Tidings of Love

by Alicia Hunter Pace

  “I want my daddy!”

  What? Nickolai was on the bench, and Noel hadn’t even realized it. Wait. He was coming back on the ice.

  “Webb will be here soon,” Paige said. “I got a text a few minutes ago.”

  And so it went, back and forth with no score. Sometime around the end of the first period, Webb came in, briefcase in hand, looking almost translucent, the way very fair people do when they’re exhausted. Constance flew across the room into his arms.

  He lifted her above his head and said, “Daddy loves you, baby.” Then he brought her in for a close embrace.

  Time stood still for Noel. Suddenly, it wasn’t Webb and Constance she was seeing, but Nickolai and some elusive child with dark hair and electric blue eyes. Her heart went into a tailspin.

  But a voice from the television brought her back to reality. “And Glazov scores! The Sound is finally on the board!” She’d missed it, but she saw him with his stick raised above his head, surrounded by his teammates. The period ended, and Noel finally threaded her needle and picked up Constance’s dress.

  Webb and Paige took Constance up to bed and returned as the second period started. Webb sat at his desk and opened his laptop. No, no, he assured everyone. The game and their conversation wouldn’t bother him.

  And the conversation continued. Of course it did. There was a bridal tea next week for the Bartholomew boy’s fiancée, and Mindy Bartholomew didn’t like her. Lisa Lawrence was pregnant again, and everyone was hopeful because this time she’d made it through the first trimester. Noel finally gave up and joined in. Might as well, though she sewed and kept an eye on the television. It was a dog-eat-dog game. Sound wing, Jan Voleck, went to the penalty box for fighting but didn’t stay long because the Devils scored on the power play, tying the game. Then the Devils scored again, and Bryant Taylor tied it up for the Sound. And, through it all, until the end of the period, Nickolai was everywhere—shooting, assisting, and slamming Devils into the boards.

  The third period was a frenzied study in frustration—until the midway point when Nickolai scored again. This time Noel didn’t miss it, and she jumped to her feet and applauded, causing a halt to the discussion of the American Girl fashion show the Junior League was planning.

  “My, Noel,” Grandmama said. “You certainly are excited.”

  “If the Sound wins, they go to the playoffs,” Webb said from behind his computer. “Could mean the Stanley Cup.”

  “And that’s Glaz’s second goal of the night! Could he get a hat trick?” the announcer said.

  And the answer to that was yes. Nickolai’s third goal came with two minutes left on the clock. The siren blasted and hats sailed onto the ice—not as many as there would have been on home ice, of course, but a decent number.

  “Why are those people throwing their hats away?” Paige asked.

  Noel clutched her heart and swallowed her tears. “He scored a third goal. It’s called a hat trick. Fans throw their hats on the ice.”

  “Why is it called a hat trick?”

  Noel laughed. “You know, I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it. Do you know, Webb?”

  Webb laughed a little, too. “No. I might need to look that up later.”

  “I wouldn’t want to throw my hat,” Paige said and went back to her magazine.

  You would if you were in love with a hockey player. Noel wished she were wearing a hat so she could throw it. Maybe she’d do that when she and Nickolai watched the game together later. He would laugh.

  Two minutes was a long time to play hockey, but, though the Devils scored again, time ran out.

  With a 4–3 win, the Sound was going to the playoffs.

  “Well, that’s that,” Deborah said. “I thought I might serve a little second dessert before we go to bed. Bad, of course, but Noel’s lemon tarts were so good, and Webb didn’t have any. Shall we move to the parlor?” She held her hand out for the remote that Noel held.

  “Wait!” Noel jerked the remote from her mother’s reach and turned up the volume. The reporter had caught Nickolai as he came off the ice. “Be quiet!”

  He was out of breath, sweating, and his hair curled around the edges of his helmet.

  “There’s our guy!” her naughty bits cheered. “He’s delicious. Get up and go to New Jersey! Try to get there before he showers!”

  “Shut up! I want to hear what he says.”

  Miraculously, the Verden women were silent and had directed their attention to the television. Webb even stopped typing.

