Chapter Text
Ottawa
June 18th, 2009
Yuna Hollander stood at her stove and stirred the oatmeal in the pot, absently looking out the window. The sky was clear, not a cloud to be seen.
A thump reverberated from above. Yuna sighed, her eyes darting to the kitchen table set for four. Tiredly, she pulled four bowls down from the cupboard above the counter. She rested her hand on the cool marble surface, her arm supporting her weight as she took a deep breath, preparing herself for the day.
“Yuna,” David murmured as he came over and kissed his wife’s soft cheek. “Mmm, porridge.”
Yuna watched her husband as he rooted around the cupboards—probably looking for the maple syrup.
“David, it’s on the top shelf, by the flour.”
“Ah, right.” He stretched up and grabbed the little stone jug.
As he turned toward the table, the morning light struck his face, relaxed and at ease. Yuna’s breath caught in her throat; her heart stuttered in her chest. Her thoughts were thrown back to that dreadful day.
She turned to the stove again, gripping the wooden spoon, and stirred the oats vigorously. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to push away the image of David’s ghostly pallor. She had never seen such terror in his eyes before.
December 2007 – Regina
“David, what’s happened? Is Shane in there?”
David blocked her entrance to the locker room at the Brandt Centre. He grabbed her shoulders firmly.
“Listen to me, Yuna.” His eyes bored into hers with an intensity she had never seen before. “I need you to run as fast as you can to the medical centre and get whoever is there to come here immediately.”
“Shane,” she gasped, trying to push past him. “Shane!”
“Yuna!” David shouted.
Shocked, Yuna looked back at her husband. Sweat was beading on his brow; his lips had a tinge of blue. She watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed convulsively.
“Yuna, we don’t have time. Go to the medical centre, tell them… tell them there has been a terrible accident and that they need to come right now. I am going to call an ambulance.”
David’s strong hands turned her toward the stark corridor and pushed her in the direction of the medical centre. She stumbled forward, confused, a constant buzzing in her ears.
“For god’s sake, Yuna – RUN!”
Yuna had run then, faster than she had ever run before. Her pounding footsteps echoed off the concrete floor and walls, the bleak fluorescent lights leading the way.
“Yuna, love, is the coffee ready?”
She jumped, blinked, and looked around. She was back in the kitchen. A small bird landed on the extremely crooked birdhouse in the garden. She smiled; Shane had made it during wood shop.
Suddenly David was there, removing the bubbling pot from the heat. A quick turn of his hand and he shut off the gas.
“Are you alright?” David asked gently, a large warm hand resting on her shoulder.
Yuna patted his hand. “Yes, I’m fine,” she said. But David was still looking at her with a worried frown. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”
She sighed quietly as David nodded once and went to get fresh milk from the fridge, setting it on the kitchen table.
A slam of a door overhead, then the thundering steps of two eighteen-year-olds on the stairs, shattered the quiet of the morning.
The noise was unfamiliar to her ears.
Shane had never made such noise before.
She busied herself dishing out porridge into the waiting bowls as wooden chairs scraped against the tiled floor.
“You look like you’re in a good mood today,” Yuna heard David say behind her.
She arranged the bowls on the tray and gripped the handles tightly. Drawing in a deep breath, she set her shoulders, plastered a smile on her face, and turned to face the day.
Yuna hesitated when she saw Shane for the first time that morning. She must have been frowning; David was giving her a sharp look. She took in the dark green corduroy trousers and the pink pin-striped shirt with white cuffs and collar. A terrible combination.
She didn’t say anything. It wasn’t like Shane would listen to her anyway.
“A dress shirt, Shane?” David said, signing at the same time.
“I told him those pants are old man gardening trousers,” Ilya said with a sad shake of his head. His blond curls bounced and his eyes crinkled with laughter. “But he doesn’t listen to me,” he added, his strangely accented voice, flat without emotion.
She smiled toward Ilya. She knew he only spoke out loud for her. She wasn’t as good at sign language as Shane and David. And Ilya still attended speech therapy every two weeks to maintain the clarity of his speech.
“Ilya, your ward has suffered a traumatic brain injury,” Doctor Singh had said, calm and to the point.
Yuna had just nodded, her throat closed.
“We don’t know yet if—or what—the permanent impairment will be, not until we bring him out of his medical coma.”
“What about Shane?” Yuna had managed to croak.
