Mike had the strong impression that Walter was hoping he’d find some.
“Bridget is a swimming instructor?” he asked. She was obviously good. Maybe he could hire her for a couple of lessons. It was frustrating to have someone beat him that easily. He hated losing.
“No, not exactly. She’s the coach for our swim team.” Walter sighed, obviously not happy to have to sing her praises. “She was a competitive swimmer, and yes, there has been improvement with the team so far,”
Walter didn’t seem to hope or want that to continue, but he cleared his throat, adding, “She’s not really one of us. She came up with this crazy idea about building community relations by teaching local kids to swim and got some of the members all excited about it, but I’m just waiting for those kids to cause a problem. They don’t know how to behave in a place like this, and they’re not likely to become members in the future. They’re going to start thinking they’re entitled to use our resources, and it’s going to cause trouble down the line.”
Mike kept his expression neutral. “Not really one of us” meant not rich. Mike had grown up close to the poverty line, so he didn’t feel quite like “one of us,” even though he now had enough money to make him welcome almost anywhere. When he was young, he would have been one of “those kids.”
He felt warmer about this Bridget. If she’d swum competitively, well, that would explain how she was able to beat him. And he liked her motive for starting this class, whether or not it would work out.
He also understood a little better why she might not appreciate his swimming during her class time. The pool was plenty big, so they could coexist, but Walter was obviously opposed to the idea of the class and would be pleased to squeeze it out. This must look like a first step.
“Thank you, Walter. I just wanted to understand. Since I’m new here, I don’t know the protocol. Didn’t want to ruffle any feathers.”
Walter assured him that no feathers worth worrying about were being ruffled.
He smiled and tried not to dwell on the fact that Walter had a very punchable face.
Mike thought he’d like to make a gesture to indicate that he would support the class, and decided to think that over.
He had no idea that the gesture would result in his being kidnapped.
* * *
BRIDGET FOUND THE gesture in an envelope addressed to her a couple of days later. In the envelope were ten tickets to a preseason Blaze game. There was a printed note, apologizing for the intrusion into her class space, and indicating that these tickets were in appreciation. There was a scrawl at the bottom that was presumably a signature, but it was illegible.
Bridget understood it was from the lap swimmer, and even for a preseason game, these hockey tickets were hard to come by. She cynically thought that money could solve a lot of problems. The lap swimmer must have a lot of cash. He was probably some business type, of which the club had many.
She’d never been to the new arena built for the expansion team ten years ago, and had never seen a professional game live in her life, even though her whole family had been hockey fans from birth.
Canadians loved hockey, so the new team, the Toronto Blaze, had quickly gained fans and sold out the same as the sister team. Her brothers would be very envious. That was the good part.
Taking eight kids along would certainly limit how intently she could watch the game. Or maybe prevent her from watching it at all. Bridget had nephews and nieces so she knew what she was in for.
The club had a van to take the swim team to meets, and Bridget was able to book it for Saturday. Tad was happy to come along when there was an opportunity to see a hockey game.
As expected, the outing wasn’t a walk in the park. The kids weren’t really bad. Tony of course had to question everything Bridget told him, but eight kids were a handful. She and Tad finally corralled them in their seats. Then Bridget had to prevent Tony from finding a better view by climbing over the seats in front of him. Seats that were occupied.
Bridget would have gladly watched the play on the ice, even if it was mostly prospects playing, but the kids started to get bored. Popcorn and drinks helped distract them for a bit, and then the trips to the bathroom began.
During the break between the first and second periods, Bridget and Tad split the children up and took them around the arena. Bridget started to wonder if this had been worthwhile. It would be nice to have the chance to explore the arena but these kids didn’t want to look at hockey memorabilia; they wanted to run.
Then, at the end of the second period, someone appeared at the end of their row.
Bridget had taken the aisle seat so that no one—Tony—could get out without her knowledge. Because of that she was the first to realize he was there, and she recognized him at once. The man was tall, six-four according to the newspapers, and Bridget thought that looked right. He was wearing a suit, minus the jacket, and wasn’t bad looking, especially for a hockey player. He had all his own teeth and hair, for starters. His nose had a distinctive bend from a previous break, but he wore it well. His hair was dark, his eyes a light gray.
This was Mike Reimer, the expensive goalie Toronto had acquired in a trade last year from Quebec City. The goalie who’d won three Cups in Quebec and then bombed out in Toronto.
He was standing at the end of the row, holding a handful of team hats. For a moment Bridget stared, wondering why he was there. Had their benefactor set up a meeting with a member of the team? Or...but no...
Then Tony said, “It’s that rotten swimmer from the pool!” And Bridget closed her eyes, wanting to strangle Tony.
Now she understood the preferential treatment her lane swimmer had been given by the management committee at the club, and the tickets for her class. She felt stupid. Anyone but a blind swimmer would have realized...but she had to open her eyes and deal with this. As briefly as possible.
* * *
MIKE HAD NOT been enjoying the hockey game.
He was in the luxury box with the rest of the players who weren’t playing that afternoon, but no one from the team had been talking to him. He got it. He really did. He knew he’d let them down during the last playoffs, and he hadn’t been forgiven. He was naturally a reserved guy, and had spent his entire career with one team. Learning to make nice with new guys wasn’t his forte.
It didn’t help that Mike’s backup was a popular guy. When the team’s starting goalie had retired after an injury last year, many thought that Turchenko would get his chance. Turchenko thought so, too. He was a gregarious guy who spoke in fractured English, and his mangled phrases were often quoted. He was blond and blue-eyed and looked good in photos. He was also undisciplined and lazy, not making the most of his natural talent. Mike found him immature.
But Turchenko was playing today, and doing well. So Mike “overheard” a lot of comments about how good the kid was doing, and he had to bite his tongue. Nothing was going to change unless he, Mike, went out and played like a top goalie, and there were still a couple of games before he’d be back in net. So, he grabbed the hats he’d picked up for the kids and took them over to see how things were going.
The redheaded instructor was there, this time in jeans and a jersey (not his of course) looking a little frazzled. He felt some satisfaction from that. It still smarted that she’d beat him in swimming.
“Everyone having fun?”