The Man Upstairs. Pamela Bauer
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I was just about to make some hot chocolate…or would you rather have a cup of tea?”
“Hot chocolate sounds good.” Dena removed her jacket and slung it over the back of one of the wooden kitchen chairs before taking a seat. “Where’s Bethany and Jeremy?”
“Jeremy’s at hockey practice and Bethany’s at a birthday party for one of her friends from school. It’s her first pajama party so I’m a little anxious about it,” Lisa admitted as she poured milk into a pan on the stove. “I didn’t want her to go. I think eight’s a little young for slumber parties, don’t you?”
Dena shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. When it comes to raising kids, I don’t have a clue.” It was the truth. With no younger siblings and having spent a good portion of her teenage years at boarding school, she’d missed out on the typical baby-sitting experience. The only time she’d been around kids had been during the holidays that she’d spent with her brother and his family.
“Ryan and I have days when we feel the same way,” Lisa said with a grin.
“You must be doing something right. You have good kids,” she said sincerely.
Lisa sat down across from Dena. “You’ve only seen them on their best behavior. Just wait until you’ve been here awhile,” she said with a crooked smile.
Dena glanced around the room—at the drawings on the refrigerator door, the toy trucks lined up next to the wall, the bulletin board covered with heart-shaped reminders of appointments and school activities. The picture on the shelf over the sink caught her eye. It was a photograph of her brother with his three children. Three-year-old Luke was on his shoulders, his pudgy arms wrapped around his father’s neck. Bethany clung to one arm, twelve-year-old Jeremy was on the other.
“Ryan is so different from my father. He never played with us kids.”
“He probably didn’t have the time—he worked so many hours,” Lisa said.
Dena nodded and didn’t follow up on the comments, not wanting to discuss her father’s shortcomings. Not that she would be telling her sister-in-law anything she wasn’t aware of. Having known Ryan since they’d been in the seventh grade, Lisa was privy to all the family secrets. She’d been his steady girlfriend when Dena’s mother had abandoned her family, leaving two teenaged kids in the care of a father whose response to losing his wife had been to bury himself even deeper in his work.
Even though she was the one to inadvertently mention her father, she was grateful when Lisa changed the subject. “So tell me how everything is with you. Are you happy with your new job?”
“So far, so good,” she said with caution. “It’s going to be a lot of pressure, but that’s to be expected. It’s the nature of the work. I’m going to have to put in some long hours, but it’ll all be worth it.”
“Ryan said you were stopping over because you need a donation for a charity auction?” Lisa remarked with a lift of one eyebrow.
“Yes.” She started to explain, but before she could finish, the back door opened and in trudged her brother and nephew, both of them dusted with snow. As they exchanged greetings, Dena thought Ryan looked like a lumberjack, with his red plaid jacket, knit stocking hat and full beard. He pulled the hat from his head to reveal wavy blond hair the same shade as Dena’s.
“Perfect timing,” Lisa said, getting up from the table. “Dena just got here.”
Ryan kicked off his boots, then took a seat at the table next to his sister. “So what kind of auction item are you looking for, again?”
“That’s what I was hoping you could tell me,” she answered. “You’ve lived in this area for quite some time. What type of item do people purchase at a charity auction?”
“It depends on the kind of crowd it is,” her sister-in-law told her as she helped Luke out of his snow-suit. “When they had a silent auction at Bethany’s school to raise money for the new gymnasium, the hot item was a basketball signed by one of the Timberwolves. I would think that memorabilia signed by professional athletes would always be popular.”
“I suppose I could go to one of the sports stores and get an autographed baseball,” Dena pondered aloud.
“If you do that it’ll cost you a few bucks,” her brother pointed out.
“Why don’t you just ask that guy upstairs from you to donate something?” Lisa suggested. “Didn’t you say he’s a professional hockey player?”
“That’s what I’ve been told, but I haven’t even seen the man, let alone talked to him. If it wasn’t for the fact that I heard some noise up there one night last week, I wouldn’t even know anyone lives upstairs.”
“You’d think you would have run into him by now.”
“I’m relieved I haven’t. I don’t have time to get chummy with any of my neighbors.”
“You don’t have to get chummy with him,” Lisa said. “Just ask him to autograph something and donate it to the auction. I bet people would pay good money for one of his hockey sticks.”
“If he has a name people recognize.”
“What is his name?” Ryan asked.
“Quinn Sterling,” Dena replied.
Ryan’s jaw dropped open. “He’s the hockey player who lives on the third floor of your building? You didn’t tell me he was in the NHL.”
“I didn’t know,” she said in her own defense.
“Quinn Sterling,” her brother repeated in amazement. “Who would have expected him to be living in a boardinghouse with a bunch of women.”
“It isn’t a bunch. There are only three of us and we each have our own apartment,” Dena reminded him.
Ryan shrugged. “I guess the guy has to live somewhere…and it probably helps him keep a low profile.”
“So what’s he like? Is he nice?” Lisa asked, turning her attention to the stove.
Ryan chuckled sarcastically. “Defensemen usually aren’t described as ‘nice.’”
Dena wrinkled her face. “He isn’t one of those guys who’s always fighting, is he?”
“I’m sure he’s spent his share of time in the penalty box. He has a reputation for being bad…which is one of the reasons the fans love him.”
“Then he’s popular?”
“In Minnesota he is. He’s a good hockey player,” her brother stated matter-of-factly. Luke was at his side, arms outstretched, waiting for his father to lift him onto his lap. Ryan scooped him up and propped him on one knee.
“Would you say he’s like the Michael Jordan of hockey?” Dena wanted to know.
Ryan gave her an indulgent look. “Basketball and hockey are two different sports, and no one’s like Michael Jordan. Quinn’s made a name for himself, although I don’t think he’s ever made the All-Star team.”
“But would a hockey stick signed by him bring in big bucks at a charity auction?”
“Probably anything signed by Quinn would do that.” Lisa had set three mugs of hot chocolate and one small cup for Luke on the table. Ryan reached for the small cup and helped his son take a sip.
Dena thought again of how different he was from their father. So patient, so protective. So interested in his son.
“Quinn Sterling was born and raised in St. Paul,” her brother continued. “That’s one of the reasons he’s so popular in this area. Hockey fans around here were very happy when the Cougars got him on a trade.”
“Sounds like the right guy to ask for a donation, Dena,” Lisa stated.
“Yes, but how am I