“I like the feel of the corduroy, and the shirt is comfortable,” Shane said as he precisely measured a teaspoon of maple syrup and then quickly stirred it into his porridge. He carefully brought a spoonful to his face, as if studying it, before popping it into his mouth.
“It’s your big day, Ilya. Are you ready?” David said, signing slightly clumsily.
Ilya, still chewing, signed, <We have been watching videos on YouTube> with a shrug.
<I have been quizzing Ilya on the tester’s questions> Shane signed broadly while grinning at him.
Yuna’s head turned back and forth, trying to catch the meaning of the silent conversation between the boys. She smiled, pretending to understand. She gripped her spoon tightly and dropped her gaze to her bowl, continuing to eat her porridge. She tried to swallow the guilt and swore she would try harder with sign language. She would practice more.
When she looked back to Ilya, she noticed the tightness in his face and the way he twisted his spoon, barely eating anything. She smiled warmly at him.
<What time test?>
Ilya smiled shyly. “Five past ten,” he said encouragingly, signing exaggeratedly <ten, oh, five a.m.>
A flash of the healing tattoo on Ilya’s ring finger distracted her.
Yuna looked at the analogue clock, just past eight. <Lots time to catch ready> she signed.
“Mum, it’s ‘there is lots of time to get ready’,” Shane corrected her, signing more quickly than Ilya ever did for her.
“Right!” She smiled stiffly at Shane and signed the words correctly as Ilya’s eyes darted between them.
<Yes, lots of time>, he signed, uncertainty clear on his face.
“Who wants more coffee?” David interrupted the awkwardness.
“Yes, I’ll have coffee,” Shane said.
“Me too,” Yuna added, relieved at the shift in tone.
<Ilya?> David signed.
<Just water, please>.
Yuna concentrated on finishing her breakfast, letting David’s easy chatter wash over her. She tried not to study Shane as he repositioned his coffee so that the mug’s handle was exactly ninety degrees to the coaster’s edge. Her brows pulled together as she tried to remember if Shane had done that before.
“I had my first spontaneous erection this morning,” Shane announced excitedly.
Yuna was yanked from her thoughts, her head snapping toward Shane.
Startled.
What had she missed?
“Congratulations, Shane,” David said reaching over and placing a warm hand on Shane’s shoulder and squeezed it.
Shane beamed.
“How was it?” David said looking interestedly at his son.
Shane spoke and signed at the same time. “It was different in a good way, actually kind of hard, I thought maybe that was just you know, hyperbole,” Shane said. His face scrunched up in concentration, just the way he used to look when he was working on a difficult homework assignment.
Yuna felt the heat flush across her cheeks. She turned her head towards Ilya, he didn’t look uncomfortable, his expression fond as he gazed at Shane.
“Ilya touched it too, I think I preferred it when it wasn’t my own hand, like… maybe… more intense!” Shane tried to verbalise his thoughts.
Yuna dug the nails of her left hand into her thigh, keeping her face neutral.
“What did you think Ilya?” Shane curiously signed to Ilya.
Ilya’s cheeks blushed a delicate pink as all attention was on him. He wetted his lips and frowned before answering. <It was nice> Ilya stroked his right brow with his index finger. <Really soft and sort of firm. Different from holding my own.>
“Did you like it Ilya?” David asked gently.
Yuna was always amazed that David somehow managed to make his signing look warm, gentle. She just felt clumsy.
Ilya bit his bottom lip and rocked very gently in his chair. <I thought maybe it would be scary.> He looked at Shane then and flashed a sharp smile. <But it wasn’t, because it was Shane. It was nice.>
Happiness was clear on Shane’s face.
“I even managed to ejaculate,” Shane told his father. “That was kind of disgusting and messy.” Shane’s lip curled slightly.
“Well sex can be messy,” David said. “But it should be fun too, for you and your partner.”
“Yes,” Shane nodded as he took a sip of his coffee. “I can definitely see the potential. I will talk about it therapy next week.”
“That’s a good idea,” David said as he gently patted Shane’s arm. “You should probably both mention it to your therapists.”
Ilya gave a less certain nod of agreement.
“You know it’s weird,” said Shane as he rolled his spoon between his fingers. “Because he used to masturbate a lot. Like all the time.”
“I,” Yuna interjected.
“What?” Shane said as he focused his attention on his mother for what felt like the first time that morning.
“You said he; it should be I,” Yuna stated more clearly.
“Really mum!” Shane said, heat already starting to appear on his cheeks.
“I just told you something really important, and your only comment is to correct my grammar?” Shane demanded, not even signing now, his nostrils flared.
