Chapter Seven
Tessa arrived at The Bicycle Thief eleven minutes late and found Nina seated on the restaurant patio with a glass of white wine already in front of her.
It was the first afternoon in more than a week that Tessa had left Atlantic Centre while the sun was still high enough to reflect off the harbour.
The waterfront boardwalk was crowded with tourists, office workers stretching their lunch breaks and people who appeared to have nowhere more important to be.
Boats moved slowly beyond the railing while gulls circled overhead, waiting for someone to abandon a plate of food long enough to make stealing it worthwhile.
Nina watched Tessa approach over the rim of her glass.
“Eleven minutes.”
“I know.”
“I said one o’clock.”
“I know what time you said.”
“And yet here you are at one-eleven.”
Tessa slid into the empty chair across from her and lowered her bag to the ground. “Practice ran late.”
“Of course it did.”
“And then I had to wait for one of the assistant coaches.”
“Of course you did.”
“He was answering a question for a story.”
Nina set down her wine. “I’m sure it was a matter of national importance.”
“It was about penalty-kill personnel.”
“Then I take it back,” Nina dead-panned. “The country thanks you for your service.”
Tessa smiled and reached for the water glass waiting beside her place setting.
Nina had positioned herself with a clear view of the harbour, though Tessa suspected she had chosen the table primarily because it allowed her to monitor the restaurant entrance and document exactly how late Tessa arrived.
They had been friends long enough that Nina no longer pretended not to keep score.
“Thank you for still being here,” Tessa said.
“I considered leaving.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I considered ordering without you.”
“That I do believe.”
A server appeared before Nina could respond. Nina ordered another glass of wine and a salad. Tessa selected pasta after scanning the menu.
When they were alone again, Nina folded her arms across the table.
“So.”
Tessa waited.
Nina continued looking at her.
“So what?”
“How is it?”
“How is what?”
“The job you’ve been trying to get since we were nineteen.”
Tessa glanced toward the harbour.
She had been asked the question several times since training camp began. Her editor had asked how she was settling in. Her mother had asked whether the players were nice. Former coworkers wanted to know whether the NHL was as glamorous as it looked from outside.
Tessa had answered each person differently without lying to any of them.
“It’s good,” she said.
Nina waited.
“Really good.”
“That’s all I get?”
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything. Is it terrifying? Is everyone awful? Does the press box have free food? Are the players as hot in person as they look on television?”
Tessa laughed. “You made it four questions before asking that.”
“I showed restraint.”
“The press box food is free. And everyone’s been nice.”
“Everyone?”
Tessa hesitated for half a second.
Nina noticed.
“There it is.”
“There what is?”
“The exception.”
“There isn’t an exception.”
“You just made a face.”
“I didn’t make a face.”
“You made the face you make when you’re about to explain why someone is technically not an asshole.”
Tessa opened her mouth, then stopped.
The server returned with Nina’s wine and asked whether they wanted bread. Tessa said yes before Nina could answer, mostly because it gave her several seconds to reorganize the conversation.
They watched the server leave.
Tessa reached for the glass of water again. “There’s a player who doesn’t like reporters.”
“That sounds reasonable.”
“You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I am. But I also know what you people do.”
“We ask questions.”
“You call during dinner and ask whether someone is devastated after the worst night of his life.”
“I don’t cover crime.”
“You know what I mean.”
Tessa did.
She looked out toward the boardwalk, where a child had dropped something near the railing and was attempting to retrieve it while his father held the back of his shirt.
“He had a bad experience when he was younger,” she said. “Or several, probably. He came over from Russia when he was nineteen, and his English wasn’t good. People took advantage of it.”
Nina’s expression shifted, the teasing receding slightly. “How?”
“I don’t know everything. He hasn’t exactly given me his personal history. But there was an old quote from his rookie year that got twisted. He tried to say he was late reading a play and used the word lazy. They ran with that instead.”
“Okay. That’s shitty.”
“It was.”
“And now he hates you?”
“He doesn’t hate me.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“I’m not disappointed.”
“Then what does he do?”
Tessa broke off a piece of bread when it arrived and began spreading butter across it with more attention than the task required.
“He assumes every question is designed to make him look bad. The first time I interviewed him, he gave me one-word answers, told me I already had the story and walked away.”
Nina stared at her. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish.”
Their meals arrived before Nina could reply. She waited until the server had arranged the plates and walked away before she returned to the conversation.
