Untamed: Heath & Violet (Beg For It 3)

“The winter Olympics, yeah,” Dave agreed, warming up. “You ever see footage from the Miracle on Ice?”

“That was the hockey game with the US and the USSR?”

“One of the greatest upsets of all time.”

“I think I saw a documentary about it on HBO.”

That was all Dave needed. He talked Violet’s ear off right up until the game started, all while I went and got her a hot chocolate, while different folks came up and tried to say hello.

“He’s talking up your girl, there.” Helga, an older German woman who taught dance downtown came up and teased me.

“Aw, I don’t mind him,” I assured her. And I didn’t. Dave was harmless. And I kind of liked seeing how sweet Violet was being to him, listening so politely now as he started in on some other great Olympic moments.

“Well, time’s a ticking,” Helga warned me, waving a boney finger in my face. “You snap that one up.” She pointed right at Violet, just in case I had any question as to what she meant.

“Yes, ma’am,” I agreed. Maybe it was the influence of my gram. She’d always been such a large presence in my life, commanding such respect. I’d been taught from an early age to listen to the older women in my life. They almost always seemed to know what they were talking about.

“See that you do.” She left me with a significant nod, and then a saucy wink.

A little hippie organic farmer girl who’d moved into town about a year ago came over and gave Violet a hug like a long-lost friend.

“I’m so glad you’re here!” she sang out.

“I’m excited for the game,” Violet agreed, and she sounded as if she meant it.

“It can get a little violent.” The girl widened her eyes. She’d painted green stripes through her hair.

“OK.” Violet nodded, duly warned.

Crotchety old Fred made his way on by, knocking people he passed with his cane. “Watch where you’re goin’!” he barked at them, stopping from time to time to tip his cap or snarl at certain individuals. It was all or nothing with Fred.

The game started in with a goal in the first minute. Against us. Violet was clutching my shirt and screaming in no time, just how I liked her, only we kept it PG in the stadium, our attention riveted out on the ice.

“Shoot it!” Violet was screaming along with the rest of the fans, not a clue in the world what she was talking about but boy did she mean it. Dave gave her a high five. Apparently her fervor had won him over.

At halftime, Violet turned to me, flushed with excitement, her eyes alive and bright. “I freaking love this game!” she declared.

“Yeah? You a hockey fan now?” I smiled.

“I don’t know about hockey.” She shook her head, “but this game? I love this game.” She gestured all around her. The whole town had come out, not just the siblings, parents and grandparents of players but anyone who knew anyone, and then the ones who didn’t came anyway, too.

“It’s a good crowd,” I agreed, surveying it, the mix of ages, the depth of love for the team.

“Is the entire town here?” she asked, amazed.

“Pretty much,” I agreed.

“Is it like this for every game?” She noticed a middle-aged woman with her face completely painted the team color green.

“Pretty much.”

“Heath.” She grabbed my hand between both of hers. “I know you think I’m crazy, with this reality show. But, seriously, a show here could really work. There’s so much in Watson people would love!”

“You think?” I looked down at her, enjoying her excitement, but still having my doubts.

“I know it!” she insisted.

“Aren’t you worried about ruining it by brining in cameras?”

“They won’t! We have cameramen in town already and they’re not disrupting anything!”

“You do?” Since when had they started filming?

“They’re just getting some preliminary footage, only with a couple people who’ve signed off. And who knows what’ll happen at the town hall Monday night anyway. But I’m starting to get really excited about it, Heath. This could be such a cool opportunity for Watson.”

A cool opportunity? I wasn’t sure about that. But Violet looked so cute standing there beside me, big chunky woolen mittens covering up her hands as she clapped them together and screamed her lungs out for our boys to bring home a win. And win they did, in the final seconds of the game, making everyone in the stands jump up and down like it was scripted out of a Hollywood movie.

§

Violet had mentioned she used to ice skate. But she hadn’t skated in years. That seemed a shame. We had plenty of ice to go around, a couple of indoor rinks within easy driving distance and an outdoor pond that froze over good by the middle of winter.

I picked up a pair of skates for her, nothing fancy, but they’d do. It was easy enough to figure out her shoe size. When she stayed over after the hockey game I’d shagged her so good she’d passed out cold. I had, too. The girl was a potent drug. But Sunday morning, I’d awakened before she had and checked the size of her shoes.

I had to drive a little ways away to find a sports shop that was open. New England had gone a long time since the Puritans, but a lot of places still closed up shop on Sundays. I drove the 45 minutes telling myself I had a few tools I needed to pick up in the nearest Vermont version of a big city.

But I knew why I was driving the 45 minutes. OK, nearly an hour. I wanted to see the smile on Violet’s face when she went ice skating. She lit right up, that one, when she got excited. I was still getting to know her. There was a whole bunch left unshared between us, but I was getting a good feel for her. She held herself together tight. She’d mentioned growing up with a busy single mom and I got the picture. She’d had to take care of herself from a real young age, then moved out to L.A. at 18 and had been hitting the pavement hard ever since.

I knew back in L.A. Violet supposedly did things “for fun.” She hit private parties and clubs and events, the line between work and play at those sorts of things all blurred since the goal was always the same: cultivating an ever-expanding network. But watching Violet unwind over the past few weeks in Watson, it was like watching a flower bloom, all that change happening so naturally and yet unexpected and amazing all at once. It was hard to believe the woman screaming her lungs out at the hockey game last night was the same one who’d tottered into Dave’s bar two weeks ago and ordered an appletini. Next step: ice skating.

I left the box on her front door. I wanted to give the skates to her, not make a big deal about it. She’d know they were from me. I wasn’t trying to go stalker on her, but the gift was about making her happy, not making her give me a hug of gratitude. Though I’d take one.

A few hours later I got a text from Dave:

Your girl’s out on the ice.

That was a small town for you. No one could do anything without everyone knowing. I grabbed my jacket and headed for my truck.

I tried the pond first because it was my favorite spot, and I was right. She’d headed there. Dusk was falling, the sky a rich, dark purple, and the couple of outdoor lights the town had managed to fund blinked on. Suppertime on a Sunday, Violet nearly had the rink to herself, only a couple other families out there on the ice with her.

She looked like she was flying, gliding around on her skates with a huge smile on her face. I’d meant to park and get out, say hello, but instead I found myself sitting there. If I got out and waved, she’d stop skating, and I didn’t want her to have to do that. I wanted her happy, gliding around, lost in whatever world she’d discovered out there on the ice. She must have taken more than a few lessons as a kid. She was good. No triple axels or anything, but she had an easy grace as she swept along the ice and made a few twists and turns that showed she knew what she was doing.

And me, I sat there in my truck and had one of those moments. The kind when you might not know how you know, but you just do. And as I sat there watching Violet in the fa

ding, soft purple light of dusk, I knew. I knew I was in trouble deep.

§

“What’s that on your face?” Dave asked me at the town hall meeting. Monday night, the first of February, and everyone had turned out. The possibility of filming a reality show in Watson was the biggest thing since sliced bread. Bigger, even.

I reached up and wiped my lips. Maybe I had some ketchup on me from my burger for dinner.