Donnie disappeared into the back and the Zamboni engine grumbled to life. The buzzer sounded. In the dressing room, my hands shook as I untied the laces of Logan’s skates.
I knew where to find her. It was time to tell Clara the good news and get her off my back once and for all.
But first, I needed flowers that weren't dead.
9
CLARA
Skateskiing with Dash every morning was my escape from the rest of the world and the small-town drama unfolding ten miles away.
I'd grown up nordic skiing, but once I tried skate skiing, which was almost like figure skating, I was hooked. "Come on, Dash." I whistled and clapped my hands. Dash's ears flapped as he bounded down the trail. "It's time for your favorite part." I held up his harness, and he whimpered in excitement as I clipped it the clip at my waist.
Dash started slowly, waiting for my command. "Let's gooooo," I shouted. His muscled shoulders gleamed in the early morning sunlight as he pulled me down the trail. We zipped along, my skis humming as the cabin came into view. "Whoa, Dash." I unclipped him, and he beelined to the door. I took off my skis and stopped at my truck to start it up.
I left it idling in the driveway.
The second I stepped inside, my phone buzzed. It was time to face reality.
The Chance Rapids Community Page had divided the town into two distinct camps: those who wanted to save the rink, and those who had been fooled by the King Development proposal.
Dash leaned against my legs as I scrolled through the battlefield of comments.
My grandfather built that rink with his own hands.
Clara Dalton needs to go back to school and take some courses in economics.
Dash pawed at his food bowl.
"Sorry, Dasher. This is taking over my life." I set my phone face-down, filled his bowl, and resisted the urge to pick it up again. Other than the crackle of the wood-stove and Dash's kibble chomping, the cabin was silent.
I hadn't seen Beck since that day in the dressing room. Part of me was relieved; the other part wondered if there was a speck of the old boy I knew in there somewhere, one who would try to make it right.
The Sugar Peaks café provided a direct line to the town gossip train. Beck had been seen at The Last Chance and had been visiting with business owners.
But he hadn't come to see me. Or get another coffee.
Dash curled up in his bed next to the fire, and I knelt down to kiss his head. "See you this afternoon."
My breath came out in puffs as I jogged to the truck. When I tugged on the freezing door handle with my bare hands, my heart sank. It didn't budge. I pulled harder. "Shit. Shit. Shit." Blowing warm breath onto my hands, I tried again. It wasn't frozen. I must have bumped the door lock after I started it.
Running to the cabin, Dash looked up as I burst inside and sprinted to the junk drawer, willing the spare key to be inside it.
A random battery rolled to the front of the drawer as I tugged it open and pawed through takeout menus, stickers, and rolls of scotch tape. "No, no." This was the only place it could be. Iemptied the contents onto the counter, and the leather tag from the spare set stuck out from an envelope. "Thank you,” I said out loud.
Inside the envelope was a stack of old photos. My hands shook as I took the top photo from the envelope. I remembered every second of that night and could almost smell it. Two kids, Beck and me, sitting at the bleachers at the axe-throwing contest. Our arms entwined just before we took our first bites of corndogs. String lights glowed overhead, and whoever had taken the photo had caught us both mid-laugh.
Those two innocent kids seemed like strangers from a completely different lifetime. Sighing, I tucked the photo back into the envelope.
Fifteen Years Ago
"You'll freeze in that jacket." Beck pulled off his Bobcats hoodie.
My teeth chattered. "I'm fine."
He ignored my protest and pulled the sweatshirt over my head like I was a child. Giving in, I lifted my arms. The fabric was warm from his body and smelled like cedar from the mill. He must've worn it on his last shift.
"Better?"
