Chapter 24: Rental Skates

My mother's rink opens at six in July, and at five fifty the lot was already half full of minivans.

I stood at the gate with a cardboard shoebox under my arm and a paper cup of bad coffee.

Theo stood beside me, in a plain black jacket, looking at twenty small children in rental skates.

"They're very small," he said.

"They're six."

"I was never six."

"You were once. You just didn't enjoy it."

He almost smiled.

My mother came across the ice in her black coat with the gold whistle on her chest.

She stopped at the gate and looked him up and down for a long moment.

"Mr. Garrick."

"Mrs. Hargrove."

"It's Marianne. Don't be late, and don't be sentimental."

"I'm told I'm bad at the second one," Theo said.

"You are," I said.

"I'm trying."

"It shows."

My mother reached up and patted his cheek, once, firmly, and he stood very still for it.

"Go and warm up. The ice is yours for twenty minutes."

He went.

I watched him step out through the gate and push off, long and quiet, and I stood there smiling for no reason at all.

"The board renewed the sanction on Monday," my mother said.

"I heard."

"The chair came in person to hand me the letter. She stayed for coffee." She sniffed. "The coffee was terrible."

"It's always terrible."

"I know. I make it."

Something moved at the edge of my eye.

By the rail, a little girl in a red helmet stood alone.

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