The Skater

“Why hockey, Sam?” Laura protested. “It’s just brawling on ice. What happened to basketball? Basketball was great.”

“Aw, Mom …” Laura’s son glared at her across the breakfast table. “All the kids at the center play. It’s not regular hockey. Besides, Mr. Edgerton wouldn’t let anybody fight. Pleeease, Mom?”

Laura sighed. She knew it was inevitable. Sam would wheedle his way into it. No matter what she thought now, she’d end up wringing her hands at hockey meets, waiting for the proverbial slam of the hockey puck into her nine‑year‑old’s winning smile. She finally gave her consent, lacing it with conditions to which Sam agreed, conditions she knew weren’t even registering.

“I need skates, Mom,” Sam announced around another mouthful of eggs.

“You have skates.”

“Yeah, but not hockey skates.”

“We’ll have to see, Sam.”

“But Mom!”

“We will see, Samuel.”

Sam clammed up, too savvy to push his luck. He wolfed down the rest of his breakfast, jammed his stocking cap over his sandy hair, grabbed his backpack, and bounded out the door. Laura waved to her next-door neighbor, Eunice, as her son ran across the adjoining backyards. Sam’s best friend was the Gallaghers’ grandson Stevie, who lived a couple of houses down the block, and Eunice often accompanied the boys to school, claiming the walk as her morning constitutional.

Laura hurried through the dishes, then headed to her upstairs studio. From the outside, the 1940s bungalow was a saltbox with its shorter roof facing the street. Inside, there was a loft across the rear of the house opening to a living room that rose uninterrupted to the ceiling. The loft was perfect for her painting — and for her more practical career as a graphic designer.

She had added two oversized skylights in the loft’s slanted back roof, and the bright, hardwood maple floor gleamed in the winter sunlight. It had been a major extravagance to have the skylights installed, but it was also practical; she relied on the sunlight that flooded the loft. In the daytime, the loft was her studio. But at night, after Sam was tucked into bed, it sometimes became the place Laura went to dream. She would wrap herself in her thick yellow throw, curl into her ancient olive-green overstuffed armchair, and watch the moon sail the sky.

It had been hard leaving the city a year ago, after Jim had died following a grueling battle against bone cancer. “Follow your heart, Laura,” he’d told her. “You have such a true one.” She knew her parents and her sister didn’t fully understand why she’d moved, but they lived less than two hours away and accepted and respected her decision.

The reasons weren’t that complex, really. As a single mother, Laura wanted the comparative safety of a small town. When she was a child, her family had spent many of their summer vacations in a cabin in this chain-of-lakes region of central Minnesota, where cornfields and pastures swept down in green swaths to sandy shores brushed by blue waters.

To some of her Minneapolis friends, Laura knew it looked as though she was trying to escape into the kind of life that her grandparents might have led. In some respects, they were probably right. But whatever she’d lost in terms of convenience and opportunity Laura felt she had gained even more by living in a world where children played safely in their yards, churches still held rummage sales, and neighbors watched out for one another.

She sat down at her drafting table at the center of the loft. Before Jim had died, her skills had provided the cash for extras, like hockey skates. Now they were the primary source of her and Sam’s income. Jim’s life insurance had covered a hefty down payment on the house and had enabled Laura, with lots of hard work and perseverance, to establish a small graphic design business. There wasn’t a lot of money for those extras, but she and Sam lived comfortably, and she was grateful to be able to see him off to school every morning and greet him at the door in the afternoon. Lately, though — with Christmas only three weeks away — business had been so brisk that the late‑night stints required to meet deadlines were beginning to take their toll. Between her work commitments and Sam, it seemed as though there wasn’t much time left for Laura the person.