“Shane.” David placed a calming hand on his son’s arm.
“You’re the same person, you shouldn’t be referring to yourself as someone else,” Yuna insisted.
“Shane what is going on?” Ilya said sounding alarmed.
“I just told you I was able to maintain an erection for the first time since… Regina. That I even ejaculated. It means I can have children; I might even be able to have an enjoyable sex life. That’s a fucking big deal.” Shane’s face was fully flushed red now, his eyes glittered.
“Shane?” Ilya said while rapidly signing, his eyes darting around the table, his face going pale.
“Don’t swear,” Yuna snapped. “It’s not healthy to be treating yourself as a new person. You’re Shane Hollander, my son.”
Shane jumped up, his chair scooting back sharply. “Mum, you’re a hypocrite,” he shouted. “You don’t even believe I am your son. You think I don’t know you treat me differently now?” Tears were already streaming down his face. “I remember. I do! You look at me like I’m a stranger.” He roughly wiped the tears away.
“I remember,” he whispered.
“Shane,” was all Yuna managed to say before he fled the room.
Ilya stood shakily from the table and darted after him.
“Yuna, what the hell was that?” David whisper‑shouted.
“David, I just don’t think it’s healthy for Shane to constantly refer to himself…” Yuna swallowed hard, trying to clear her throat. “…in the third person when he talks about himself before the… accident.”
“Yuna.” David spun away from her, drawing in deep, steadying breaths.
When he turned back, his voice was quiet but controlled. “It’s perfectly normal for Shane to refer to himself differently from before… the accident.”
Yuna dropped her eyes at David’s deliberate use of accident, the euphemism she herself always used to describe what happened in Regina.
“You would know this, Yuna, if you actually met or spoke with Shane’s therapist,” David said softly, a quiet reprimand.
Yuna turned her head away. She couldn’t bring herself to acknowledge the truth in his words.
“Well, I’m going to get ready to take Ilya for his driving test,” David said. He paused for a moment, standing by the table as the summer sun streamed into the kitchen.
Yuna remained silent, staring out the window.
David knocked lightly on the table. “Right then.” He walked to the door. “I’ll take the boys to the rink after the test. They’d probably enjoy some extra time on the ice.” Then he stepped out of the room.
Yuna let out her breath in a shaky exhale. Turning quickly, she began to stack the empty bowls and cutlery onto the tray, her movements sharp. She carried everything to the dishwasher, ignoring the rattling of the spoons.
She pulled down the dishwasher door. Her vision blurred so badly she could barely see the cutlery basket. Hot tears splashed onto her cheeks as her shaking hands loaded the bowls and mugs.
She stood at the sink, gripping the edge tightly, staring at that stupid birdhouse.
Ten Years Ago
“Mrs. Hollander, have you thought about maybe getting Shane referred for an assessment?” Mr. Murphy had gently asked her during an annual teacher meeting.
“Why? You said Shane was excelling in his classes,” Yuna demanded, bristling at the suggestion something might be wrong with her child.
“Yes, Shane is a very good student—a polite boy,” Mr. Murphy continued. “But he doesn’t interact with his classmates outside of assignments… and he can become quite upset if everyone isn’t following the instructions exactly as written.” The older man had looked at her hopefully, silently urging her to take his words seriously.
“Shane plays hockey. He gets on great with his teammates. Everyone says he’s a great team player,” Yuna said emphatically. “Shane is just quiet. Not everyone can be an extrovert. There is nothing wrong with my son.”
Loud, angry steps echoed from the hallway. Yuna heard the front door open. If she leaned forward, she could just make out David’s car and Shane pulling open the back door before climbing in and shutting it behind him. He hadn’t said goodbye.
“We’re going to head out now,” David said from the doorway.
“It’s still early,” Yuna replied.
“I thought we’d stop at the Tim Horton’s near the driving centre – settle Ilya’s nerves,” David said, walking fully into the kitchen.
“That’s a good idea,” Yuna agreed.
David’s warm hand settled on her shoulder. He kissed her gently on the cheek before stroking her long black hair. “Love, you can’t keep going on this way. It’s not good for Shane, and it’s not good for you either.”
Yuna nodded jerkily at his words.
David kissed her temple and gave her cold hand a squeeze. “See you later,” he said. He paused in the quiet kitchen. “I’ll let you know if he passes.”
Yuna nodded again and cleared her throat. “I’ll get a cheesecake for after dinner; to celebrate or commiserate,” she said, her voice sounding croaky to her own ears.
