Page 62 of Home Ice

After the program, a band started up with 70s covers. Tables emptied toward the floor and the bars.

I was bringing Ma a coffee when Rafe appeared.

It wasn’t either of our doing. A knot of donors shifted, somebody’s chair backed out, and then there was nobody left between us. “Niko,” he said, approaching with his hand out.

I kept my grip on the coffee in my right hand and offered my left to shake. It was brief and firm.

“Rafe.”

“It’s an outstanding event,” he said. “They do so much good. Did you see the video? The one with Sofia?”

“I saw it.”

He nodded toward the silent auction table. “Somebody bid four hundred dollars on my jersey. I told Mark they could’ve asked for more; I have a bunch of them.”

The comment was warm, funny, and perfectly Rafe. It was nothing like the man who showed up late at my shop.

That was a Rafe who talked so fast that the sentences collided with each other. He stepped forward and kissed me before either of us could stop it. And we hadn’t spoken since.

“I finally got the Ravenswood shelves out,” I said. “The client checked them with a level.”

“Did they pass?” he asked.

“Five for five.”

“Good,” he said, “that’s—that’s good.”

Behind him, Mark steered a donor couple toward us, with Max following behind.

“Enjoy the night,” Rafe said, and placed his hand briefly on my shoulder.

I carried the coffee to Ma. She drank it while pointing out which board member was wearing real emeralds.

My phone buzzed in my jacket pocket. I pulled it out and then held it below the edge of the table.

It was a photo of a musical instrument. Strings crossed over each other above a body of honey-colored wood the size of a kitchen table. There was part of a folding chair in the corner of the frame.

Rafe: saw this at Varga’s church thing last weekend. it’s called a cimbalom. what’s the wood?

I looked up. Forty feet away, Rafe stood in a knot of donors with Max, his phone nowhere in sight, laughing at the right volume at the right moment. Somehow, he had sent the message from inside all that.

I typed back:

Niko: The soundboard is probably spruce. The frame’s probably beech. Why was there a cimbalom at a church?

Rafe: hungarian fundraiser. there was dancing. a woman named Marta taught me the steps

Rafe: the whole thing was strung like the inside of a piano. I stood there ten minutes

I watched Rafe and saw him glance down once.

Niko: Ten minutes is right for a cimbalom.

Rafe: how long for a dovetail?

I did my best to suppress the goofy smile trying to fill my face. Ma would ask about it.

Niko: Longer.