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And today was one of those events days.

“A Day at the Beach,” as the coordinators of the day liked to call it, was a typical charity day in Newport Beach during the summer – because in Southern California, September still constituted as summer – where the players, coaching staff, managers, and even the owner would all congregate to this private beach, and fans were able to purchase tickets in order to attend where they could meet, speak, take pictures, ask for the autographs, and pretty much socialize with those people that made up the team.  There was also free food and drinks, a full bar, a raffle, Gil the Gull – the team mascot – and other games for kids.  It wasn’t the cheapest charity event the Gulls had, but it was probably the most relaxed; people were dressed in flip flops and bathing suits, not gowns and neckties.  And even Emma had to admit that it was hard to feel uptight on such a beautiful day.

From the corner of her eye, Emma could see her father talking to who Emma remembered as the head coach of the team, Henry something.  He was an older gentleman, somewhere in his sixties if she had to guess.  Short, reaching her father’s chin, but Henry’s grey eyes were commanding, adding to his already strong presence.  He was bald for the most part, but even so, he wasn’t wearing a signature Gulls cap in order to hide the fact.  He was portly, but unapologetic about it, though for a day at the beach, he was dressed somewhat conservatively; a white, long sleeved shirt and black board shorts.  On his feet were blue
Crocs, and they looked like they had been worn for a while.  He seemed approachable but firm, and the way his small mouth moved as he replied to whatever Emma’s father said seemed to show the seriousness of the topic.

Normally, Emma would put in her
iPod, grab a hot dog and at least two bags of chips, before heading off in order to eat.  It wasn’t as though she would blatantly avoid anyone associated with hockey, but she simply didn’t care, and as such, didn’t want to waste her time faking smiles and forcing conversation with people she was certain would forget her name moments after she exited the conversation or would only remember her as her father’s daughter.  However, she had heard numerous rumors from her father about something happening to the owner of the Gulls, Ken Brown, and considering that she couldn’t place him here, she wondered whether or not there was any truth to them.  Death?  A heart attack?  Isolation?  Dementia?  Murder?

Biting her lower lip, Emma threw the now-empty paper plate into a nearby metal garbage can before subtly making her way over to her father and Henry.  She didn’t want to interrupt the flow of their conversation, especially since she wanted to overhear just what was being said, but she needed to get closer in proximity to them in order to actually hear the two.  Of course, she knew that if she asked her father later what was being discussed, he would tell her.  They had an easy, open relationship, and besides the typical subjects that were normally kept private by twenty-two year old women from their fathers, they talked about everything.  But this gave her something to do while here, to occupy her mind with rather than everything else she would rather be doing.

“…just don’t understand why someone would do something like that to Ken,” her father murmured, shaking his head. 

Emma could tell her father was sincere in his statement.  In fact, she remembered that he and Ken would share dialogues at these events about the Gulls.  Her father liked him, and even more than that, respected him.  For Emma, this said a lot because her father didn’t respect many people.

Henry shrugged his shoulders, and Emma could see sadness clearly written in his grey irises.  Which was weird, because in the six years that Henry was the coach of the Gulls, she’d never actually seen him sad.  Upset?  Yes.  Mad?  Yes.  Excited, happy?  Yes.  Strict, firm?  Yes.  But sad?  No.  Not even when his team didn’t make the playoffs.

This couldn’t be good in relation to Ken.

“Well, nothing’s definitive yet,” Henry said.  His voice was low and gravelly, key in barking out plays and formations and other hockey-related things to his player.  But in normal conversation, especially when expressing sympathy, it was almost off, as though his voice wasn’t made to express calm emotions.  “But Seraphina did mention a bump on the back of his head and bruises around his throat.  Jesus, I can’t even imagine what it must be like for her, having walked in on that mess.”

“She found the body?” Emma’s father asked.  His thick brow pushed together, his rich brown eyes Emma inherited from him pooling in concern.

Henry nodded, allowing a sigh to slip through his flared nostrils.  Emma watched as he looked away from her father and focused on the smooth horizon of the deep, blue Pacific Ocean.  The light sky contrasted the difference between the same color, with puffy white clouds blotting out patches of blue in the sky in order give people something else to look at besides its vastness.

