“Like I said, Kira: People round here don’t always know the difference between right and wrong. But we know the difference between good and evil.”
Kira’s chest rises and falls as she breathes, her carotid artery is throbbing, her nails are leaving marks in the bar. Suddenly her phone rings; she jumps and starts looking for it in her bag. It’s an important client; she hesitates as it rings seven times, then rejects the call. She takes deep breaths through her teeth. When she raises her head again there’s a beer on the bar.
“Who’s that for?” she asks.
“You, you crazy bitch. You really aren’t scared of anything, are you, lass?” Ramona sighs.
“You don’t have to offer me beer,” Kira gasps apologetically.
“It’s not from me,” Ramona says, and pats her hand.
It takes a few moments for Kira to understand. But she’s lived in the forest long enough to pick the beer up without asking any more questions. As she drinks she hears men in black jackets drink a silent toast behind her. People don’t often say thank you in Beartown. Nor sorry. But this is their way of showing that some people in this town can actually carry more than one thought in their head at the same time. That you can want to punch a man in the face but still refuse to let anyone hurt his children.
And that you respect a crazy bitch who walks in here without being afraid. No matter who she is.
*
Out in the street Robbie Holts is approaching. He stops at the door leading down into the Bearskin, smiles to himself. Then he keeps walking without going in. He’s got work tomorrow.
*
David is lying in bed with the two people he loves, laughing as one of them tries to think of names for the other. They all sound like cartoon characters to David, or like someone’s great-grandfather. But every time he himself suggests a name, his girlfriend asks, “Why?” and he just shrugs and mutters, “Nice, that’s all,” whereupon his girlfriend googles the name together with “hockey player” to find out exactly where he got it from.
“I’m terrified,” he confesses.
“It’s actually completely ridiculous that the world is going to let the two of us be responsible for an entirely new person without having to ask for permission,” she laughs.
“What if we’re terrible parents?”
“What if we aren’t?”
She holds his hand to her stomach, puts her fingers around his wrist, and taps the face of his wristwatch.
“Soon you’ll have someone to leave that to.”
*
Jeanette stands for a long time by the fence, just taking it all in.
“God. Your own kennels, just like you used to dream about. When we were kids and you used to go on about it, I never believed it would happen.”
Adri straightens up, even if the words are belittling.
“Oh, it hardly breaks even. If they raise the insurance premiums one more time I’ll have to give the dogs away and shut up shop. But it’s mine.”
“It’s yours. I’m proud of you. It’s so funny . . . sometimes I wish I’d never moved back here, and sometimes I wish I’d never moved away. Do you know what I mean?”
Adri, who has always had a decidedly uncomplicated way of communicating, replies: “Not really.”
Jeanette smiles. She misses that lack of complication. When they stopped playing hockey, Adri went off into the forest and Jeanette went to Hed and found a small boxing club. When Adri bought this old farm, Jeanette moved to a bigger city and started practicing martial arts—every sort she could find. When Adri got her first puppies, Jeanette started having her first matches. For one vanishingly short year she was a professional fighter. Then came the injuries, so she trained to become a teacher to have something to do while her injuries healed, and by the time they had, she was a good teacher but not really as good a fighter anymore. Her instincts had gone. When her dad died and her mom needed more help than her brother could give her, she moved back here. It was only going to be for a couple of months, but now here she is, a teacher at the school and part of the town again. This place has a way of grabbing hold of your insides that’s hard to explain. On the one hand, there’s all that’s bad about it—and that really is a very long list—but there are a few things that are so good that they manage to shine through the crap. The people, most of all. As tough as the forest, as hard as the ice.
“Can I rent one of your outbuildings?” Jeanette asks.
*
David rings the doorbell at Benji’s house. His mother opens up, tired and only just home from work, and tells him she doesn’t know where her son is. Possibly with his sister at the Barn in Hed, she suggests. David drives over there. Katia is behind the bar, and hesitates before saying that she doesn’t know where he is. He can see that she’s lying, but doesn’t press the point.
As he’s leaving the Barn, one of the bouncers calls after him.
“You’re that hockey coach, aren’t you? Are you looking for Benji?”
David nods. The bouncer points toward the rink.
“He went that way with his friend. They had skates with them; I reckon the ice is too bad to skate on the lake now, so they’re probably on the outdoor rink behind the hall.”
David thanks him. It’s still dark when he goes around the corner; the boys can’t see him but he can see them. Benji and the other one. They’re kissing each other.
David is shaking all over. He feels ashamed and disgusted.
*
“An outbuilding? What for?” Adri wonders.
“I want to set up a marital arts club,” Jeanette says.
Adri sniggers.
“This is a hockey town.”
Jeanette sighs.
“I know. God knows, everybody knows that. But in light of what’s happened . . . I don’t think this town needs fewer sports right now. I think it needs more. And I know about martial arts. I can give the kids that.”
“Martial arts? Kicking and fighting—is that anything worth having?” Adri wonders.
“It’s not about kicking and fighting, it’s JUST AS MUCH A REAL SPORT AS . . .”
Jeanette begins to explain angrily until she realizes Adri is kidding.
“Do you miss it that much, martial arts?” Adri asks.
“Only every day,” Jeanette smiles.
Adri shakes her head. Coughs hard.
“This is a hockey town.” Adri repeats.
“Can I borrow your outbuilding or not?”
“BORROW? A minute ago you were going to rent it!”
The women glare at each other. Grin. You have friends when you’re fifteen years old. Sometimes you get them back.
*