Page 47

The tournament registration table was set up in the lobby near the front entrance. We were halfway there when Hazel stopped walking.

"What's the point?" She was looking at the ground. "I'm not going to make it anyway."

I looked at Alex. He handed me Hazel's bag and crouched down in front of her.

"Hey. Can I talk to you for a second?"

I left them there and went to the table. The volunteer behind it handed me the stack. Tournament registration, medical waiver, emergency contact form. I filled them out against the counter while Alex and Hazel talked behind me.

I handed the forms back. "How long?"

"Just a few minutes. We have to process the medical waiver."

While I waited, I shifted the equipment bag on my shoulder. It felt lighter than it should. I unzipped the top and looked inside. Her pink helmet wasn't there.

I walked over to Alex. He was still crouched, one hand on Hazel's shoulder.

"I have to run back. She left her helmet."

"Go. We'll pick up the forms when they're ready."

I crouched down to Hazel. "Stay with Alex, bug. Listen to what he says. I'll be right back."

The rink was nearly empty. The Zamboni was running at the far end. I checked the bench where we'd been sitting. No helmet. I looked under the bench, along the boards. Nothing.

"Looking for something?"

Coach Hale was leaning against the doorframe of the players' entrance.

"Hazel's helmet. She left it somewhere."

"Cleaner probably grabbed it. He sweeps through after practice and moves everything to the lost and found." He pushed off the doorframe. "Come on. I'll show you."

I followed him through the players' entrance and down a corridor that ran along the back of the rink. He walked beside me with his hands in his pockets.

"Hazel had some rough moments today, but she's getting there. She's got more fight than half the girls on the roster."

"She works hard."

"She does. She gets that from you, I think."

I didn't answer.

The lost and found was a small room at the end of the hallway. Shelves along one wall, a bin of loose equipment, a rack of unclaimed jackets. He went in ahead of me and pulled Hazel's pink helmet off the second shelf.

"Here you go." He held it out with that smile.

"Thank you." I took the helmet. "I appreciate the help."

I turned toward the door.

His hand caught my arm.

"Hey, before you go. I just wanted to say, you're a really great mom. I see a lot of parents at this rink and most of them are on their phones the whole practice. You're here every Saturday, you're engaged, you're supportive. That matters for a kid like Hazel. Aspiring athletes need that kind of foundation at home."

"Thank you. Can you let go of my arm?"

"Alex isn't Hazel's father, though. Is he?"