  “We’re here with Nickolai Glazov,” the reporter said, “center for the Nashville Sound and man of the night. Glaz, you’ve been the man of the night a lot lately.”

  Nickolai briefly closed his eyes and tilted his head. “Nice of you so say so, Chuck, but not so true.”

  “We love it when he’s all tired and excited and his accent gets heavy like that,” her naughty bits said with a sigh.

  “Will you, for once, pipe down?”

  “No can do. Biologically impossible.”

  “This is the twelfth straight game you’ve scored in,” Chuck the reporter said. “And your third hat trick of the season. How does that feel?”

  Even through his visor, Nickolai’s blue eyes stood out like sapphires in the snow. It was hard to believe that he was hers, and might be hers forever.

  “Meh.” Nickolai shrugged and leaned on his stick. “I don’t think so much about personal achievements, you know? That means nothing without team achievements. I’m proud to be a Nashville Sound. The Devils played good, but we achieved tonight. They achieved, but we achieved more.”

  “Speaking of your team—tonight the Sound secured a place in the playoffs. How do you feel about that?”

  “Is good. Really good. But there are games to play this season. That’s what I think of next.”

  Someone off camera yelled, “Hey, Glaz! Over here.” Nickolai looked over his shoulder and waved before turning back to the reporter.

  “One more question for you, Nickolai, and then I’ll let you go. You’ve been performing well all season, but since the beginning of the year, you’ve been a man on fire. How do you account for that?”

  He laughed and let his face settle into a smile. “I’m a happy man.” Then he looked away from the reporter and straight into the camera. “Hello, to my Noel. She’s with her family in Kentucky, watching on TV. I share this moment with you, zvezda moya. Vot moe serce. Ono polno lubvi.”

  The reporter laughed. “Any chance you’ll translate for us?”

  Nickolai raised a gloved hand as he walked away. “You say one more question, Chuck! Next time, you think, no?”

  But Noel knew what it meant—at least most of it. And it warmed her heart, so much that she barely noticed the silence in the room around her.

  “Do you know that man, Noel?” Deborah said. “Was he talking about you?”

  The reporter on television laughed. “Always a pleasure to chat with Glaz. And it looks like he has a good luck charm we didn’t know about.” He paused and placed a hand on the earpiece of his headset. “And I believe we have a translation from Shelly up in the booth.”

  “Noel—”

  “Mother! Quiet!” Paige said.

  Oh, damn! It was a safe bet there would be no lemon tarts served in the parlor tonight. Maybe they’d get it wrong. Not that that would help at this point.

  The camera switched to the blonde commentator. “Indeed, we do, Chuck. She picked up a piece of paper. What Glaz said—and don’t hold me responsible if I get this wrong—was, ‘I share this moment with you, my star. Here is my heart. It is full of love.’ She laughed. “Almost as poetic off the ice as on, wouldn’t you say? So if the Sound does win it all, who knows? On the day Glaz gets to have to have the Stanley Cup, maybe he and his Noel will drink their wedding Champagne from it.”

  The other reporter in the booth had the look of a man who was tired of romance speculation and wanted to talk about hockey; Noel was with him. “Odder things have been d
one with that cup, for sure.” And he began to talk stats and rankings, while an inset on the screen showed a group of Sound fans in the arena celebrating.

  Meanwhile, back in Louisville …

  “Noel! Did you hear what I said? Do you know that man?”

  “Yes.” She muted the sound but kept an eye on the screen in case there was a chance to get another glimpse at Nickolai.

  Paige got up and came to sit on the floor at Noel’s feet, folding her long legs into the crisscross position. She’d gotten all the height in the family.

  “So,” Paige said, “how long has this been going on?”

  “Not long. A few months.”

  “A few months!” Deborah exploded. “You have been seeing this man—this hockey player—for a few months. We talk to you at least once a day. Yet, you have not seen fit to tell your family? Are you ashamed of him for some reason?”

  “Ashamed? Mama, did you see him? Did you hear what they said about him? Why would I be ashamed?”

