Their New-Found Family

While Tris started putting clothes in his military pack, he watched Alain out of the corner of his eye. His nephew began opening the pockets of the other pack.

“Hey—your hockey skates, and a puck! It’s signed by Wayne Gretzky! I didn’t know you’d met him.”

“Neither did I,” Tris murmured in surprise.

“There’s a lot of junk in here.” It was the first sound of excitement he’d heard in Alain’s voice all week.

“You know what they say about one man’s junk being another man’s treasure.”

“Can I keep it?”

The request didn’t surprise Tris. His nephew was crazy about hockey though his parents had never allowed him to play it. “If you want it, it’s yours.”

“Thanks. Did you know you have a whole slug of tags collected from the various cantons?”

“That’s not surprising. I hauled everything around in that bag during my hockey years. For some reason I thought it had been tossed out a long time ago.”

Alain dumped the rest of the contents in the middle of the bed. “You’ve got a bunch of American and Canadian money in here. How come?”

“According to your grandparents, before my hockey accident in Interlaken, I played an exhibition match with my team in Montreal, Canada.

“After it was over, the team members flew home. But for some reason I wanted the experience of traveling on a ship, so I went on the QE2. Since it sailed from New York, I must have spent a couple of days there.

“The ship landed in Southampton. From there I traveled to London and caught a flight back to Switzerland where I joined the team for training in Interlaken. At least that’s what I’ve been told.”

His nephew pored over the pile of stuff. “Here’s an envelope with a picture of the QE2 on it. You don’t remember anything about going on that ocean liner?”

“No. The concussion robbed me of those memories. All of them.”

“I don’t see how you could forget your trip.”

“Neither do I, but it happened. The doctor told me the brain is like a giant blackboard. The blow to my head from the hockey stick erased some of the writing. The two weeks leading up to the accident, and the month after, are gone forever.”

“That’s so weird. Hey—did you know some girl left you a message in English on the inside of this envelope?”

He paused in the task of packing his T-shirts. “What does it say?”

In his best English Alain read, “My love—I will never forget last night as long as I live.” He lifted his head. “Oh la la—Uncle Tris!”

Tris smiled, but deep inside he didn’t like the sound of it. “Dare I ask if that’s all she wrote?”

“Phone me ASAP,” Alain continued to read. “I’ll meet you wherever you say, Tris darling.”

Tris?

His nephew flashed him a surprised glance. “I thought no one but our family had ever called you that.”

Tris had to admit he was surprised, too. He’d been christened Yves-Gerard Tristan de Monbrisson. Except for family and one or two close friends, he was called Gerard. In professional circles no one would know him as Tris.

Tristan had been his mother’s romantic contribution to his full name. It had been an embarrassment to him in his youth, so he’d always kept it a secret. Yet he’d revealed it to the stranger who’d penned the note.

His curiosity fully roused, he said, “I’m almost afraid to ask if there’s more.”

“There is!” Alain declared. “You didn’t have to make me promise to wear your ring around my neck. Don’t you know there’ll never be anyone else for me but you?”

His ring? He’d never worn rings…except for one—a ring that had been presented to him by his hockey team.

That’s where it had disappeared to?

“Our love is forever. Like you, I’ll be counting the months until we’re married. All my love, Rachel.”

Tris stood there speechless.

He’d been involved with several women in the past whom he’d considered marrying. But in each case something elusive had always held him back from making a full commitment.

It was ludicrous to think that at nineteen, with only a year of university behind him, and a career in professional ice hockey in his future, he’d actually proposed to a girl. It didn’t sound like him to be that impulsive or reckless. Not at all.

Yet the stranger’s endearments, the mention of a ring and marriage—everything she’d said led him to believe theirs had been an intimate association, no matter how brief.

“What does ASAP mean?” Alain wanted to know.

“As soon as possible.”

He squinted up at him. “You don’t remember her even a little bit?”

A chill ran through him every time he was reminded of the period of his life which would always remain a total void. “Afraid not.”

“She put her address at the bottom. Le Pensionnat Grand-Chene, Geneve.” Tris felt his nephew’s gaze on him, eyeing him speculatively. “She must have felt awful when you never even called her.”

That kind of observation coming from a twelve-year-old revealed how much more insightful Alain had become since losing his parents. But in this case Tris needed to apprise him of a few facts.

“I’m sure she forgot me as soon as she got off the ship. At that age, you think you’re in love with every person you’re attracted to.”

Except that the mention of a ring he’d given her made a lie of what he was telling Alain. He wouldn’t have parted with it unless—

“You mean you were just pretending that you wanted to marry her?”

He let out a frustrated groan. “Alain—I have no idea what actually transpired, or what we said to each other.

“Sometimes in the heat of the moment people read things into situations because they want them to be true. That was years ago. The fact is, at nineteen I lived for hockey, not girls.”

“Maman and Papa fell in love when they were nineteen,” his nephew persisted.

“They were the exception because their attraction turned into a lasting love. There’s a big difference between that and hormones. You do know what they are?”

“Yes. Hormones get you in trouble, like having a baby before you’re old enough to be a good father or mother.”

“Exactly. Your parents taught you well. Don’t ever forget it.”