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“That’s because you’re looking for somebody to announce it.”

“What am I supposed to look for?”

“Back it up.”

She does.

“A little more.”

The picture jumps backward until the winger is coming over the boards again.

“Play it.”

His eyes leave the puck for half a second.

“Stop.”

Tova freezes the frame.

“Where’s he looking?”

She leans closer to the television. “At that man.”

“Defenseman.”

“I know.”

“Then why’d you call him that man?”

“Because I wanted to.”

“Fair.”

She runs it again. His eyes flick toward the defenseman, his feet turn, and I move before the play develops.

Tova lowers the remote.

“How do you know when somebody’s going to do something before they do it?”

I’ve got the hockey answer halfway out before I hear the question she’s actually asking.

Astrid’s keyboard stops for a beat before it starts again. I sit at the other end of the sofa.

“What happened?”

“Nothing today.”

I wait.

Tova tucks her bare foot underneath her and runs her thumb along the edge of the remote.

“He still says things sometimes.”

“I thought that kid stopped.”

“Mostly.”

“Mostly sounds like it didn’t.”