Robbie almost blurted “I know” but caught himself in time and stepped forward. “How are you, sir?”
“Fine, Robbie. But please call me Joe.”
“Joe has something he’d like to ask you, Robbie.”
“Me?” Robbie said, surprise obvious in his voice.
Joe cleared his throat. “Actually, I was wondering if you’d like to go to Maple Leaf Gardens with me tonight. I’ve got a couple of tickets for the game.”
“You mean see the Leafs and the Canadiens...and the Rocket?” Robbie almost shouted.
Joe furrowed his brow. “The Rocket?”
Emily smiled again. “Rocket Richard, Joe, the most famous player in all of hockey. He plays for the Montreal Canadiens.”
“Hmm, I think I’d better put a condition on this invitation.”
Robbie’s face clouded with apprehension, but Joe grinned quickly and slapped him on the shoulder. “Stop worrying. It’s not that serious. My condition is that you teach me all about this game of hockey because, obviously, I haven’t a clue. I only know English football and cricket.”
“No problem, sir...Joe. I can tell you everything there is about hockey.”
“Then it’s settled.”
Emily got to her feet. “Okay, you two, if you’re all done, how about some lunch?”
Throughout the meal Robbie glanced surreptitiously at both his mother and Joe. It was the first time ever that a man, apart from his grandfather, had sat at their table, and Robbie wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Although he already knew he liked Joe Wilkie, he was still a bit disturbed by this turn of events.
By the time lunch was over, however, Robbie’s unease had completely vanished, and he was warming up to Joe more and more. “Mom, can I go and tell Billy about going to the hockey game? He’s going to flip when he hears.”
“Of course,” Emily said.
“Joe, wait’ll you see the Rocket and Doug Harvey and Jean Béliveau and Boom Boom Geoffrion and Jacques Plante and—”
“What about the Maple Leafs?” Joe asked. “Don’t they have star players, too? And shouldn’t you be cheering for them since you live in Toronto now?”
Robbie stared at Joe in disbelief. “Boy, do I have a lot to teach you. Everybody knows the Canadiens are the greatest team that ever played.”
That first hockey game with Joe proved to be the beginning of a wonderful winter for Robbie, marred only slightly by the “duty” Christmas visit to his grandparents in Montreal. But even that was tempered by the superb new pair of ice skates presented to him by Joe just before the Englishman returned home to spend Christmas with his family.
Armed with his new skates, Robbie spent most of his time in Montreal at the local rink renewing old friendships. But he was surprised at how much he missed Joe and their regular trips to the Gardens to see the Leafs in action. Robbie found himself wishing away the days until his return to Toronto so that he and Joe could pick up where they had left off.
The rest of the winter went by in a flash, and before Robbie knew it, the cherry and apple blossoms were blooming in the trees, the Canadiens were well on their way to another Stanley Cup, and he was trying on his Esso Canucks little-league uniform.
Robbie felt a real surge of pride as he studied himself in his bedroom mirror. He looked pretty good in his uniform and decided to keep it on to show his mother when she came home.
His mother was unusually late that night, and Robbie was starting to wonder if something had happened when a peep through the window for about the twentieth time revealed a gleaming red-and-white Thunderbird with huge tail fins pulling into the driveway.
Robbie gasped at the sheer beauty of the car and wondered whose it was. His surprise turned to sheer puzzlement when his mother got out of the vehicle. He ran outside and down the front steps, all thought of his new baseball uniform forgotten in his eagerness to discover who owned this amazing car. But his mother noticed his uniform immediately. “My, don’t we look smart. Let’s have a good look at you.”
Robbie, though, was only interested in the Thunderbird. “Mom, whose car is this? I wish we had one like it.”
“Well...actually we do, Robbie. I just bought it.”
“This is our car?”
“Yes, it is. Now let’s go in and let poor Mrs. Brady go home.”
“But, Mom, can’t we go for a little ride first, just to show Billy? Please, Mom?”
“Later, Robbie. Right now Mrs. Brady has to get home to her family.”
Mrs. Brady had appeared in the driveway and had heard Robbie’s plea. “Oh, it’s all right, Miss Emily. I can hang on a few more minutes. Give the lad a ride.”
“See, it’s okay, Mom. Let’s go.”
Emily laughed. “Come on then,” she said, and they both got into the car.
Billy was in his front yard as they drove by slowly. “Hey, Billy, what d’you think of our new car?” Robbie called out.
Billy looked up in amazement when he saw the Thunderbird. “What a beauty!” he yelled back.
Although Robbie had kept up his nocturnal visits to the landing once a month throughout the winter, he had heard little that was interesting about the plane and generally crept back into his room after an hour or so. But at the first meeting after his mother bought the Thunderbird, things really got exciting again.
Joe Wilkie started off the discussion. “I don’t think I’ve seen Crawford Gordon so angry. I thought he was going to burst a blood vessel after the air force insisted on having this new Astra electronics system from RCA Victor.”
Jack Fowler took a sip from his coffee mug. “It’s the cost factor that’s really bothering Crawford. We’ve got enough trouble with the government on cost overruns as it is, and Crawford’s convinced this new system will send the bureaucrats into another panic.”
“Well, they approved it, didn’t they, Jack?” Robbie’s mother said.
“That won’t help us if it inflates the budget. They’ll find a way to blame us. Count on it.”
“I agree,” Emily said. “Even though we’ve stated clearly that we’re convinced the Hughes system with the Falcon missiles will do the job for a fraction of the price, it won’t make any difference if the Astra’s development costs spiral out of control. The politicians will hold us accountable, anyway.”
Joe nodded as he helped himself to some potato chips. “Yes, and don’t forget that the Sparrow 2 missile that goes with the Astra package has to be built, as well, and there’s no way anyone can know how expensive that will be, especially since the Yanks are building it and we don’t have much control over it.”
“As far as I can see, all we can do is what Crawford keeps telling us—make sure the production of the CF-105 moves as fast as humanly possible and let the chips fall where they may,” Fowler said, smiling slightly as Joe dropped some potato chips on the floor.
A little numb with fatigue, Robbie returned to his room and climbed quietly into bed, his mind trying hard to grasp