Page 61 of Home Ice

“It’s a good cause, Ma.”

The unmistakable sound of cameras snapping filled the room. The arrivals had begun. Max and Rafe entered with a crowd of reporters rushing toward them.

They stopped on the carpet with rehearsed movements. Max angled half a turn toward the cameras, offering his good side. He laughed at something Rafe said, and Rafe slipped his arm around Max’s waist.

Ma was delighted. She stood with her hand pressed flat, holding the program against her chest.

“Oh, they’re lovely,” she said. “Aren’t they lovely?”

“They photograph well.” Ma patted my hand in agreement.

Dinner was chicken, the choice protein for every high-profile banquet since the invention of ballrooms. It was better than it had any right to be.

Ma read the menu card aloud to the table, including the French. A woman at our table asked what a paillard was, and Ma said it was chicken that had been flattened. The woman said her mother did that with a saucepan, and Ma said, “Ours used the iron.” The two of them were instantly friends.

After dinner, much of the crowd left their seats to mingle. We were close enough to the silent auction table to hear snippets of conversation.

Heath Donnelly stopped in front of a framed MIKKELSEN jersey and its bidding list. “Somebody put four hundred on it already,” he said.

“Bid on it,” his partner Kieran said. I recognized them both from TV appearances. “Hang it in the garage and show him every time he visits. He’ll never recover.”

“That’s just mean,” Heath laughed. He turned and spotted me. They walked up to our table.

“You must be Max’s brother and family. The resemblance—“

“Niko,” I said, and reached out to shake hands.

“Heath. Kieran.”

Ma offered her hand and was too starstruck to speak.

“We heard about candle wax from Rafe,” Heath said. “On the plane, he told us about waxing runners.”

I nodded.

“Rafe told Varga the wax was a candle from Target, and Varga didn’t believe him. It became a thing. Varga looked it up.”

“Varga should learn about arguing with a woodworker about wax,” Kieran said.

Then Max arrived, already talking.

“Okay, this is the corner. I’ve been working this room for half an hour, and this is the corner.” He shook Heath’s hand and then Kieran’s. “Max. Hi. You’re the one who did the thing at the blue line in Denver. Niko made me watch it four times, and he doesn’t even like hockey.”

“That was Cross,” Heath said.

“Then Cross did the thing, and you were standing near it, which at this point in my night is close enough.” He drank from a rocks glass in his hand. “Ask me about the step and repeat.”

“What’s a step and repeat?” Heath asked.

“It’s the logo wall you stand in front of. Rafe and I stood there for forty photographs.” He gave us a pose.

Heath laughed, and I nearly did.

Kieran smiled and said nothing.

The quiet lasted maybe four seconds. A man stood at the front of the room and tapped a microphone. The program was about to begin.

He introduced himself as the foundation’s chair. He introduced a nine-year-old named Sofia, who had come through two operations and benefited from donations to last year’s event. Ma went through one tissue and took my pocket square as insurance.