“Bye, love.”
David left the house.
A moment later, Yuna heard the engine start and wondered whether David was letting Ilya drive for one last practice before his test.
She put the milk back in the fridge and set the breakfast pot in the sink to soak. The rest, she decided, could be tidied later.
She moved into the living room, carefully avoiding looking at any of the family photos.
She wandered aimlessly, picking up large sweatshirts left where they’d been taken off: Ilya’s plain grey hoodie, and a navy blue one with a large multicoloured design on the front. Shane had worn it yesterday.
She picked up the navy hoodie and shook it out before smoothing the wrinkles with her hands. A tear splashed onto the fabric. She remembered so clearly how Shane used to fold his clothes with such precision, setting them in a neat pile.
She nearly choked as the memory struck her: how smug she’d felt watching other mothers trail after their children, picking up discarded pieces of clothing, while her Shane had been so tidy. He never left a mess. He had hated mess.
She bit down on her knuckles, forcing the sobs back even though she was alone.
She finished folding the clothes and set them aside. She would bring them to the boys’ room the next time she went upstairs.
She picked up the PlayStation controller and slipped it back into the entertainment unit. She opened the MLH 09 box and made sure the disc was inside. Her thumb traced the smooth surface of the game cover. A slight smile touched her lips. They had all played the game the previous night. Shane had insisted Ilya needed a distraction before his test this morning.
It had been… fun. She and Shane had played against Ilya and David, eating popcorn.
He had turned to her during the game, his face so open and happy. And it had struck her then; she couldn’t remember seeing Shane look that happy before.
She had wanted to scream.
She shoved the game back onto the shelf.
When she turned, she came face‑to‑face with The Picture.
She hated it. She had wanted to get rid of it – burn it, destroy it. She didn’t want it in her house.
But David wouldn’t let her.
Impulsively she grabbed it from the shelf and slumped into the nearest chair. She scowled at the image. Sixteen‑year‑old Shane stood in his brand‑new Hockey Canada uniform; the A proudly displayed on his shoulder. She looked at his face; his smile looked fake now, his eyes uncertain.
Was he happy? Or was he simply performing for her?
She had always loved hockey. When she was young, she’d been able to play with the boys. But around ten or eleven, she hadn’t been allowed to play anymore, and there hadn’t been a girls’ team.
She remembered the day Shane was born, when the nurse placed her baby in her arms and told her she had a son. She had been so happy. She had a son, and she would be able to share her love of hockey with him. There would be no barriers for Shane. She would make sure of it.
But now doubt plagued her. Had he enjoyed playing, or had she forced it on him?
She once had such hopes for her Shane. He would play for the MLH and be a star despite being Asian.
She pushed and pushed.
Shane, with his serious little face, so intense, so focused, always did as he was told.
She had been so proud when, at only sixteen, he’d been chosen to represent Canada as an alternate captain.
She had probably told him fifty times that scouts from all the major teams would be there. That being Asian meant he’d have to play twice as well as the others.
He would nod seriously and say, “Yes, Mum.”
She hugged the hard frame to her chest.
It had all gone so well. Team Canada had ultimately lost to Russia, yet Shane had played brilliantly.
She frowned, brows knitting together. No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t remember Ilya.
She knew he was there; Player 81, on the Russian team.
But she couldn’t remember what he had looked like then, without the jagged scar bisecting his left brow and running down his face to a point beneath his jaw. His doctor had said he’d been extremely lucky: no nerve damage, no loss of eyesight.
But she must have seen him, talking to Shane… she couldn’t have missed that, could she?
But Ilya’s memory of the tournament had been scramble; she’d been told this wasn’t unusual after a TBI.
Shane had said they’d spoken, but his memories were just as patchy.
If Regina had taught her anything, it was that she hadn’t known her son at all.
She didn’t know what had been real, and what had been performance.
The Shane now loved playing, loved playing with Ilya at the local rink, with the local club.
But this Shane was a stranger wearing her son’s face.
She pulled the photo away from her chest and peered down at it, sunlight glinting off the glass.
December 2007 – Regina
She slammed through the doors of the Regina hospital; she wasn’t even sure where she’d parked the rental car. She just had to find David. Find Shane.
David hadn’t let her go into the locker room. Even though she had cried and begged.
He had asked a pale‑faced security guard not to allow her in. The young man nodded stiffly before David disappeared again.
She had pleaded to go to her son. The tall guard had looked at her sadly.
