During the second intermission, the network cut over to show Calgary scoring on the Red Wings. Steve got tense and quiet. A little pale too.That's when it hit me. He was watching the Avalanche game. His favorite team was playing at the same time and he could have been watching them at a sports bar if not here in his own place. Instead, he was watching their biggest rival.And he'd done it last weekend too. What did it take for a die hard Red Wings fan to give up watching two playoff games and instead sit and watch the Avalanche?Wow.I just looked at Steve, impressed. He caught me looking at him. Steve smiled inquisitively and I leaned in and gave him a quick kiss before we turned back to the TV.Then the intermission report showed the Red Wing's Captain Steve Yzerman getting hit in the face with a puck, which had apparently happened before the score. When he fell to the ice, the room quieted. I saw Pete reach out and squeeze Sandy's hand. I wondered how Detroit would do without him—in. It was a pointless exercise to understand the human heart, and much greater and more intelligent men then he had failed miserably to do so after dedicating their entire life to it. There was no way he could figure it out this afternoon.He knew better than that, anyway. He was a man of literature, and as such, he knew of all that was written trying to understand love. And it lead him to the truth, a conclusion so simple, it found the existence of that literature laughable. Understanding love was laughable- because it was beyond man’s capacity for understanding. Nor was there a great need to understand it, if you knew it when you saw it.But some real questions popped into his head. Chief among them was how, in the name of God, was he going to make this work. She was 14 years old. He had no idea where her aunt and uncle were from- certainly not L.A. He had no idea where her other uncle lived, let alone if he would allow such a relationship- and from such long distance? That was, as the.
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