car.â
âThanks, Lindsey. How you doing?â
âFine. I hope you and Daddy win tonight.â
âThanks.â
âAnd I hope you donât let in any of those really long shots. Like remember against Montreal?â she said.
âMe, too,â I said.
âYou remember that really, really, REALLY long one?â
âHard to forget.â
âThe one that just rolled along the ice?â
âJust rolled along,â I said.
âI think I would have stopped that one,â Lindsey said, bending over and sweeping aside an imaginary puck with her imaginary stick.
âProbably would have,â I said.
âMaybe even Caitlin would have stopped it.â
âCaitlinâs only five,â I said.
âBut sheâs almost six and sheâs in Learn-to-Skate.â
âWhere is Caitlin?â I asked but Lindsey ignored the question.
âHow did that puck ever get into the net?â
âBad bounce,â I said.
âI hope you wonât let it happen again.â
I said Iâd try not to.
âHey, Linds, Mom wants to see you,â Cam said, bounding down the front stairs. âBonjour, Jean Pierre. Comment ça va, eh?â Thatâs Camâs way of needling me about my being the only French-Canadian player he knows who canât speak French. I spoke French as a child but I lost the language when Mom and I moved to Maine. Lewiston is a partly Francophone city but I went to schools where they spoke English.
âSo howâs it going with Julie the Account Exec?â Cam asked as he got in the car.
âYouâre one behind. Itâs Sheri the Equestrienne. She teaches at a riding academy in Weston.â
âA horsewoman? Howâd you meet her?â
âThe Ferrari,â I said. âSheri saw me hand the keys to the valet at Sonsie. It was love at first sight.â Sonsie is a swank Newbury Street bar and restaurant where people go to be seen or just to say theyâve been there.
âSo weâre into boots and riding crops, are we?â Cam said.
âShe takes off the spurs. Too tough on the sheets.â
âShe go to the whip much?â
âOnly in the stretch,â I said. âShe sure likes to be on top.â
âYou OK with that?â
âCam, Sheri the Equestrienne could ride a guy to a win in the Breedersâ Cup,â I said, nosing Boss Scags through the rain-slicked streets toward the Gardenâs underground garage.
I could afford to be loose. Reginald âRinkyâ Higgins, our backup goalie, was starting against the Islanders. Packy was saving me for our final two exhibition games. In the greatest preseason scheduling Iâd seen in nine seasons, we were playing a Thursday-night game against the New York Rangers at their training camp at the University of Vermont in Burlington, and then two nights later weâd play Montreal in Quebec City, one of the greatest restaurant towns in North America. The best part was the itinerary. Weâd fly to Burlington on Wednesdayâthe day before the gameâso weâd get a free night on the town. After Thursdayâs game weâd bus to Quebec, where weâd stay at the Château Frontenac, a castle on the north bank of the St. Lawrence River. Weâd have Friday night to enjoy Quebec before we played the Canadiens on Saturday.
That schedule had to be Packyâs doing. The Mad Hatter usually arranges our itinerary so we play more back-to-back road games than any other team in the league. On a back-to-backer we charter out right after the first road game, check into our hotel at some ungodly hour of the morning, play the second game that night, and charter home after the game. It saves a few bucks on hotels and cuts down on the chance of a player hitting for the cycleâgetting drunk, drugged, laid, and arrested. But it beats the hell out of you over the course of an eighty-two-game season. It also makes us feel