Ink and Ice

by Erin McRae

  “This changes things...the lineup for the U.S. team,” Aaron said. “I have a chance now. And—I know this is a big ask, and that there’s going to be a lot of details to work out, but....”

  “Spit it out, Aaron,” his father said.

  “I want to find a way to go back to training early.”

  “How early?” his mom asked.

  Tomorrow, Aaron wanted to say. But he couldn’t. Many things might or might not be possible, but that certainly wasn’t. “As soon as possible.”

  “It’s almost Memorial Day weekend,” she pointed out. She wasn’t saying no, but she didn’t sound happy.

  “I know.”

  “We open in two days and then it’s one of the busiest seventy-two hours of the year.”

  Aaron was about to reply in the frustrated affirmative, again, when Ari shushed them.

  He whipped his head around towards her. “What?”

  “Cut the motor,” she said quietly.

  When her father didn’t, she shouted. “Dad, cut the fucking motor!”

  As the boat spluttered to its swaying stop in the middle of the dark lake, Aaron held his breath. In the darkness, something barked.

  “It’s a dog,” their mother said.

  “Quiet!” Ari hissed. In the dark the barking seemed to multiply.

  “Someone’s got an awful lot of dogs,” Aaron said. The sound, whatever it was, was definitely not a dog.

  “There,” Ari said, pointing to a spot in the middle distance, somewhat vaguely in the direction of Canada.

  What seemed to be the sleek rounded head of a seal rose up out of the water, before diving again. Then, a few more, glimpsed and gone. Then dozens.

  “It’s the wind, stirring up the water,” their mother said softly.

  Aaron had to admit that was probably true. The wind could get so strong that eight-foot waves on the lake happened often enough. What looked like seal heads was probably just the breeze, lacing between the islands in the twilight and tricking their tired eyes.

  The barking stopped, as if dispelled by reason.

  “I don’t want us to hit one,” Ari said.

  “Pretty sure magic freshwater seals are smart enough not to get hit by boats, kiddo,” their dad said. He restarted the motor, but far more gently than before.

  “We’ll talk about your season Monday night,” Aaron’s mother said, as if they hadn’t just been interrupted by the myth of the place they were all from and Aaron always felt guilty to leave.

  MEMORIAL DAY WEEKEND arrived, and with it the rush of tourists that would swarm over the island all summer. That first day especially Ari was quiet, almost sullen; she never liked when outsiders came to the islands, and the beginning of the season was always hardest on her. So she took the kitchen shift, and Aaron took the front of house duties. The day wore on in endless hours, throbbing feet, and his first sunburn of the season.

  Yet as tiring as the work was, he couldn’t stop thinking about the Twin Cities and training. All he wanted was to be back on the ice. At the same time, he dreaded having to leave. What was summer, if not spent on the islands? He wondered what Brendan had told Katie of their conversation, and what Katie’s reaction had been.

  Late that night, once they’d returned to Whisker Island, he took a walk down to the edge of the lake and called Katie. Maybe that was too much, but he needed to talk to someone about this. She had always understood him, when it came to skating, in a way that no one else did.

  Only after the phone started ringing did he realize that it was a weeknight, late for civilians, and later still for Katie, who kept skaters’ hours during the season and farmers’ hours otherwise.

  She did, however, pick up the phone after only a few rings. “Hi Aaron, what’s up?”

  Her tone wasn’t exactly brusque, but it did make Aaron ask, “Is this a good time?”

  “Depends why you’re calling. Please tell me you haven’t also had a season-ending injury out there on your island.”

  Your island would have made Aaron bristle from anyone else, but Katie had been a farm girl before she became a skater, and still was with twenty head of dairy cows ten miles outside Saint Paul. Why anyone would want two professions so hard on the heart, body, and wallet, Aaron didn’t know. But he didn’t need to. They were cut from some of the same stuff.

  “Ah, no,” he stammered. “But it’s kind of about that.”

  “Brendan told me you texted him. Have you been able to talk things through with your parents yet?”

  “Not yet,” Aaron admitted. “With the holiday weekend, everything’s busy. They want to wait ’til Monday.”

  “That’s certainly fair. So why are you calling me?”

  Aaron forced himself not to shrink at the question; he wanted Katie’s approval, but was getting a challenge instead. “Because I don’t know what’s possible and I can’t stop thinking about it. And I can’t wait ’til Monday night to make any kind of decision. I need to know what my options are, as far as you’re concerned, so I can make plans. For every eventuality.”

  Katie seemed to consider that. “You already know Brendan and I will be here for whatever you need from us. Same as we are for all our skaters.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “We’re not your limiting factor. And you don’t know what your parents are going to say yet. In some ways, the only limiting factor is you. Now what do you want?”

  Aaron took a breath. What he wanted—a shot at the Olympics—was no more and no less than what any athlete at his level dreamed of. Expressing that, especially to one of his coaches, shouldn’t have been difficult. But Aaron had always kept part of himself carefully tucked away from the rest of his life—the part that reveled in the lake’s winter storms and calm summer dawns, the part that was happiest here by the water and wondered if maybe, just maybe, there was truth to the old stories about the seals. It was that part now that was making it hard for him to articulate the things he so badly wanted.

