Free Thin Ice by Marsha Qualey Page A

imagine he just thought it was the quickest way to get to my place. Or maybe he was trying to prove something.”
    “I’ve had nightmares,” I confessed softly.
    “About Scott in the river?”
    “Yes. I see him slipping into the ice, then rolling in the water. Fish…”
    “Close enough to the truth, come spring. For now—well, cold water preserves things. I have friends who dive wrecks in Lake Superior. A couple of times they’ve gone so deep they’re way below where any fish live and the water is dead still. They’ve seen bodies a hundred years old, still dressed. They said they looked like mannequins in a wax museum.”
    We were silent again. “This is awful,” she said a moment later. “Hard not to think about.”
    She tapped her water glass with her right index finger. “Arden, did he ever talk about me?”
    Careful now. The wrong thing would crush the lady’s spirit more than any nightmarish image. I sure didn’t dare pass along that he’d said “I don’t love her.” What she felt was obvious. “We lived so closely,” I said, trying to figure out how to say more without hurting more, “that we were careful not to step on each other. Once I got older he really backed off and we didn’t share much. No more sitting on my bed to say good-night, that sort of thing,” Well, that worked. I could see I’d taken her mind off her relationship with Scott and got her thinking about mine.
    “This is way out of line, but…how did he teach you about the more personal things?”
    “Like girl stuff and sex? He didn’t; I’m totally ignorant.”
    She relaxed, glad I’d joked. For a moment we were both relieved of the awful images. I rose and stacked dishes. “That’s where Mrs. D. stepped in.”
    “Mrs. D.?”
    “Jane Drummond, the Betty Crocker. My official guardian. She lives across the street. Her youngest kids are my best friends.”
    Claire nodded. She swung her legs around and rested them on an empty chair. “The jugglers. Scott told me about them. I suppose I might know more about your life than you do of mine.”
    “That’s a fat fact, all right. Until a few weeks ago I had no idea that my brother was even dating someone, let alone that she had a kid. It blew me away, when I first called and heard Hannah’s voice.”
    She lifted her water glass and sipped. “Blew Scott away, too. I didn’t hear from him for quite a while after my motherhood was revealed.”
    “I guess he adjusted.”
    “Seemed to. And then…” Her head sank into her hand.
    Two females on the verge of emotional dissolution. We’d both lost the same person, but no way I wanted to cry with her. We’d just met, after all.
    Hurrah for television commercials.
    “This is the best Doug ever.”
    Claire and I turned with relief to the doorway. Hannah stood there, beaming, untouched by any nightmarish talk.
    Claire held out her arms, but her daughter shook her head. “Why don’t you come watch?”
    We shifted our bodies to the living room and shifted the conversation to mundane topics—Barbie dolls, new movies, kindergarten memories, whether we wanted popcorn. Even as I chatted, a million questions shot through my head. Who was Hannah’s father? How long had they lived around here? How did Claire meet Scott? Did she do her own hair color?
    Doug ended and Hannah sprang up. Time to go? No.
    “Could I see where you work? Scott told me you make wood things. He said he’d give me one.”
    “Then I’ll give you one, but they’re not toys, Hannah. I make mirrors and picture frames, things like that.” I brushed her hair away from her ear, and she jumped back and scowled. Dumb move—little kids don’t let people touch. “Sorry. Just checking for pierced ears. I make earring stands, too.”
    “No piercing,” said Claire. “Not until she’s thirteen.”
    “Tough mom, huh?” I asked the girl. She nodded and smiled again. “And I suppose she won’t let you date, either.”
    “Yuck,” said Hannah.
    The shop didn’t