  “I don’t know, Noel. I don’t know anything about him—because you haven’t told us. We had no idea you were even dating anybody—much less someone who would go on television and declare his love in a foreign language!”

  “Nolie.” Paige used her childhood name for Noel. “We don’t want you to get hurt. You don’t know how men like that are.” She squeezed Noel’s hand.

  “Men like what?” Noel took her hand back. “You don’t know anything about him. It’s not like I’m fifteen and have rolled up on the back of some juvenile delinquent’s stolen motorcycle.”

  “It’s just that you’re not very worldly,” Paige said. “And pro athletes are known for their big egos and bad behavior.”

  I’m worldly enough that I can use the Internet and help you go behind your husband’s back so you can keep being a sorority girl. She didn’t say that of course. She never would.

  “Noel, dear.” Grandmama continued to work on her needlepoint. At least she sounded somewhat calm. “Where did you meet this young man? Who are his people?”

  “He doesn’t have any people. He grew up in an orphanage. And I met him at Beauford Bend on Christmas Eve.” Not exactly the truth, but close enough. There was no way she was going into what brought him into Piece by Piece that first time.

  “Christmas Eve!” Deborah said. “Is that why you didn’t come home for Christmas? You always did like a stray.”

  “Whoa, Noel!” her naughty bits said. “Don’t let her call our guy a stray!”

  “Shut up! Ignore her. I will handle this.”

  “No, Deborah. I didn’t come home for Christmas because there was an ice storm and I couldn’t get here. Remember that?”

  “Don’t call me Deborah. I’m your mother.”

  Then act like it. “Sorry, Mother. That was disrespectful. I apologize.”

  “What language was he speaking anyway? Where does he live?” Deborah asked.

  “Russian. And he lives Nashville, you know, where he works.”

  “What sort of work does he do?” Grandmama asked.

  Webb had a coughing fit, which Noel figured was manufactured to cover laughter.

  “He plays hockey, Grandmama,” Noel said patiently. Having no wish to discuss underwear modeling, she didn’t mention his product endorsements.

  “Oh?” She looked up from her needlework. “You get money for that? Like professional football and baseball?”

  “Yes,” Noel said wearily. “You get money for that.”

  “How much?” Paige asked.

  “Paige!” Deborah admonished. “You know it’s tacky to talk about money.”

  “If Noel is going to end up with somebody who’s going to stay out drinking and running around on her all the time, she might as well be compensated for it. Noel, don’t sign a prenup.” Paige turned to her husband. “Get one ready for her, Webb.”

  “Get what ready for her, honey?” Webb asked. “You told her not to sign a prenup.”

  “Oh, right,” Paige said. “Well, you figure out what she needs to do.”

  Calm. She would be calm. After all, she was the dependable one.

  “Can we please end this discussion? There are no impending nuptials, therefore there is no need for a prenup or lack thereof.” Noel turned her attention back to the television. They were interviewing fans now, with more jumping up and down in the background.

  “They certainly are excited,” Grandmama said.

  “The Sound hasn’t been to the playoffs in a long time,” Noel said.

  “So it’s like playoffs to go to the Super Bowl?”

  “Yes, Grandmama. Just like that, except instead of the Super Bowl it’s to play for the Stanley Cup.”

  “I see.” She went back to her needlepoint.

  “I want to talk more about this Russia situation,” Deborah said.

  “What Russia situation would that be?” Noel asked.

  “What if he wants to marry you?”

  That would be just dandy.

  “I’m saying!” her naughty bits piped up. “Hitting that every night, forever. Yeah.”

  “For once, I’m with you.”

  “I just said that we haven’t talked about marriage, Mother.” Not directly.

  “It could happen. What if he wants to marry you just to remain in the country?”

  Lord love a duck, and give me strength.

  “Mother, Nickolai doesn’t need to marry anyone to stay in this country. He has a job—a good one.”

  “Well? What if he wanted you to go back to Russia with him?”

  “He doesn’t want to go back to Russia.” But did he? They’d never talked about that. And would she, if he did? She hurried on. “Even if he did, he has a twelve-year contract with the team in Nashville. I don’t think you need to worry about him going back to Russia any time soon.”

