The Multitudes Within Me (Sequel to The Sound of Ice)

26

I feel too guilty to stay in the house, so I go on a walk. It's snowing a little, just dusting, nothing too bad. I'm a few blocks away when I realize I forgot my phone. I also forgot a coat, and a scarf, so I bury my chin down against my sweatshirt and blink up into the cold.

From across the street, I pass a group of grade school kids walking home together. Their laughter carries across the road, and they're wearing colorful toques and backpacks. It's late afternoon, so school must have been let out recently. One kid shoves the other teasingly, another gathers the dusty snow and tries to throw a snowball. One walks backwards, facing the group, talking loudly. They are radiating with happiness.

I wonder where Cameron is. A small part of me is scared that he's driven away and will never come back - another part is scared that his car will spin on black ice and be slammed into by a truck, like what happened to my parents. It puts things into perspective, in a way. It's okay if Cameron hates me, as long as he's alive. It's okay if he never speaks to me, as long as he's safe.

I walk until the cold has settled into my bones and I'm numb all over. I realize, looking around the familiar streets, that I've made a loop and am near the neighborhood ice rink. I kick snow off my boots and go inside.

It's been awhile since I've been here, but the smell is so striking. Sweaty hockey jerseys, the leather of ice skates, the sheeny scent of freshly zambonied ice. There's a figure skating lesson happening on the ice - a handful of little girls and boys, all of them under six years old, toddling around the ice with an instructor beside them. Miniature orange cones are placed around the rink.

I watch from the wall, leaning beside the trophy cases, waiting for warmth to seep back into my body. I feel it first in my fingers. I should've grabbed a coat. Is Cameron okay?

"Is that really Sam Hughes?"

I step away from the wall and smile. "George!"

George smiles gruffly and reaches out to grab my shoulder. "My god, look at you! You look so much older! I haven't seen you in so long!"

"It's been forever since I've been here," I admit.

I haven't thought about George in awhile, the kind elderly man who owns the rink. He's sweet to everyone, but I know he views Cameron like a son, even if neither will admit it. George pats the pockets of his St. Anne Lions windbreaker and tilts his head, scanning my face.

"So - Sam! I hear you're at Harvard!" George nods his head approvingly. "Very impressive stuff, young man. Not that I'm surprised. Cameron tells me all about you, how smart you are."

"Cameron talks about me?"

"Oh, from time to time! Whenever he's back in town, he tries to pay me a visit."

"Oh," I say. I pull my sweatshirt sleeves over my hands. "And how are you, George?"

"I'm doing just fine, just fine. Excited for Christmas, that's for sure. My daughter and her three kids are coming in to visit from Quebec."

"That's so exciting!"

"Yeah, it should be fun." George looks around the rink. "So what brings you here? Want to join in on the skating lesson?"

"I was just walking by and thought I'd pop in."

"Well, you know you're welcome here anytime. The lesson is finished in about ten minutes, and then I have to close things up for the day, gotta to run by the bank before they close. But you're welcome to stay here, if you'd like, s'long as you don't go on the ice."

I smile, and George winks at me good-naturedly. "Thank you, George," I say.

"Of course. Glad I ran into you. If I don't see you again before the holidays, Merry Christmas!"