Chapter 1

1

A steamy August day doesn’t sound like the best time to go recruiting for winter team sport athletes. But I didn’t set out looking for talent that day. It found me, in a way.

As one of fifty or so volunteers, I rode my bike along an assigned route in the city of Baytown, Ontario, helping with a heat mapping project. It’s something a lot of municipalities are doing these days as a counter-punch against global warming. By identifying those areas with the highest temperatures—literally, the hot spots—cities can identify where tree planting or other measures might help to mitigate the thermometer’s year-by-year upward march.

It’s an initiative that involves looking ahead, since the impact of a shade tree planted today won’t be felt in a big way for another ten, fifteen, even twenty-five years. And since I can see age fifty on the horizon, a gesture like this is like an act of faith. Faith that I’ll still be around. And faith that the blue and green rock we all call home will still provide fit habitation for humans and other species.

The organizers dispatched us, equipped with temperature-monitoring sensors, along specific routes to collect the data. Each of us completed our routes three times, at various points in the day. Puffing slightly from exertion—my assigned path had included a few hills—I pulled in to the marshalling area after my third and final pass, looking forward to the promised barbeque and a cool drink. And that’s when I saw her.

Tall, blonde, and tanned, the woman who caught my eye stood at the administration table talking to Leanne, the event organizer.

“You covered a lot of ground,” Leanne said.

The athletic woman nodded modestly. “When I heard you were short on volunteers, I took on a second route.”

“Well—thank you.”

“It’s no problem,” the other woman said, turning to go.

She really is in shape, then.I bit my lower lip. I didn’t normally approach strangers this way, but the thing was, I was short a few bodies on my broomball team. Age and injury had nibbled away at our roster the past few years, and I had to fight back where I could.

When the other woman wandered over to the beverage cooler to pull out an electrolyte drink, I walked over and struck up a conversation. “New in town?” I asked.

“Just came back after some time away.” She smiled at me, her brown eyes conveying both warmth and a hint of mischief. “My name’s Valerie—Val for short.” She extended her hand, and I shook it.

“Kayla,” I said. “Nice T-shirt.” I nodded to the bright yellow shirt Val sported, which had a picture of a snake and the wording, “I Brake for Snakes.”

“It fits with the job. I do contract work—wildlife and nature stuff. Tagging, inventories, that sort of thing. Including reptile inventories.” Her expression darkened. “You wouldn’t believe the amount of road kill that happens.”

“So, you were working a contract?”

“Yeah. Out on the East Coast.”

“Nice.”

“Nice enough. My last assignment finished a week ago, and between jobs, I’m staying with my sister. She lives in the West End.”

“They’re looking for someone to collate this data,” I said, pointing to a poster beside the food table.

“Thanks for the tip,” she said, darting a glance toward the poster. “Something to think about during the off-season. Winter’s usually a slow time.”

“If you do happen to stick around—” I paused, gathering my courage. She seems nice enough. And maybe she’s looking for something to do during the winter months.“You don’t happen to play broomball, do you?”

Her expression brightened. “Sure do. I love it. I’ve heard your league is still going. More than you can say for most places.”

“We’re hanging on by the fingernails,” I said. It was a point of fact that our quirky sport—similar to hockey, save that we wore shoes instead of skates and substituted a cantaloupe-sized ball and stylized broom for puck and stick—had lost steam over the decades. “Our league’s got mostly older women, thirties and up, but there’s some younger players too. So, how about it?”

“Sorry,” she said. “I’ve already been approached.” Perhaps reading the disappointment in my expression, she placed a hand on my arm. “Maybe we’ll see each other on the ice.”

“Maybe.”

As I watched her walk away, I sighed. We could have used the additional body, but that wasn’t all. Val struck me as someone I’d like to get to know.

Maybe you can catch up with her when you play.

Not the answer I wanted, but I’d have to settle for that. 2

There’s something magical about a new sports season. Seeing old friends again, renewing acquaintances and rivalries. Wiping the slate clean, starting out on the same footing as everyone else. No wins, no losses. An ocean of possibility ahead, unspoiled as a sheet of freshly-groomed ice.