Free Thin Ice by Marsha Qualey Page B

impress her. I hadn’t worked since the night of Scott’s accident, so everything was dusty. She looked pretty skeptical until I showed her the latest mirror design. She held the single finished one in her hands. “I love this,” she said. Claire peeked over her shoulder and laughed.
    The eight-by-ten mirror was made of wide birch molding decorated with six of the red wax lips. “Think it will sell?” I asked. They both nodded. “A million,” said Hannah.
    “I don’t have a million. Just one. You can have it.”
    “You should make a million, you really should. I’d buy one. My friend Lindsey’s birthday is coming up; I’ll buy one to give her. Would you make me one to give?”
    Simple request, but I couldn’t say yes. I looked around at the boxes of fake gems, the racks of molding, the jars of nails, and the pile of wax lips, and they all struck me as dusty artifacts of some past life. “I’m not sure Hannah. I guess I’m taking a vacation. Sorry.” Claire carefully pressed a thumb against the blade of a saber saw. “You’ve really invested in equipment.”
    “Not much. It was all here. My father’s.”
    “What did he like to make?”
    “I don’t know. I don’t remember.”
    “Did Scott just let you experiment with these machines? Pretty dangerous.”
    “Of course not. Before he let me loose with the power tools I had to take some woodworking classes with Community Ed. He made sure I was safe.”
    “I love these lips,” said Hannah. She raised the mirror to her face and carefully kissed one of the red mouths. She clasped the gift to her chest. Her eyes slid around, checking her mother, then landing on me. “He was going to give me something else, too.”
    “Hannah!”
    “He was supposed to bring me a baseball card autographed by Frank Thomas. That night he disappeared he was bringing it.” Before her mother could gasp another reproof I held out my hand. “He didn’t take it! It’s still here. C’mon.” She and I raced up the stairs.
    The cards were still on his dresser, of course. The album lay as before, opened at the center with a few loose cards scattered about, everything slightly dustier than when I’d noticed them a week ago. “This is it, I bet. He must have forgotten it.”
    Hannah took the card and traced the signature with a stubby index finger.
    “Do you like baseball?” I asked.
    “Yes, but what I really love is collecting cards. This is a rookie card. He promised to give it to me. He really did.”
    “It’s yours.”
    “That might be worth some money, Arden.” Claire spoke from the hallway.
    “Doesn’t matter, especially if he promised.”
    “He did.” Hannah held it by the edges. “He said he was bringing it, he told me so that morning when he called.”
    “He called!” Claire said sharply.
    “Oh, yeah. You were in the shower. We talked a long rime. He promised to bring me this and he promised to take me to the Mall of America.” Hannah turned her back on her mother. “She won’t go there,” she said directly to me.
    “The megamall is cool. Maybe I’ll take you someday.”
    “Like Scott.”
    “Yeah, like Scott.”
    She had her trophies and was ready to go home. Claire made noises about the mess in the kitchen, but I waved her off. “I can clean up. I’m responsible.”
    Hannah bolted out the front door, unzipped jacket flapping against the cold air.
    “Arden, I’d like to talk more sometime, without…” She tipped her head toward her daughter.
    “Sure.”
    “Maybe someday after school you could come out to the park. I don’t pick her up at day care until five. In the late afternoon there aren’t usually many skiers or campers around the lodge and we could talk.”
    “Fine.”
    “Al visits. He’s out along the river nearly every afternoon and he drops by to warm up.”
    “Why is he out there?’
    “Searching. The ice changes daily. Holes open and close as the wind shifts. He wants…we all want…”
    “To find it before an animal