“Jesus,” her father echoed.  He, too, shook his head and averted his eyes, but instead of looking out at the sparkling water, he looked down at the sand currently slipped between his toes.  “And they don’t know if it’s…”

Emma glanced over at her father, surprised that he couldn’t say the word murder in this context.  He was used to defending business corporations and CEOs and that stuff, but certainly he was familiar with the vocabulary.  He must have studied business cases that involved murder.

Maybe it was because he knew Ken…?

“It’s unofficial, but from what Seraphina says, I have to believe it is,” Henry replied.  He takes a drink of his water, finally returning his eyes to the man he was conversing with.

“But, why?”

Her father asked the question that had been on the tip of Emma’s tongue since rumors swirled that Ken was, in fact, murdered.  She almost asked it now, but managed to hold back at the last second, careful not to reveal her true intentions of standing idly by the two men.  They probably thought she was thinking of some dance she should be memorizing the steps to or choreographing something for herself, which, under normal circumstances, she would be, but today was not a normal day.  And now that Emma knew Ken wasn’t here, this day at the beach didn’t seem as bright as it had once been.

Emma had only met Ken a handful of times, but he always left a lasting impression on her.  When he talked to her, she felt as though there was nothing on his mind.  He didn’t take her less seriously due to her age, and when she gave him her opinion about something, Emma felt as though he were actually listening to her.  Granted, he didn’t always agree with what she said, and had no problem telling her as much, but he never spoke down to her and treated her as though she were his equal, and no some girl who was only around because her
dad loved hockey and had lots of money.  Sure, he could be stubborn but she didn’t see how anybody would actually want to kill Ken.  And if what his granddaughter, Seraphina, said was true, that he had bruises on his neck and a bump to the head -  Why would anyone want to attack an old man?

Again, Henry could only shrug his shoulders.  “I couldn’t tell you,” he said, shoving his free hand in his pocket while he shook his water bottle gently.  It looked almost subconscious, like he didn’t realize what he was doing.  “The police are investigating.  They took all the necessary evidence, the books, photographs, you know, crime scene stuff.  They should be finished with it soon.”

“What’s going to happen to the team?” her father asked.  “I mean, without an owner, will it go on the market?  Will there even be a season this year?  I’m surprised that today was still scheduled, what with everything that’s happened.”

Emma knew that if her father didn’t love his job as much as he did, he would be the first person in line to buy the Gulls and manage the team, just as Ken had.

“Yeah, well, Katella and Seraphina talked and they both decided that today should still be celebrated,” Henry said before taking another sip of water.  “They both believed their grandfather would want things to continue on as though nothing happened, and they’d be right.  Ken was always a practical guy, you know.”

“And the team?
  I heard rumors that Ken thought about selling the team in order to retire.”

Emma could hear the slight hesitation in her father’s voice, almost as though he was afraid about the possibility of the Gulls not playing this season.    

“Yeah, I heard that too.”  Henry looked at the sky, and Emma suddenly realized that maybe the tough-as-nails coach was searching for his friend up in the sky, looking for concrete answers everyone down here could only speculate about.  “The only thing I know about it is that whatever was going to happen, whatever decision Ken was going to make, only Ken knew about it.  He never mentioned retiring to me, but who knows?  I know that the only thing he loved more than this team is his family, so maybe he wanted to spend more time with them.  But again, he never said anything like that to me.

“As for the team…”  He let his voice trail off as his eyes trailed to the ocean once again.  “I’m not one hundred percent sure, but there have been theories that Seraphina could possibly inherit the team.”

“Seraphina?”  To say her father looked flabbergasted at this statement was an understatement.  “Sidestepping over the fact that she’s – what? – twenty-three, inexperienced, and has little if any knowledge about hockey, why wouldn’t Ken give the team to Katella, who runs her own event planning committee and who happens to be dating Matt Peters, or at least, to both of them?  Why just Seraphina?”