She set her clock alarm for three. Truth be told, she could hardly wait to talk to Mr. Edgerton. Though he’d started his job as Cold Spring County’s new director of sports and recreation over three months ago, he divided his time among several centers, so Laura hadn’t yet met him. Sam obviously held him in high regard. All Laura knew was that he’d seen Sam skating alone at the community center rink and invited him to join the team. The invitation had irked her a little. Being a director, even the director for the entire county, didn’t give him license to invite Sam to participate without first contacting her. A picture formed in her mind of flailing hockey sticks and red-faced fisticuffs. He’s probably some gigantic, slack‑jawed jock, Laura muttered to herself.

She sighed and began her work, stopping only briefly at noon for a cup of tea, an apple, and a thick wedge of sharp cheddar cheese. When her clock chimed, Laura tucked her Levis into the tops of her ankle-high boots and ran a comb through her shoulder-length hair, debating once again whether she should shorten it and brighten the ash blonde with highlights. Then she donned her battered, ancient blue ski jacket. Best to let Mr. Edgerton see right away that cash didn’t flow as easily as invitations to join hockey teams.

* * *

The Foxwood Recreation Center was a good one. Mr. Edgerton’s earlier overstep notwithstanding, Laura was grateful to have discovered it a month after moving to the area. It offered an after-school extended day program that Sam attended three days per week. There were plenty of planned activities and, thanks to a number of neighborhood volunteers, a low child-to-staff ratio. Her favorite volunteer was Walter Gallagher, a retired accountant who was the husband of Eunice, Sam and Stevie’s faithful morning escort.

Laura walked into the wood-and-concrete building with its flat-woven Shaker rugs and bright, primary-colored walls. She spotted Walter behind a counter, studying a ledger.

“Excuse the interruption, Walter,” Laura said. “I’m looking for Mr. Edgerton.”

Walter looked up and ran a hand through the thick white hair that fluffed about his head in the dry, static air. “Hello Laura,” he said. “I didn’t see you come in. You say you’re looking for Jack?” He motioned to a picture window behind the counter. “There he goes,” he said.

A lone adult on ice skates was leading a long string of laughing children around the skating rink. Every so often, he switched from skating forward to backward, so he could check on his charges. “He’s the big one,” Walter added with a wink.

“That’s Mr. Edgerton?”

“Yes, and you go right ahead and flag him down when he comes around. He’s been out there goofing off too long. He was supposed to come here in 15 minutes ago so we could look over this ledger.”

Mr. Edgerton was definitely not a slack‑jawed jock. He was six feet of lithe, supple athleticism, topped by deep brown hair blown back from his high forehead as he sped around the rink. Laura strolled out to the rink’s sideboard, vaguely wishing she’d worn her camel-colored reefer coat instead of the symbolic ski jacket.

She didn’t have to flag him down. Mr. Edgerton’s eye homed in on her as soon as she appeared. He skated toward her, Sam hot on his heels.

“Hi, Mom!” Sam yelled. “This is Mr. Edgerton!”

Laura waved. “Hi, Sam.” She smiled at her son’s ruddy, excited face.

Jack Edgerton removed his glove and offered his hand. “Hello, Ms. Nelson. And it’s Jack, please.”

Laura took his hand. It was warm, his handshake firm. “How do you do, Jack.”

Sam fastened his eyes on his ally’s face. “Tell her it’s all right for me to play hockey, okay? I mean because there’s no fighting and stuff.”

Jack Edgerton slipped his hand back into his glove, placed one hand on each knee and glided over to her son. “Sam,” he said gently, “your mom knows what’s best for you, so whatever she says, you know I’m going to agree with her.”

“Yeah, but …” Sam dug the toe of his skate into the ice. Then, wisely, he decided to let things take their course and rejoined his friends.

Jack Edgerton skated over to her. “Sam tells me you’re not too keen on hockey. I hope you’ll feel better when I tell you that it’s not an organized team with competitive meets. It’s mostly about skill building and teamwork. We just have friendly games every few weeks between the kids who skate at the various rec centers. Girls play, too,” he added.

