But I don’t carve any new grooves. Don’t smooth any of the snow.
I just look. Embed it into my memory. Tap the right post, then the left. Stroke the twine, and nod my head.
“That’s the last one, old friend.”
Then I turn and skate off the ice and into the tunnel.
I’ve got nothing left to prove, and everything left to love.
Epilogue
One year later
Reid
The grill hisses as another drop of fat hits the flame, sending up a curl of smoke that smells like salt and char. I shift the spatula under the burgers and turn one carefully, listening to the satisfying sizzle.
Behind me, something thumps against the patio table.
I glance over my shoulder just in time to see Ivy’s chubby hands thud against the wood again with the determination of someone who has recently discovered percussion. Which, I guess, in a way she has.
Her dark hair sticks up in soft tufts around her head, mussed from her late afternoon nap that lasted approximately twelveminutes. The evening light catches the gold in them as she grins wide at the noise she’s made.
Thump.
She lets out a squeal that sounds like she’s congratulating herself, and Carina smiles from where she’s sitting in the outdoor seat beside her.
“She’s been doing this every time she’s in a highchair,” she says, amusement curling through her voice.
I flip another burger. “Good rhythm.”
Carina snorts.
“That’s not rhythm, that’s chaos.”
I glance back at Ivy. She slaps the table again, then pauses with her palms flat on the wood as though she’s evaluating the results.
“Same thing,” I say.
Carina lifts her glass and takes a sip, still watching our daughter with that soft look she gets when she forgets anyone else is around.
The yard is quiet in a way it only gets once the day finally settles. After Ivy’s spread every toy she owns into every corner of the house, when Carina’s back from a shift at the clinic—and I’m ready to look after my girls.
The sky’s fading into smudgy coral hues, the warm air wrapping around us, while the treehouse catches the golden rays of the sun.
I didn’t think this was what my life would look like.
Didn’t know I’d end up here, retired and standing at a grill in my backyard while my daughter experiments with percussion and Carina watches us both like she’s cataloguing the moment.
But now it’s hard to imagine anything else.
Ivy’s attention shifts to the tray on the table, and her small fingers curl around the edge of a burger bun before I can stop her.
“Hey you,” I say, stepping over as she beams at me. “Not so fast, baba.”
“Dadadada!”
I rescue the bun before it hits the ground and reach for the ketchup instead.
