. "Mrs. Blake, it's great to see you."

"Oh, none of that Mrs. Blake nonsense," she scolded, pulling him into a tight hug. "It's Margot, same as always. Now come in, come in! You're letting all the warm air out."

We shuffled inside, the familiar scent of cinnamon and old books enveloping us. Mom hobbled ahead, her cane tapping a staccato rhythm on the hardwood floor.

"Rory, be a dear and put the kettle on," she called over her shoulder. "Brooks, honey, how do you take your tea these days?"

"Oh, you don't have to—" Brooks began, but Mom waved away his protest.

"Nonsense! You can't have a proper catch-up without a cup of tea. Now, sit down and tell me everything."

As I busied myself in the kitchen, I heard Mom's rapid-fire questions in the background. Brooks did his best to answer them.

"What are you planning to do with your time? Have you thought about coaching? Oh! Did you know that Rory's been coaching the high school team? You two should compare notes!"

As I returned with the tea tray, Mom's interrogation continued.

"So, Brooks," she said, leaning forward eagerly, "how long are you planning to stay in Whistleport? A few days, couple of weeks?"

Brooks accepted his mug with a grateful nod. "Honestly, I'm not sure yet. It depends on how Dad's recovery goes."

"And what about your career? Have you thought about coaching? Oh, I'm sorry, I already asked that." Mom laughed.

Brooks chuckled. "Coaching has crossed my mind—announcing, too. I've had a few offers to coach in the minors, but nothing concrete yet."

"Rory took the team to the state tournament last year. I was so proud of him."

I felt my cheeks warm. "Mom, I'm sure Brooks doesn't want to hear about my exploits with teenagers."

"Actually," Brooks interjected, "I'd love to hear about it. We haven't gotten to talk about your team yet."

As I described our recent tournament, Mom's eyes darted between us, a knowing smile playing on her lips.

"Brooks," she interjected when I paused for breath, "tell me more about this sponsorship idea of yours. It sounds like it lit up the town meeting."

Brooks set down his mug, his expression turning serious. "Well, how I see it, we need to think bigger than just local fundraisers. If we can get some corporate sponsors involved, maybe even an NHL team, we could really make a difference."

"That's quite ambitious," Mom mused. "How would you go about it?"

"I've got some connections through my agent," Brooks explained. "And honestly, many of these companies are looking for feel-good stories for their PR. Saving a small-town rink could be perfect for them."

Mom nodded approvingly. "That's the spirit! This reminds me of the time Rory's father organized that big lobster bake to save the lighthouse. Do you remember that?"

I groaned good-naturedly. "How could I forget? I smelled like butter and Old Bay for weeks."

Brooks chuckled. "I remember that! Didn't you end up—"

"Wearing the lobster costume?" I finished, hiding my face in my hands. "Yes, thank you for digging into that traumatic memory."

"Oh, you were adorable," Mom cooed. "I think I still have pictures somewhere..."

"And on that note." I hastily stood. "I think it's time we let Brooks go home. It's getting late, and I'm sure he's tired."

Brooks rose, still grinning. He offered Mom a huge hug. "This was great, Margot. Thank you for the tea and the walk down memory lane."

Mom waved away his thanks. "Oh, don't give it a second thought. You're welcome anytime, dear. And I mean any time. Don't be a stranger just because you live next door now."

As I walked him to the door, Mom called, "And Brooks? It's good to have you home."

He paused at the threshold. "It's good to be home."

As we stood on the porch, a sudden wail cut through the quiet evening. Brooks and I exchanged a confused glance as more sirens joined the first, their urgent cries growing louder.

"That's coming from downtown," I said, a knot forming in my stomach.

Brooks nodded. "Sounds like more than one—"

The shrill ring of my phone cut him off. I fished it out of my pocket, my heart racing when I saw Ziggy's name on the screen.

"Ziggy? What's going on?"

His voice came through breathless and panicked. "Coach Blake! It's... it's the arena. Part of the roof just collapsed!"

The phone nearly slipped from my suddenly numb fingers. I looked up at Brooks, seeing my shock and disbelief mirrored in his eyes.

"The arena..." I whispered, the words feeling heavy on my tongue. "Brooks, the roof collapsed."