  “If I leave early, I might make the team. Might. If I manage to, I won’t medal.”

  “The team isn’t the only thing at stake in the season,” Katie said kindly, but Aaron would not be deterred.

  “Not in an Olympic year.”

  Katie hummed down the phone line. “You coming back early may not be the thing that makes or breaks your shot at that or anything else.”

  “I know that,” Aaron said. “But don’t I have to at least try?”

  “But you’re uncertain,” Katie led.

  “Of course I’m uncertain,” Aaron said. He was also exasperated, with himself as much as anything. “If I leave now, I leave my parents without my help for the entire summer. It’s about money, but not just that. I spend maybe four months here a year. I’ve only been here a month so far. It’s not fair to them. And it’s not enough time for me.”

  “I see.” Katie’s voice was calm, nearly cold. Apparently, she was going to force him to figure this out on his own.

  “You grew up on your family’s farm. You know what it’s like.” Aaron took another deep breath to steady himself for the plunge, the way he always did before a performance began. There was one thing he had to know. “If you hadn’t won a medal, and you’d gone into the Olympics knowing you wouldn’t win a medal, would it still be worth everything you had to do in order to get there?”

  There was a corresponding breath on the other side of the line. Aaron smiled; skaters were all the same in some ways.

  “Everything has always felt like life and death for me,” Katie said. “And there was a lot going on for me that year.”

  Brendan, Aaron interpreted.

  “I might have given you a different answer in the middle of it,” she said, “but I never would have been able to live with myself if I hadn’t made it.” She paused for a long moment. “Honestly, sometimes the fact that I got there is the only reason I can live with myself now.”

  “Okay.” Aaron took a moment to digest that.

  Once he had, the way forward
seemed as clear as it had when he had first heard the news from Huy. The island would still be here after this season. His family would still be here. But he only had one chance at this season. No matter what the cost, he had to take it.

  “Okay,” he said again, committing to the only decision that now made sense. “I still need to get through the next few days. And work with my family to figure out how to fill the gap I’ll be leaving. But I’m going to get out of here Tuesday morning and I will see you at the rink on Wednesday.”

  “Good.” Katie sounded pleased. “Once you have your flights, text Brendan and we’ll pick you up.”

  “Are you sure? I can get the bus, or a car service or whatever—”

  Katie laughed. “If you’re coming back to work early, that means we’re all coming back to work early. You want to get in the game now? That means talking and making a plan. Otherwise there’s no reason for you to be running away from your family up there. Right?”

  Katie was always a hardass about people keeping their lives in order off the ice. It cut down on distractions and made for good habits, she said. Aaron agreed in principle, but thought it was a little funny coming from someone who, when she had been competing, was legendary for being kind of a mess.

  “Right,” he agreed.

  “We’ll pick you up and we’ll have lunch and we’ll talk. Or rather, we’ll have the first of what is going to be a long series of conversations because there’s what you want, what you can have, and the options in between,” Katie said. In the background, someone chuckled.

  Which reminded Aaron that she had a whole life he was upending with his own desperate need to do the impossible. “Thank you. Sorry if I interrupted.”

  Katie shushed him. “Don’t worry about it. Do what you need to do there and we’ll see you in a few days.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” Aaron was about to say goodbye and pull the phone away from his ear when Katie’s voice pulled him back.

  “And Aaron?”

  “Yeah?”

  He could hear the smile in her voice. “Good boy.”

  AFTER HE FINISHED TALKING to Katie Aaron sat at the end of his family’s dock for a long time, lying back and looking up at the stars. He knew he should go to bed; he had to be up at five to ride back to South Bass Island with everyone else for the morning shift. But he couldn’t bring himself to go back to the house. Now that he’d started planning to leave, all he could think about was the summer nights under the stars he wouldn’t have here, lulled to peace and restfulness with the soft slap of the waves on the shore. He could leave, and he would survive, but missing this place would still hurt. No matter the choice he made, there would be a price to pay. That was the nature of skating—and, he suspected, most of life.

  Eventually he became aware that the soft sound he was hearing wasn’t some nighttime creature, but footsteps. Ari’s.

  “How was it out front at the restaurant tonight?” she asked as she sat down next to him. “I didn’t ask before.”

  “Eh.” Aaron tried to think that far back. It had only been a few hours ago, but already it seemed like a separate lifetime. “Not bad. Only had to toss out one drunk and rowdy dude.”

  There was the soft tap of foam on wood as she kicked off her flip flops and dangled her feet in the water.

  “Sorry you had to deal with that crap,” she said.

  “You’ll have to deal with it when I’m gone,” he pointed out.

  “I always do, when you leave. And you always leave before the end of the season here,” Ari said, that strange blend of easy and resigned about her role as always.

  Aaron never stopped feeling guilty about it. How could he, when every one of his own career choices had been made with an eye to his own advantage, never mind how that left the rest of his family? Especially now. Especially with what he’d told Katie.

  They were silent for a few long moments. The evening was calm, and the lake rippled in the moonlight. The quiet hiss and rush of water tossed tiny pebbles about as little wavelets crested on the beach.