“But he’s talking to you now?”
“Barely.”
“That’s not a no.”
“He answered a few technical questions after his first preseason start.”
Nina lifted her glass. “A love story for the ages.”
“It isn’t a love story.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
“You literally used the words love story.”
“I was mocking you.”
Tessa took a bite and resisted the urge to explain further.
She had already talked about Matvei longer than she intended.
Nina knew enough from Tessa’s years covering junior hockey to understand that difficult interviews were normal.
There was no reason this particular player needed to become the center of lunch.
“How’s work?” Tessa asked.
Nina narrowed her eyes. “Absolutely not.”
“What?”
“You don’t get to redirect after finally saying something interesting.”
“There’s nothing interesting about it. He’s difficult. That’s the entire story.”
“Then why do you sound like his defense attorney?”
“I don’t.”
“You gave me the mitigating circumstances before you told me what he did.”
“Context matters.”
“To journalists, apparently.”
“It should matter to everyone.”
Nina took a bite of her salad, still watching Tessa with an expression that suggested she had discovered something and was waiting for Tessa to catch up.
Tessa looked down at her plate.
“This isn’t only about him,” she said. “There’s another player, Joona Salonen. He’s a young Finnish winger trying to make the team after putting up huge numbers in Europe. His English is still pretty limited.”
“The baby-faced blond one?”
Tessa looked up. “You know who Joona is?”
“I follow the team.”
“Since when?”
“Since my best friend became the beat reporter.”
“That was a week ago.”
“I’m a fast learner.”
Tessa shook her head but smiled. “Joona had a good scrimmage and scored twice. During interviews, someone asked if he thought he’d shown enough to make the team or if he needed time in the minors.
He was trying to say that he thought his game was ready for the NHL, but he said he was better than the minors. ”
Nina winced. “That’s not ideal.”
“No. Everyone immediately started asking whether he thought he was too good for the minors. You could see him realize he’d said the wrong thing, but he couldn’t figure out how to correct it.”
“So what did you do?”
“I asked what he meant.”
“That’s revolutionary.”
“It shouldn’t be.”
“Did he explain it?”
“He said he respects the league. He just believes he can help Halifax now.”
“And that’s what you wrote?”
“That’s what he meant.”
Nina nodded slowly. “This is connected to the rude Russian somehow.”
“Matvei.”
“There it is again.”
“What?”
“You corrected me very quickly.”
“That’s his name.”
“Continue.”
Tessa ignored her. “Matvei noticed what happened with Joona. He had the same experience when he was young, so I think it mattered to him.”
“How do you know?”
“He thanked me.”
Nina stopped with her fork halfway to her mouth.
“What?”
“He thanked me.”
“The man who walked away during your first interview?”
“Yes.”
“What exactly did he say?”
“Thank you.”
“That’s it?”
“It was two words.”
“You said he only gives you one.”
Tessa stared at her.
Nina grinned. “That’s one hundred percent growth.”
“It wasn’t about me.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
“He was thanking me for how I handled Joona’s story.”
“I understand the mechanics.”
Tessa looked toward the water again. Sunlight caught against the windows of the buildings across the harbour, making it difficult to hold her gaze there for long.
The exchange with Matvei had stayed with her longer than she wanted to admit. Not only the thanks, but what came before it. The answer he gave about Joona being brave. His quiet observation that not knowing the words did not mean someone did not know the answer.
It had been the first time Tessa heard something personal in his voice.
He had spoken about Joona, but she had understood that he was also speaking about himself.
She had wanted to ask more. She hadn’t.
Nina tapped one finger against the table. “Show me.”
“Show you what?”
“The story.”
“About Joona?”
“No. The other one.”
Tessa knew exactly which one she meant.
She reached for her phone anyway. “Why?”
“Because I’m trying to picture this terrifying man you keep describing.”
“He isn’t terrifying.”
“He’s six-foot-something, Russian and refuses to answer questions. Let me have this.”
Tessa opened the Tribune’s sports page and scrolled until she found the feature from the first day of camp. She had looked at the photograph often enough to know which one would appear before the page finished loading.
Matvei filled the screen in his practice equipment, mask pushed up onto his head while he listened to Pat beside the crease. His expression was serious, his dark hair damp and curling at the ends. The angle emphasized the width of his shoulders and the intensity of his gaze.
Tessa handed over the phone.
Nina looked at the screen.