“Cold,” I say.
“No kidding. When are you heading off to the Olympics to win me all those gold medals?”
I offer a tight-lipped smile. “Any day now.”
“Yeah? ’Cause I figured out this move that I think you should do. It’s got gold written all over it. It’s kinda like a cross betweenTheKarate Kidcrane kick and a hula.”
I’ve never seenTheKarate Kid, and watching Uncle Mike do...whatever he proceeds to do in my living room, I have my doubts about his ever having seen it either. He almost crashes into the coffee table as he balances on one foot before striking a pose so ludicrous that I have to laugh, a loud one that comes right from the belly.
“Right?” he says, straightening and then wincing as he rubs his knee. “I’ll teach you after dinner, ’cause it’s not as easy as it looks.”
Another laugh erupts from me. This is what Uncle Mike does. He makes the near two-hour drive up from San Angelo every Saturday that he can while Mom and I visit Jason. He distracts Dad and Laura if they let him, and always,alwaysfinds a way to make me laugh when I get home, even if he has to nearly break a bone to do it.
He lets me help him limp to the couch, and then hits me with a real question while I’m still off guard.
“How’s J?”
I meet his gaze, mine instantly sobering, and claim the chair opposite him. “The same?”
“Kid.”
I draw my knees up, wanting to squirm under his stare. Next to Laura, our parents and me, nobody loved Jason more than Uncle Mike. After fourteen years of sobriety, he fell off the wagon hard when Jason went to prison. He’s the only one who has any idea what it’s like being behind bars, having spent two years in a minimum-security prison after his third drunk-driving strike almost fifteen years ago.
“He’s hanging in there. I know it helps seeing us. I think it’d help more if Dad and Laura came.” I don’t mention Uncle Mike visiting. It eats him up that his request was denied due to his past felony conviction and the fact that he’s not technically family.
Uncle Mike hangs his head. “I’m working on your dad.”
“I know. Thanks.”
After a moment he says, “You tell him I love him?”
Jason, he means. I nod.
When the silence stretches on, I start to stand.
“What about the skating thing? The real one. What’s it called again?”
“Stories on Ice.”
“Stories on Ice,”he says, smiling. I don’t smile back. He scoots forward on the couch. “You know I was kidding about the Olympics. This ice show is a big deal. I’d be real proud of you.”
The clouds outside shift, letting a beam of dying sunlight through the windows, bathing us in a warm glow, and for a heartbeat, I feel better.
“Proud of her for what?” Mom asks, unwinding her earbuds as she comes downstairs dressed for another run. This on top of the predawn one she already took. There aren’t any marathons coming up, none that she plans to run in anymore, but she trains like she’ll be running one in a week. If she could time it, she’d probably run all the way to the prison and back each week in an effort to exhaust her mind as much as her body.
“Storybook on Ice.”
“Stories on Ice,”I correct in a much less enthusiastic voice.
Mom halts on the second to last step. “What?”
I understand her surprise even as I’d hoped—at least a part of me had hoped—not to see it.
“That’s the plan, isn’t it?” Uncle Mike asks, eyes wide and as innocent as he’s capable of making them—which isn’t very. “You agreed she could set college aside if she made the show. When is the audition deadline?” He looks from me to Mom, and it’s anyone’s guess to say who looks more ill at the question.
I know the answer just as surely as Mom does, but neither of us is inclined to give it. We used to talk about it all the time, but that was before. How can I leave, or even think about leaving? If I made the show, I’d be touring the country for most of the year. Laura wouldn’t talk to anyone besides a bird she keeps caged for fear he’ll fly away. Dad would take up permanent residence in his workshop, sanding away at himself more than the wood he shaped. Mom would be left running away from it all, literally.
And Jason. He’ll be fifty when he gets out of prison, older than Mom and Dad and Uncle Mike.
