When My Heart Joins the Thousand(47)

“I don’t know how,” I say.

“That’s okay. I barely remember, either.”

He told me he used to skate as a child, until he broke his scapula. Does this have something to do with that? Probably. Even so, this seems like a foolish way of confronting his demons. Like a burn victim deciding to overcome his fear by setting his house on fire.

His smile fades. “I haven’t gone crazy, honest. I just want to go out and stand on the ice for a few minutes. I don’t really know how to explain this. It’s just something I need. And I thought . . .” A light flush rises into his cheeks. “I thought it would be easier, if you were with me.” He looks away. “I’m being kind of selfish, I guess. If you don’t want to do this, we don’t have to.”

My gaze wanders back to the rink, which is currently deserted. The ice looks solid, though the weather doesn’t seem cold enough for that. It’s probably not even real ice, I tell myself. Lots of rinks use a chemical substitute like high-density polyethylene. That would explain why it’s so hard, even though the temperature is above freezing. And even if it is water, there’s absolutely no risk of drowning; I just have to keep reminding myself of that.

“Let’s do it,” I say.

We rent two pairs of skates and sit on a bench.

The light of sunset has mostly faded, and colors are muted. The ring of stadium lights is on, but not at full power; they glow with a soft white radiance. All around us, snow falls in fat flakes, piling up on the bench and on our clothes and hair. I lace up my skates, then lean down to tie his, knotting them securely and looping the slack around his ankles for extra support. “Do they fit okay.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

For a few minutes, he just stares out at the ice, his expression distant and closed off. I notice the fingers of one hand digging into his thigh. “Stanley . . .”

“Sorry.” He exhales a tense breath. “Having second thoughts.”

Awkwardly I fold my arms around him. I’m still not good at hugging—my arms are stiff and wooden, like a store mannequin’s—but his trembling gradually subsides. It’s a new feeling, being able to ease someone else’s fear. A powerful feeling. “I won’t let you fall,” I say.

He laughs weakly. “I should be the one saying that to you, shouldn’t I? I mean, it’s your first time.”

I release him and cross my arms. “Well, don’t let me fall, either.”

“I won’t.” He places a hand on my shoulder, pushing himself to his feet. Facing me, he extends a glove. “Ready?”

I take his hand, and he leads me out onto the ice, leaving his cane where it is, propped against the bench. He moves in small, careful shuffles, leaning against my shoulder.

My legs feel wobbly. I stay close to the edge, inching my way along the low wall surrounding the rink. Stanley grips my hand. “Let’s go out a little farther.”

I grit my teeth, every limb rigid with tension, as we shuffle away from the wall. How did I let him talk me into this? “I think I’ve changed my mind.” I squeeze the words through my clenched jaws.

“We won’t fall. I promise.”

I move clumsily, sliding one skate forward, then the other. My body tilts back and forth; my arms are stiff at my sides. And still, he clings to my hand. “I mean it,” I growl. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“Just hold on.”

I glare at him, but he looks utterly sincere. Now that he’s actually on the ice, he seems to have gotten over his anxiety. I, on the other hand, was relatively calm until I actually felt how unstable these skates are. How does anyone stand up on these?

But this is important to Stanley. I take a deep breath and nod.

He starts to move, and I let him guide me. I begin to relax, almost against my will. His foot slips, and I catch him with an arm around his waist. He grips my coat. My heart beats rapidly against his.

“You okay?” he asks.

I nod but don’t move, afraid that if I do, we’ll both spill onto the ice. I feel clumsy and unsteady, like a foal taking its first steps.

“See?” he whispers against my ear. “Nothing to it.”

He rests his chin briefly atop my hair. For a minute or two, we just stand there. It’s strange, touching someone and not feeling the urge to pull away.

He guides me back to the wall. A tiny smile grows from one corner of his mouth. “Hey, watch this.”

I don’t like the sound of that. “Watch what.”

He breaks away and moves in small, shuffling movements toward the center of the rink, leaving me leaning against the edge, helpless. “Just watch!” he calls.

And all at once, he’s gliding across the ice, so suddenly and gracefully it’s surreal. He starts to loop around and manages to do one half of a figure eight before his legs wobble and give out. He doesn’t fall so much as crumple.

I try to run to him. The ice flies out from under me, and I land on my knees with a painful jolt. Panting, I crawl toward him. He’s lying on his back, splayed on the ice. “Stanley!”

To my astonishment, he’s laughing, though the sound is strained and breathless—more like gasping.

“You’re a lunatic.” I help him to his feet, and he curls an arm around my waist. He’s limping a bit more than usual as we make our way toward the edge of the rink. We sit together on the bench, breathless and flushed. He smiles at me, eyes crinkling at the corners.