The Guardians

'I think his dad was. Or his grandfather. Or something.'

'It'l do.'

'For what?'

'A wake.'

Tracey Flanagan is our waitress again. From across the room she gives us a comicaly triumphant thumbs-up as we assume our positions at what is now 'our table,'

the two of us hopping atop the same stools as the night before. She giggles at Randy, who mimes thirst, his tongue out and hands clutched to his throat.

'I took the liberty,' she says as she comes to us, pitcher in one hand, mugs in the other.

'I believe we'l be requiring the assistance of Bushmils shots as wel today, Tracey,' Randy says in a leprechaun accent.

'I'm sorry,' Tracey says, with genuine sympathy. 'Mr. McAuliffe was a friend of al yours, right? On the Guardians?'

'He was a hockey friend of your dad's,' I answer. 'But to us, he was a brother. Maybe even closer than that.'

Tracey purses her lips, correctly reading that I'm not puling her leg. I've just told her something intimate, and she acknowledges the honour with an eyes-closed nod.

'I'l get those whiskeys,' she says.

After we toast Ben, the conversation moves to the topic of Sarah.

'She looked good,' Randy observes. 'Then again, she always looked good. You see a ring on her finger?'

'Like a wedding ring? As if that would stop you.'

'We're not talking about me.'

'I don't remember.'

'Bulshit.'

'Okay, she wasn't.'

'It's open season, then.'

'She's not an elk, Randy.'

'I'm just saying you're here, she's here. Old times' sake and al that. It's sweet.'

'I'm here because Ben died, not for some shag at the class- reunion weekend.'

'What? You can't walk and chew gum at the same time?'

The bar is even busier tonight. A Leafs game on the flat- screens, an excuse to get out of the house in the middle of the week for some draft and half-price Burn Your Tongue Off! wings advertised on the paper pyramids on the tables.

Among the customers is Tracey's boyfriend. A good-looking, dark-haired kid who comes in wearing a Domino's Pizza jacket to give her a ful kiss on the lips.

Here's what you can see right away, as surely as you could see it when I kissed Sarah Mulgrave outside the Grimshaw Arena on game nights: these two are in love. And you can see that the Domino's kid knows how special a young woman Tracey Flanagan is. That he is trying to figure a way to not blow it with her and go al the way, out of Grimshaw and beyond. A whole life with Tracey. That's what this kid wants, and is right to want.

'That yer fela?' Randy asks after the Domino's kid has left and Tracey returns to our table. He's decided to use his Irish accent again.

'Sure is,' she says. 'You better watch yourself.'

'No need to be warned about those pizza-delivery guys. They don't mess about.'

'Gary played for the Guardians too.'

This declaration changes things. And it makes Randy drop the dumb accent.

'What position?'

'Right wing.'

Randy slaps me on the back. 'That's where Trev played! Though that was many moons ago.'

'So my dad tels me.'

'Your Gary, does he have a last name?'

'Pulinger.'

'Rings a bel,' I say.

'Bowl-More Lanes,' Randy says, clicking his fingers. 'Didn't the Pulingers own that place?'

'Gary's dad. But it burned down about ten years ago.'

'The Bowl-More burned down?' Randy slams his fist onto the table in real outrage. 'Had many a birthday party there as a youngster. You remember, Trev?'

'I remember.'