Emma frowned at her father’s question.  Granted, as a dedicated fan and unofficial investor considering how much money he put into the team by buying tickets, merchandise, and attending charity events, his question was warranted, and Emma was sure people would be wondering the same exact thing.  But at the same time, she felt slightly protective of this woman she had never met, only because Emma knew what it was like to be underestimated based solely on her appearance and the demographics she belonged to.  Just because Seraphina was young and inexperienced didn’t mean she
couldn’t
own and manage a hockey team; it just meant she had a lot to learn.  And Ken was smart; he wouldn’t give the team to his granddaughter unless he was certain she could handle it.  Right?

“I can’t say,” Henry said, but there was an enigmatic smile touching his thin lips.  “But you should give her the benefit of the doubt, Jeremy.  Sure, you really haven’t seen her at the games or the events.  In fact, except for meeting with Ken at least once a week at his office in Sea Side, I don’t think Seraphina’s ever been affiliated with the team.  But Ken chose her as successor – allegedly, of course – for a reason.  And I, for one, have faith in it.  He doesn’t make serious decisions, any decisions really, without serious thought, contemplating the pros and cons, and even then, after all of that, he’d still go with his gut and face those consequences head on.”  He smiled lightly at the memory of his friend before something compelled him to frown. 
“Didn’t.  I meant to say he
didn’t
make decisions lightly.”

“Well, if you have faith in her, then I guess I can give her a try.”

Emma wasn’t sure if her father was just saying that in order to show support for Henry or if he really meant it.  Henry and her father were close acquaintances and Emma knew he didn’t like to see someone in pain, but at the same time, she knew just how protective over the team he was, and even though Seraphina was Ken’s flesh and blood, her father didn’t seem to be entirely sold on her as a successful owner and manager of the team.

“Did you know he signed Brandon Thorpe against everyone’s advice?” Henry asked, his sadness suddenly vanishing from everywhere on his face save for those grey eyes.  “Brandon Thorpe.”

“Our goalie?” her father asked, surprise clearly evident in his voice.  “But he’s arguably one of the best players on the team.”

“Not two years ago,” Henry replied, shaking his head.  Emma guessed he was finished with his water bottle because he had yet to drink from it again and he wasn’t shaking it side to side.  It was resting in his hand, his fingers gripping the plastic loosely.  “When he first started playing, he signed with the Chiefs up in Canada as a number two goalie.  He played one or two games in the actual season, and even though he won both of them, the Chiefs thought it was in their best interest to get rid of him, so they traded him to the Washington Sabers where he started.  He was good, but not great, and after five years, they traded him to us for Kelly.  Remember Stephan Kelly?”

“I remember him.  He was a good defenseman,” Emma’s father said.  “I still don’t understand though.  Why would Ken trade him for Thorpe if Thorpe wasn’t that great?”

Henry shook his head.  “To this day, I still don’t know,” he said.  “But dammit if it wasn’t one of the best decisions he ever made.  Thorpe is now one of the best goalies in the league.  But he wasn’t back then, and unless Ken had some kind of future-telling powers, he couldn’t have known what Thorpe would be.  But, I figure if he felt as sure about Seraphina running the team as he did about Brandon Thorpe, we might as well give the girl a chance before we dismiss her.”

Emma smiled at Henry’s sentiments.  She barely heard her father respond – no doubt in agreement – and decided that if she was going to continue to eavesdrop, she would need more food.  Without drawing attention to herself, she made her way over to the empty food table.  Her appetite had always been healthy, and she knew she was lucky her mother signed her up for dance classes when she was three because surely she would be overweight if, instead, she took art classes or something else that required practically no physical movement.  It was such a stark contrast to the environment she grew up in, however, because here in Orange County and especially in Newport Beach, people ate as little as they could, exercised more than they should, and did anything else including but not limited to going under the knife in order to eliminate any shred of fat from their already naturally slender bodies.  She never felt the pressure to be any slimmer than she already was, but then again, she had never been chubby after shedding the baby fat once she hit puberty.  She ate as much as she could, and when her stomach told her it was full, she stopped.  Sure, she got odd, disgusted, and even jealous looks from people from time to time, and there were moments when she felt self-conscious about her eating habits, but for the most part, she didn’t let it affect her.  In fact, she didn’t take for granted the insecurities of the people that surrounded her because in moments like this, there was plenty of food for the taking.