  “Twelve years! How would that fit in with your plans to come home and open a shop in Louisville? Oh, Noel. I don’t know about this. I don’t know about this at all!”

  Noel put her hand to her head. That again.

  “Now, Deborah,” Grandmama said. “You know how we’ve wanted to see Noel settled and married.”

  “Yes, but with someone from here, where she belongs!”

  “I’m sure it would work out fine,” Grandmama went on. “People can get out of contracts if they’re doing it to get married. He could move here. Don’t they have a hockey team right down the road in Lexington? Haven’t I heard that? If he really loves Noel, he can play his hockey there.”

  Holy mother of a gargoyle.

  Noel knew there was no way that she could possibly still be in Louisville. This had gone beyond even the surrealism that always reigned supreme in the Debutante Den. She had to be in Oz, Wonderland, or maybe the Hundred-Acre Wood. No. Not the Hundred-Acre Wood. Pooh and the gang were more in touch with reality than this. And they certainly had more walking-around sense.

  “Miss Lillian?” Apparently this had gotten so good even Webb couldn’t ignore it, because he came to sit on the floor beside Paige. Now Noel was totally surrounded.

  “Yes, dear?”

  “Nickolai Glazov is a star in the National Hockey League, a really good player. The team in Lexington is a minor league team. That would be like a doctor taking a job as an orderly.”

  “Hmm. I see.” But Noel doubted if she did.

  “How good is he?” Paige asked. “Peyton Manning good? I only know football.”

  “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that,” Webb said. “He doesn’t have that kind of experience yet. I’d say he’s more on the level with Eli Manning or Gabe Beauford. And didn’t he play in the Olympics, Noel?”

  “Yes.” She begged Webb with her eyes to not bring up that he’d played for Russia. She didn’t want to go into how that worked on top of everything else.

  “So, what we’re saying here,” Deborah said slowly, “is this Nickolai is a big, well-known star in his sport and an Olympic athlete? And we all saw how good-looking he is. Now he’s on his way t
o maybe winning the equivalent of the Super Bowl or the World Series?”

  Webb nodded. “More or less. Though there’s a lot of hockey to be played before the Stanley Cup finals.”

  “And he is, shall we say, reasonably well-fixed?” Deborah said.

  How Webb kept a straight face, Noel did not know. But she was grateful that he was willing to respond to these questions, so she didn’t have to.

  “It’s fair to say that he doesn’t have to worry about where his next meal is coming from,” Webb said.

  Though Nickolai did worry. It was one of the things that made Noel want to cradle him against her and love him forever.

  “And he’s dating you, Noel?” Deborah said. “There must be more to it.”

  A tub of ice water came from nowhere and poured over Noel, washing away every bit of warmth that she’d felt when Nickolai had scored the hat trick and proclaimed on television that she had his heart.

  “ … you, Noel?” her mother had said.

  That’s what it always came down to. Noel was good enough to work out their Internet problems, sew for them, make their Christmas party food, and purchase frivolous items that she would never be reimbursed for, but she wasn’t good enough for the Belmont education, Phi Mu membership, and debutante ball.

  And she wasn’t good enough to be loved by Nickolai Glazov.

  Desperate to get some of that warmth back, she turned her full attention back to the television, hoping for a glance of Nickolai. It wouldn’t be live, because by now he’d be doing his cool-down exercises, soaking in a cold tub, and getting a massage. But they might replay a clip of him scoring.

  No such luck. Reporter Chuck was in a crowd of Sound fans, interviewing a man who seemed to be beside himself with joy. Though the TV was still muted, Noel let her eyes dwell there and blocked out the voices of her family. They continued to chatter, but it might as well have been Russian. No, Russian would be more welcome.

  Then something caught her eye. Could it be? Noel leaned forward to get a better look. Yes. It was Tewanda, slightly behind the man being interviewed. And she wore a Nashville Sound jersey—purple, with the silver musical note on skates, holding a hockey stick. No bloodstains, though. Tewanda was laughing and waving at the camera.