Free Breaking Skin by Debra Doxer

because Cole is right next door, but I’m glad he told the man in the grocery store he’s retired.
    Langley calls to me from the family room. “Is it time to make the lasagna yet?”
    I put my phone away and try to erase the image of Cole’s lifeless form on the ice. “Sure. Come on in.”
    A few hours later dinner is finished, the leftovers are put away, and Langley is tucked into bed. The lasagna wasn’t fancy but it turned out decent, a little messy since an eight-year-old added most of the layers, but it tasted good.
    Langley enjoyed helping me. The fact that her mother isn’t home yet doesn’t seem to worry her. She told me her babysitter stays with her at night sometimes while her mother goes out, and I find myself disapproving, even though I have no right to.
    I look out the kitchen window, but in the glass I only see my own worried reflection. Renee has been gone all day and into the evening now with no word at all, and I don’t think I can pretend everything is okay anymore. I have to do something, but the first thing that comes to mind is the last thing I want to do.
    I’d rather not call the nursing home where my mother has lived since her second stroke, but since I don’t know any of Renee’s friends, it’s the only phone call I know to make other than one to the police. I’d rather not call the police because I don’t want to exaggerate the situation or get Renee into trouble.
    I’ve called the nursing home a few times over the years to check on my mother’s condition. The nurses always update me, but I haven’t seen or spoken to my mother since I was eighteen. I know she can speak, although her speech is impaired. The nurses tell me this when they ask if I’d like to talk to her. I can hear their silent disapproval over the line when I decline.
    After I finally work up the nerve to call, the nursing home is a dead end. There are no answers there. They tell me my mother is asleep and no one has been in to see her today.
    Frustration finds me pacing the floor aimlessly. If I were home, I’d go to the studio and dance until I was too exhausted to feel anything more than the aches in my muscles. But I’m not at home and I can’t go home. All I can do is pull open the back door and step out onto the patio in hopes that the crisp night air will clear my head.
    It’s cool outside and quiet too, a sharp contrast to the noise I’m used to in the city. Only crickets and the occasional car coming down the road break the silence. Above me, the sky is a bright canopy of stars.
    Cooperstown is a beautiful place. I know that even though my past here prevents me from appreciating it. But I remember the quiet nights and I remember this sky. It’s the same night sky I sent my wishes up into as a child. The same sky Renee and I gazed at when we talked about our dream of dancing on the great stages of the world. That dream seems very far away now. The foolish imaginings of children who knew nothing about reality.
    A sky full of stars is a beautiful sight to wish upon, but if it realized people thought it could grant wishes, I think it would laugh. The sky doesn’t grant wishes, and when those wishes don’t come true, you can’t blame the stars. Blaming them is like blaming a tree, or a rock, or me, and Renee blames me for everything bad that’s ever happened to her.
    As I stand there looking up at the stars, the sound of ice clinking in a glass gets my attention.
    I look across the shadowed backyard and notice a silhouette in the moonlight. My heart quickens at the sight of someone sitting in a chair next door on an expansive deck. Even in the dark, I know it’s Cole. I can feel him watching me.
    Before I can think too much about it, I turn and find myself walking in his direction. As I approach, moving quietly across the grass, his silhouette never moves, but the ice stops its clinking as I climb the handful of steps that lead up to the deck.
    I swallow to moisten my dry mouth. “Nice night.”
    He