“Ma’am, you don’t want to go in. You’ll never be able to unsee it.”
Terror had gripped her heart then.
She didn’t think she could breathe as her mind supplied horrific scenario after horrific scenario.
She was distracted as six emergency responders burst onto the scene, pushing two trollies down the corridor between them. A panting guard led the way. Yuna saw the sweat beading on his forehead as he gently pulled her aside.
She couldn’t see anything except the tiled wall directly opposite the door, like the privacy barriers in locker rooms everywhere.
Why were there two trollies?
She strained to hear. The guard kept a warm hand on her shoulder.
Finally, the door swung open and an EMT backed out into the corridor, guiding a trolley past the door.
A red blanket was pulled up to the patient’s chin.
Then she saw. But that couldn’t be her son. His face was cut and swollen, squares of gauze soaking up blood from vicious cuts. Tufts of black hair poked out beneath the bandages.
More EMTs followed, and then David.
Everyone rushed down the corridor toward the waiting ambulances. Yuna barely noticed the second trolley and patient. She saw one EMT carrying a saline drip and a blood pouch, the tubing disappearing beneath Shane’s blanket.
She did everything she could to keep up with the trolley, gasping through her sobs.
Up ahead, a stadium employee waved them toward the open bay door. One EMT sprinted to the cab, starting the engine.
Yuna was pushed aside as the remaining two EMTs swung open the ambulance doors and expertly loaded Shane inside.
“Mr. Hollander,” the older woman called, waving David forward.
“Yuna, I have to go. Get the rental car and meet me at the hospital,” David said before jumping inside. The doors slammed shut, and the ambulance pulled out of the bay, sirens blaring, lights flashing.
Yuna stood trembling.
She didn’t know what to do.
Her attention snapped back to the present as another EMT dashed past her and climbed into the driver’s seat of the second ambulance.
A moment later the second patient was wheeled out. A large gauze pad covered half his face; the other side was so bruised Yuna couldn’t recognise him. Maybe a glint of blond curl. There was too much blood to be sure.
The EMT noticed her stare.
“Do you know who he is? Are you with him?”
Yuna shook her head mutely.
Only after the doors slammed shut did she realise she should have said yes; then at least they would have taken her to the hospital.
Now she stood in the winter snow in Regina, shaking and numb.
She didn’t know where she was supposed to go.
“Mrs. Hollander? I’m Rachel. I can drive you to the hospital,” a young woman said. Her winter coat bore the Brandt Centre logo.
Rachel gently took her arm. “We can go this way. Do you have everything, your bag?” she prompted.
Yuna looked down. She had her coat on. She patted herself, panicked, until realising her handbag was still slung over her shoulder. The car keys and hotel key card were inside.
“Yes… I think I have everything,” she murmured.
“Do you remember where your car is? Families usually park in zones C1 through C9. Does that sound familiar?” Rachel asked as she guided Yuna toward the parking lot.
Yuna stopped abruptly. “Shane’s gear… I have to get his gear.” She tried to turn back, but Rachel held her firmly.
“I think the police will want to look at it first.”
Yuna blinked at her, confused. “Why would the police need to look at Shane’s gear? David said it was an accident.”
Rachel smiled gently. “Even if it was, because it happened at the arena, the police will still need to be called.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Eventually Yuna reached the hospital, where a kind nurse guided her toward David.
“Your husband, Mr. Hollander, is in here,” the nurse said, opening a door marked Family Room 1B.
As the door swung open, David stood shakily. The blanket around his shoulders slipped to the floor as he stepped forward, arms open. Yuna stumbled toward him and wrapped her arms around his waist.
Slowly, she became aware of David violently shivering in her arms. She pulled back and realised his face was pale and grey. Sweat beaded on his skin, but when she touched his forehead, he felt icy cold.
“My god, David, sit down,” Yuna demanded. She kept a firm grip on his hand as he lowered himself into the chair. She bent to retrieve the blanket.
As she stood, taking him in fully for the first time, the room began to spin. She blinked hard, trying to clear the black spots from her vision. She clutched the blanket and gripped David’s hand.
“The blood,” she stammered. His trousers were soaked up to the knees. Smears of dried blood covered him everywhere she looked.
Her ears rang.
A cheerful ringtone suddenly cut through the silence of the house. Yuna blinked, breathing heavily, waiting for her heartbeat to settle.
The phone continued to ring, finally breaking through her daze.
She stood quickly. Yuna placed the picture face‑down and went in search of her phone.