The Wish(77)

Even though he was supporting her, she felt like the wind would topple her over.

*



“Do you want me to keep holding you?” Mark asked. “Or do you think you have the hang of it?”

“Don’t even think of letting go,” she replied through gritted teeth.

Adrenaline, amplified by fear, had a way of clearing the mind, and she decided that ice skating was much better as a concept than in practice. Trying to stay upright on two thin blades over a slippery sheet of ice while in her condition hadn’t been the brightest of ideas. In fact, a pretty strong case could be made that it was idiotic.

And yet…

Mark made it as easy and safe as possible. He was skating backward in front of her, both hands firmly on her hips. They were near the outer edge of the rink and moving slowly; inside, pretty much everyone from little old ladies to toddlers was zipping past, looking carefree and joyous. But with Mark’s help, at least, Maggie was gliding. There were a few people who, like Maggie, clearly had never donned ice skates before, and they gripped the outer wall with every slow shuffle, their legs occasionally shooting out in unpredictable directions.

Ahead of them, Maggie witnessed just such an incident.

“I really don’t want to fall.”

“You’re not going to fall,” Mark said, his eyes fixed on her skates. “I’ve got you.”

“You can’t see where you’re going,” she protested.

“I’m using my peripheral vision,” he explained. “Just let me know if someone takes a tumble right in front of us.”

“How long do we have?”

“Thirty minutes,” he said.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to last that long.”

“We’ll stop whenever you want.”

“I forgot to give you my credit card. Did you pay for this?”

“It was my treat. Now stop talking and try to enjoy yourself.”

“Almost falling every second isn’t enjoyable.”

“You’re not going to fall,” he said again. “I’ve got you.”

*



“That was fun!” Maggie exclaimed. In the changing area, Mark had just helped her remove her skates. Though she hadn’t asked, he’d also helped her put her shoes back on. In all, they’d circled the rink four times, which had taken thirteen minutes.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“Now I can say I actually did the big New York tourist thing.”

“Yes, you can.”

“Did you have a chance to see the tree? Or were you too busy keeping me from breaking my neck?”

“I saw it,” he said. “But barely.”

“You should go skate. You still have a few minutes.”

To her surprise, he actually seemed to consider it. “Would you mind?”

“Not at all.”

After helping her up—and offering his arm—he walked her to the side of the rink and made sure she could support herself before letting go. “You okay?”

“Go ahead. Let’s see how you do without a sick old woman slowing you down.”

“You’re not old.” He winked, and duckwalking over to the ice, he took three or four quick steps, speeding into the turn. He jumped, rotating in the air, and started skating backward while accelerating even faster, flying beneath the tree on the far side of the rink. He spun again, speeding forward into the next curve, one hand nearly at the ice, then flew past her. Almost automatically, she retrieved her iPhone from her pocket. She waited until he was beneath the tree and snapped off a couple of photos; on the next lap, she shot video.

A few minutes later, after the session ended and Mark was in the changing area, she took a peek at the photos and found herself thinking about the shot she’d taken of Bryce on the ladder. Just as she’d done back then, she’d seemed to capture the essence of the young man she’d come to know. Like Bryce, Mark had also become strangely important to her in a relatively short period. And yet, as she’d had to with Bryce, she knew she’d eventually have to say goodbye to Mark as well, which suddenly made her ache in a way that eclipsed the physical pain lurking in her bones.

*



Once they were back on solid ground, she texted the pictures and video to Mark and they had a stranger snap an additional shot of the two of them with the tree in the background. Mark immediately began fiddling with the phone, no doubt forwarding the images.

“Abigail?” Maggie asked.

“And my parents.”

“I’m sure they’re missing you this Christmas.”

“I think they’re having the time of their lives.”

She pointed to the restaurant adjacent to the rink. “Is it okay with you if we swing by the Sea Grill? I think I’d like a hot tea at the bar.”

“Whatever you’d like.”

She hooked her arm through Mark’s and walked slowly to the glass-enclosed restaurant. She told the bartender what she wanted and Mark ordered the same thing. When the teapot was placed before her, she poured some of the tea into her cup.

“You’re an excellent skater.”

“Thanks. Abigail and I go sometimes.”

“Did she like the photo you texted?”