“Oh, I see,” Laura said. “Because girls are involved, that means it won’t be competitive or get rough — is that it?”

“Ouch.” He grinned and clapped his hands against his upper arms, as though warding off the cold. “What I meant is that we play for fun. It costs five dollars a season, and that includes a free skate exchange.” He looked over his shoulder at the kids, then turned back to her. “It’s well-supervised, Ms. Nelson, I assure you.”

“I have to confess I’ve noticed most things around here are.” Laura smiled. “It would have saved me some anxiety if you’d contacted me before inviting Sam, but now that I understand how it works, I don’t see why he can’t join in.”

Three kids, Sam among them, came flying across the rink toward Jack, demanding he organize a game of freeze tag. “I’m needed Ms. Nelson, but this will only take a minute.” The kids began tugging him across the ice. “Can you wait?”

“Unless there’s something to sign, I really should get back to work.”

“The general permission form covers Sam’s participation, but I need—” His sentence broke off as the three gave him a shove. His arms windmilled the air.

Laura laughed. “Don’t worry, I’ll wait,” she called. “You’d better concentrate on staying upright.”

In a matter of minutes, he was skating back toward her. He swiftly glided up and stopped in a spray of ice, showing off a little. “As I was saying” he said, “the general permission form covers Sam’s participation, so I just need you to sign a transportation form for when we visit the other centers. Anybody behind the counter can give you one.”

Laura thanked him and turned toward the building.

“Ms. Nelson?”

“Laura’s fine,” she said turning toward him.

“Laura,” he repeated. “I was wondering, Laura — that is — I know this is kind of presumptuous of me,” he stammered, “but I thought maybe we could … well, that is … would you care to go out to dinner with me tomorrow night?” he finally blurted.

Laura was startled into a dubious smile.

“I think we should,” Jack Edgerton said, “if for no other reason than Sam’s sake.”

“What’s Sam got to do with it?”

“He’s pretty concerned. He thinks your business takes up all the time you don’t spend with him and he worries that you haven’t gone on any dates, or even made many new friends.”

“Oh, Lord.”

“Well,” Jack continued, shaking his head, “he may be right, you know, about working too hard. Not taking enough time for yourself. We all do that, sometimes. So,” he asked, “how about it, Laura? Dinner tomorrow?”

“I don’t know, Jack. It’s very kind of you to ask, but we’ve only lived here for a little over a year. I’ve never … that is, I don’t have a regular sitter, so …” Laura realized she was the one who was stammering, now. “I am especially busy because of Christmas,” she said. “Thank you, but I’d better decline.”

He looked down at the ice and then back up at her. “Okay.” He gave her a wry smile. “But don’t be surprised when I try again after the holidays.” Then he shot off toward the center of the rink.

* * *

After she’d tucked Sam into bed that night, Laura had time to wonder why she hadn’t accepted Jack Edgerton’s invitation. He was certainly attractive enough — personable, too. Probably a fun date, if she could even remember what such a thing meant. But it was already Friday; she’d promised Father Duggan she’d finish the nativity backdrop for the Christmas pageant by the middle of next week. The preliminaries for a Valentine’s Day promotion for the most popular restaurant in town were due the following week. Plus, she hadn’t even started her Christmas shopping.

And of course there was Sam. He was doing so well now, but he’d been devastated by Jim’s death. Children had such an unobstructed view of what’s important. Presents under the tree — like hockey skates — were fun, but what they truly craved was attention and love. Laura felt she still needed to be there for Sam 110 percent.

There was all that — and there was also the fact Laura hadn’t broken the dating barrier since Jim’s death. She worried that she might like Jack more than she’d want to, and she wasn’t sure she could handle the extra layer of complexity he’d introduce. Her and Sam’s life was moving along very nicely the way it was. Better not to start something that carried with it the potential for change, she thought. Best to stay on the sidelines where she knew she could keep her balance — at least for now.

