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I shook my head. “Maybe down the road, but now isn’t the right time.”
He pulled something out of his leather bag on the floor and plopped it on the table. It looked like a stack of magazines wrapped in plastic.
“I’ll let them know. But they sent me these and asked that I give them to you.”
“What are they?”
“Some of their issues with trailblazing women in sports on them.” He pointed. “Billie Jean King, Serena and Venus Williams, Katherine Switzer…”
“Who’s Katherine Switzer?”
“She was the first woman to complete the Boston Marathon, back in ’67. Women weren’t allowed to compete, so she entered as KV Switzer. During the marathon, one of the refs realized a woman was running and tried to chase her off the course. But she was the first official female entrant to complete the race.” He pushed the stack of magazines forward. “You just made the point they were trying to make by giving you these. People don’t know about women’s accomplishments unless their stories are told.”
“I can definitely appreciate that it’s important to tell women’s stories. But I’d like to actually accomplish something before being hailed.”
Beau smiled. “You sound like your father.”
“I do?”
He nodded. “The man had made it to the NFL, broken a dozen records during his career, and then amassed a fortune through wise investing in oil and gas—enough to buy a team by the time he was forty. Yet he never felt like he deserved accolades.”
I had so much trouble reconciling the positive things I heard about John Barrett with the father who didn’t step up to take responsibility when I was born. But so many of the people who worked here revered him, so I kept that thought to myself.
“Anything else we need to discuss?”
Beau shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
The rest of the afternoon flew by. I had meetings with the legal department and operations team, and then sat in on the sales-team meeting. It was after five by the time I walked back down the long hall that led to my office. On my way, a photo I’d passed a dozen times finally stopped me. It was of my father and Tiffany and Rebecca. They were holding the Super Bowl trophy in the air, while ticker tape rained down all over them. I studied my father’s smiling face, again trying to figure out who the man was. A minute or so passed…or maybe it was longer. I was so lost in my head that I really had no idea until a man’s voice snapped me out of it.
“That was one hell of a crazy day.”
I hadn’t even heard Christian approach. “Oh, hey.”
He lifted his chin to the framed photo. “Did you watch that game?”
I shook my head. “I doubt I even knew the game was being played or what teams were in it.”
“I like how honest you are.”
“You might be the only one in this building.”
Christian smiled. “Apologies for being late getting up here. My knee was swollen today, so PT made me go for a scan.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Probably pushed it a little harder than I should’ve in therapy. You ready for Bruins people training 101?”
I shook my head. “You really don’t have to do this.”
“I know, but I want to.”
I wasn’t quite sure what to do with that answer, so I tilted my head toward my office. “Come on.”
Inside, Christian pointed to the couch. “Mind if I sit there and prop my foot on the table? I need to elevate it to reduce the swelling so Doc doesn’t have a heart attack on me.” He stopped and put his hands up. “Wait, will that freak you out because you’re a germaphobe?”
“I’m not a germaphobe. Why would you say that?”
“You held your breath when someone sneezed yesterday.”
“Oh, that. I just don’t like sneezing. Did you know pathogens can fly from the human body at almost a hundred miles an hour and travel up to twenty-seven feet?”
“That’s a great little factoid. Do you spring those on people at parties? No wonder you need people training.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Put your foot up, wiseass.”
Christian chuckled. “You’re cute when you’re tough. Especially with those crooked spectacles.”
“Oh my God. Again?” I took my glasses off, bent one side a bit, and put them back on. “Better?”
Christian smiled and lifted his foot up on the table. “Nah. I was only screwing with you before. But now you really made them crooked.”
“You are such a child.” I fixed my glasses a second time, then grabbed a notebook and pen, along with my trusty algorithm binder, and sat down across from him.
“So what do you want to start with?” he asked. “The players or the corporate crew?”
I was about to say whatever he preferred when I noticed the stack of magazines on the coffee table from earlier today. It reminded me of what Beau had said—how I was so much like my father. “You knew John pretty well, didn’t you?”