  “So you’re going back,” Ari finally said.

  “Yeah.” There was no use demurring. “Were you listening?”

  “Always. I’ll miss you.”

  “I’ll miss you too,” Aaron said. It wasn’t like she could come with him.

  “I bet you’ll miss hooking up with all the cute tourists, too,” she teased.

  “I don’t hook up with them! I merely flirt with them.” He couldn’t believe they were talking about this, but it was better, he supposed, than addressing any of the actual repercussions of the departure he was planning.

  “Because you live with your family and have nowhere discreet to take them?”

  Aaron chuckled. “Well, yeah.”

  Ari laughed. “You’re strange. And should have better taste than to settle for a mainlander.”

  “If you happen to encounter an eligible islander that we haven’t known since we were babies, be sure to let me know.”

  They grinned at each other and the old terrible joke that was forever true.

  Ari’s expression sobered, and she looked at her feet in the water. “When are you leaving?”

  “Tuesday. Mom and Dad don’t know yet; we still have to talk about it. But I can still come back for some of the busier weekends,” he offered, though he knew it made no sense.

  “You won’t,” she said, that same even tone. There was no blame in it, but Aaron flinched anyway.

  “Well, I’ll try.”

  “You really think you can make the team?”

  “I don’t know,” Aaron confessed. “If I did, if I was sure, I wouldn’t hesitate to go.”

  “You don’t seem like you’re hesitating now.”

  “Not on the outside,” Aaron pointed out. Being a competitive athlete often meant he was very good at squishing his emotions into a box and letting them out as infrequently as possible.

  “If you’re going to go regardless, why waste time feeling bad about it?” Ari kicked at the water, as if for emphasis.

  “We’re Jewish. We’re very good at feeling guilty about things.”

  Ari laughed. “If you don’t want your outside to match your inside—that is, if you’re not going to let your guilt stop you—”

  “I got that, thank you.” So much was easier said than done.

  “Then make your insides match your outsides!”

  “I’m not sure my insides and outsides have ever matched.”

  “Yeah.” Ari looked thoughtful. “Me neither.”

  AARON WAS ALMOST GRATEFUL for the length of the days at the restaurant as the tourist season finally officially kicked off. Business and exhaustion served to quiet his brain, and when Monday night came the conversation with his parents was less painful than it might have been. Aaron felt guilty through the entirety of it nonetheless.

  There was enough money for ice time and coaching fees for now, and whatever difference the extra weeks added up to, Aaron knew that Luke’s accident would leave some sponsorships and federation funding up for grabs. And he could always teach a few more basic skating classes if he needed to.

  As for the restaurant, Aaron volunteered to do what paperwork and administration he could via distance and the magic of the internet. He knew that organizing spreadsheets and making calls to suppliers after a day of training would be the last thing he’d want to do, but being able to contribute mattered.

  But even with those problems solved, he still had to get to Saint Paul. Aaron had to confess to his parents that he’d already called the Put-in Bay airport and arranged a flight to Cleveland for the next morning. Getting off the island itself was a little like taking a taxi. You just let the airport know you needed to fly. If someone who could pilot one of the six-seat prop planes that served as a connection between the islands and the mainland was around, you paid them a hundred dollars and off you went. It was summer, so he could have taken the ferry to the mainland and driven to Cleveland, but flying was easier and faster. And he wouldn’t
have to rent a car. Once he got to Cleveland, he would need to get on a big plane like anyone else.

  Chapter 2

  THE WEEK BEFORE MEMORIAL Day

  Miami, FL

  ZACK KELLY STOOD ON his balcony and looked out at the ocean. It was supposed to be soothing. Compared to his recently ended career—rattling around the world’s conflict zones in search of stories people didn’t want to read about horrors they didn’t want to admit were happening—it probably was.

  But Zack was not soothed. Whatever healing he’d been supposed to find on Miami’s beaches had largely been eclipsed by the book deal he was currently living off of, a somewhat hasty marriage, and a now even hastier divorce. At least he had a decent therapist who was helping him get a handle on his journalism-induced PTSD.

  His cellphone, shoved in the back pocket of his shorts like an accident waiting to happen, rang. He fumbled it out, barely caring who was calling enough to check the ID. Was it his in-process ex, his supportive but exhausting local friends, more spam? It didn’t matter. None of it was appealing.

  He frowned at the screen; it was his best friend from college. Which, while his world was falling apart in the most boring way possible, felt like a halfway decent consolation prize.

  “Sammy,” he said, answering the call. “What brings you to rubbernecking my disaster life?”

  “Work, if you want it. Assuming you’re in the country.”

  Zack dragged his hand through his hair. “I’m here. Packing for my ex, who still can’t be bothered to do domestic tasks even if they are the ones required for him not to be living here anymore.”

  “I don’t want to tell you I always knew it would end in tears....” Sammy began.

  “But you always knew it would end in tears?” Zack finished for him.

  “Ten thousand percent. I don’t know what you thought you were looking for, but you weren’t going to find it in a trauma rebound six months after you got back from a shooting war.”