We agreed on Saturdays. Three hours, in public, at first. Sam and Greg would go to the outdoor rink at Hartley Park, and I would sit in my car in the parking lot with a thermos of coffee and a book I didn’t read. Afterward, they’d get burgers at the place across the street, and I’d sit at a different table and pretend not to watch.
It was strange, the first few times. Watching them. Greg skated like an old man now, stiff in the knees. Sam skated circles around him. Literally circles. I watched him do it, laughing, while Greg flapped his arms and pretended to fall. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen Sam laugh like that on the ice.
On weekdays, Sam went back to school and came home and did his homework. He didn’t go to the rink. He told Coach Dawson he needed a break to think. Coach told him to take as long as he wanted.
