The Family Hope Center is even better than the Kids Help Phone woman had described. Duncan has a bunch of new friends, but the best thing is, he gets his own support worker. She’ll be with him after school until Mom gets home.
“It’s taking a long time,” Duncan says while we’re waiting for the worker to arrive for the first time.
“Hey, I think she’s here!” I yell.
Duncan stops pacing and joins me in front of the window.
Mom turns off the kettle and slips in between us. We stand together like sardines stuffed in a tin can, watching her get out of a little yellow Volkswagen.
“I like her,” Duncan says.
“Her name is Alison,” Mom says.
“My Lady Alison,” Duncan corrects her.
Mom and I laugh.
“So where are we going?” I ask Mom later on that night.
“You’ll see,” she says, pulling out of the driveway and heading up the hill toward the school. I have no clue what she’s up to. She parks at the entrance to the path into the woods and turns off the car.
“It’s dark out,” Duncan announces.
“There’s actually a full moon,” Mom says. Then she looks at me.
“Are we really doing what I think we’re doing?” I ask.
“Last one on the pond is a rotten egg.”
“For real?”
She nods.
“But, you—”
“I don’t like rotten eggs,” Duncan butts in.
“Don’t worry,” Mom says, turning to face Duncan. “I brought you hot chocolate.”
“Good,” he says in his deep voice.
Everything glows in the moonlight. The sky looks lit up. The trees rustle slightly in the breeze. Our boots crunch over the crisp snow. Even Duncan seems caught up in the magic of the night. He doesn’t say a word. I still can’t believe we’re doing this with Mom.
“Oh my goodness, it’s beautiful,” she says, breaking the silence. “No wonder you and Dad came here at night.”
“I like hot chocolate,” Duncan says.
“You’re always moving us along, aren’t you, Duncan.” Mom sits on the bench next to me while I tie up my skates. She pulls out the thermos and pours Duncan a cup of hot chocolate.
“I wish Dad was here,” I say quietly. “It doesn’t feel right being here at night without him.”
Mom puts her arm around me and rests her head on my shoulder. We sit there not saying anything. Shadows dance on the ice when clouds pass over the moon. In a quiet voice, she finally says, “Can I fill in for him?”
“But you don’t have skates.”
“I can use these.” She pulls out a pair of black skates.
Dad’s skates. I feel a pang in my chest.
“I know I have big skates to fill,” she says. “But with a couple of pairs of hockey socks and a little help from you and Duncan, hopefully I won’t break my neck.” She squeezes my hand. “And when you’re bigger, you can have them.”
I’m glad it’s dark so Mom can’t see my tears. “Thanks,” I croak. “I’d like that.”
It isn’t until I step onto the ice that I notice real hockey nets on the pond. “Hey, look at the nets!” I squeal. “I wonder where they came from?” I turn toward Mom.
She grins from ear to ear. “Me,” she says quietly.
“They’re great! Wait until Ian sees them!” I whack the puck toward the net but miss.
“I’ll get it,” Duncan says, leaping up from the bench, spilling hot chocolate everywhere.
“I might need a hand,” Mom says, hobbling toward the edge of the pond.
She looks like a little kid learning how to walk as she tries to skate. Dad’s skates are way too big for her. I skate over to help her. “I think you might need to get your own pair, Mom.”
“I think you’re right. I can hardly stand up in these things.”
Mom holds on to me tightly. We both start to laugh.
“Mom!” Duncan yells.
“What?” she says and then giggles as she tries to take another glide.
“You’re laughing.”