He remembered watching her emerge in the parking lot from an airporer van. He remembered her silvery short skirt, the cream-colored v-neck silk sweater that exposed a lace sports bra. In his mind, he replayed Phoebe stepping out of the van; stretching her leather boot encased long legs. He remembered how a breeze from the beach that was barely visible down the hill, arranged her silky auburn hair around her face.

"Those were good onion rings", he said to Phoebe.

Walking beside Yuri, Phoebe was remembering the torrid hockey hero romances that were passed around the women's skating club locker room in interludes between practices. In those books, it was seldom the women with whom they grudgingly shared the ice that men on the hockey team dated.

Yuri, she noticed, was wearing a West Point Black Knights hockey jersey with the sleeves cut off at the shoulders, revealing muscular arms; the bulge in his tight black jeans was impressive; his hair was blond, bleached on the top.

"Onion rings are never that good in Alberta," she responded.