But then, on Saturday, Stevie invited Sam for dinner and an overnight, and Laura suddenly found herself with an empty house on her hands. She tried to work, but she was in the color phase of her project, and the artificial light proved inadequate. She shut down her computer, switched off all the lights, and curled into her chair beneath her yellow throw.

She watched through her skylights as the full moon began its transit across the sky. It journeyed higher among scattered clouds, then hid itself behind a distant bank. It slowly reemerged and cast a sparkling path down the stairway.

Laura felt herself rise from the chair. She set aside her throw, followed the light down the stairs, slipped into her ski jacket and went for a walk. It had snowed the night before, and all around her was pristine white as she made her way toward the lake. Passing the rec center, she noticed a solitary figure gliding over the ice. Then she saw someone else standing in the shadow of a tree, holding a grocery bag. As she drew closer, she recognized Walter Gallagher. He was watching the skater.

The skater was Jack Edgerton. He’d traded his hockey skates for black figure skates, and the way he was skating now wasn’t like how he’d skated with the children. He reminded Laura of the skaters she and Sam sometimes watched in televised competitions. The perfection of technique wasn’t there — even her untrained eye could see that — but he was fluid, graceful, and lyrical in his movement.

“Evening, Laura,” Walter said. Together they watched Jack Edgerton as he flowed from studied, small movements to faster maneuvers that had him skimming over the ice.

“World champion,” Walter reflected.

“Jack’s a world champion?”

“Would have been, if things had gone differently.”

“What happened?”

“Automobile accident. Almost 20 years ago, now. Drunk driver broadsided the family car. Jack was the only one hurt. Messed up his legs pretty bad. He almost lost the right one. Took the better part of a year before he could walk normally again — and another three months before he got back on the ice.”

Laura turned from Walter back to the rink. Jack was oblivious to them. He lifted his face toward the sky and leaned back into a circle with outstretched arms, skating to the memory of music learned long ago but never quite forgotten.

Walter turned up his collar against a light north wind. “He mostly skates like this at night, when he knows nobody’s around,” he told Laura. He peered at her over his glasses, his eyes knowing and kind. “I’d better get home with these groceries,” he said. “Goodnight, Laura.” He shifted his bag and continued on his way.

Laura looked back at Jack. He was skating backwards at speed. Suddenly he lifted himself into the air, made a complete revolution and landed easily. He let his momentum carry him, then pushed off and executed another.

Life held problems — sometimes terrible ones, Laura thought — but somehow it always went forward. For everyone. For her and Sam. For Jack Edgerton, whose dreams had been shattered with his legs, yet who still skated his heart out under the clear light of the winter moon.

She walked up to the rink. Jack skated over to her. He seemed surprised but not the least bit unhappy to see her there.

“You’re very talented, Jack,” Laura said.

“Thanks. The old body doesn’t quite do what it used to, but I still like fooling around out here.”

Laura ran a mittened hand along the top edge of the rink’s sideboard. “Sam deserted me for an overnight,” she began, but the words that were supposed to follow got stuck.

“My dinner invitation still stands,” Jack said quickly, knocking some accumulated ice from the blade of his skate. “But it’ll have to be a lot different from the place I planned on taking you. I’m just wearing jeans.”

“Me too,” Laura said, “but I like that the best, anyway.”

“Come on,” Jack said, reaching forward to take her hands. I’ve got to go inside and change into my shoes.”

Laura burst out laughing. “Jack! I haven’t been on a skating rink in years. I don’t even own a pair of skates! I’ll walk around the long way.”

“Nothing doing,” he said. He took her hands and gave them a playful tug. Laura hesitated, then sat on the edge of the sideboard, swung her legs over and put her feet on the ice. Jack began gliding backward, pulling her gently toward the rec center.

“Jack!” she protested, still laughing, “at least let me keep to the edge!”

He grinned at her. “Just hang on, Laura,” he said. “You’re already halfway there.”