Chapter 9 Lane
NINE
Lane
I step off the ice, my legs wobbling like a newborn deer. My cheeks burn from the cold and, if I'm being honest, from falling on my butt three times in twenty minutes.
"That's it for me," I declare, tugging off my gloves finger by finger. My thighs shake as I shimmy around the edge. My pride can't take another spectacular tumble in front of five thousand people.
I lean against the railing, catching my breath. Woody and Sanders wave at me as they zoom by.
I take baby steps around the wall, holding on until I get off the ice and to a bench.
The boys circle the rink again, my son's arms flailing as he attempts some move he definitely saw on YouTube. My heart jumps to my throat every time he wobbles, but Woody's right there, matching his pace, ready to catch him.
The Christmas lights twinkle all around, casting everything in a golden glow.
Music drifts across the ice. The current song is some pop version of "Silver Bells," mixed with laughter and squeals from other skaters.
I swear it's like we're inside one of those snow globes Sanders loves to shake at my mom's.
"You're better at this than I thought, old man!" Sanders shouts, skidding around a corner.
Woody's mock-offended expression makes my lips twitch. "Old man? Watch this."
He attempts a dramatic spin, arms out, then nearly loses his balance. His recovery is less than graceful, and they both dissolve into laughter that echoes off the surrounding buildings.
I can't help but smile. Their matching eyes that crinkle when they laugh, the way Sanders mimics Woody's stance without realizing it.
I pull off my first skate and wiggle my numb big toe. After I rub the blood flow back in, I've never been so glad to slide my boots back onto my tired feet.
My mind drifts back to earlier, to Woody's hands firm on my waist, steadying me when my ankles betrayed me. The warmth of him behind me, his breath tickling my ear as he murmured, "Got you."
I'd forgotten how safe his hands could make me feel.
Heat crawls up my neck despite the December chill. As I watch them skate together, something inside me softens dangerously. He's good at this. Good with Sanders.
This is exactly what I was afraid of, how easy it would be to fall back into old patterns, old feelings playing family together in New York at Christmas.
My phone rings in my pocket, vibrating against my hip. I fumble for it, oddly grateful for the interruption from my own thoughts.
"Walking On Sunshine" blares loudly, echoing off the acoustics. I swipe to answer, my breath creating small clouds in the frigid air.
"Hey, you caught me mid-frostbite." I tuck the phone between my ear and shoulder, rubbing my hands together.
"Did y'all make it to New York?"
"Yeah, we barely dropped our bags and walked to Rockefeller. I just tapped out from ice skating."
"You're ice skating? In New York?" Maggie's voice crackles with surprise as she lets out a genuine laugh. "Didn't waste a second, huh?"
I giggle softly, eyes tracking Sanders's red jacket as he zigzags across the rink. Woody hovers protectively nearby. "It was Woody's idea. I can already tell he's going to be like an overgrown kid here. He and Sanders feed off each other."
Maggie hums thoughtfully. "You sound... happy."
I roll my eyes, though a smile tugs at my mouth. "Don't start."
"I'm just saying, usually when you mention Woody's name, it comes with a side of venom. Not this... whatever this lightness is." Her voice lilts with amusement. "Maybe this trip's good for your soul."
I stand up and lean against the railing, watching Sanders attempt another dramatic spin. A lump forms in my throat, and I try to swallow it down.
"I've been surprised, yeah." The admission comes out quieter than intended. "He's been different. Present. Fun, even."
"Present? As in actually showing up, or present as in wrapped up under your tree?"
"You're a nerd. I mean, he's just really here and smiling and not checking his phone every five minutes." The words hang between us. "It's weird. Good weird."
Pulling my scarf tighter, I sigh. "Listen to this. Whoever made our reservations set us up in one suite. Two bedrooms, but shared everything else. All awkward logistics, but no other rooms, so we're stuck together."
Maggie's laugh rings through the phone. "Sounds steamy."
"Not even close." Heat creeps up my neck despite my protest.
"We'll see," Maggie teases.
"Maggie. He's my ex-husband. For many years. We normally hate each other. We might learn to be friends again, but that's about as far as it will go."
"If you say so, Sis."
I watch Woody catch Sanders by the shoulders when he nearly topples. They're laughing, heads thrown back, identical dimples flashing. My cheeks hurt from smiling.
The truth hits me between the ribs. I am lighter. Seven years of anger and disappointment, and here I am, standing in the middle of New York City, feeling something dangerously close to nostalgia. I hate admitting it, even to myself.
A soft beep interrupts the call. I glance at the screen, relieved for an escape from my sister's knowing tone.
"Hey, Maggie. I have to take this. Carly, Luke's mom, is calling on the other line."
"Call me later. I can't wait to hear about Robin Roberts."
"Will do. Love you." I click over before she can respond.
"Carly! Did y'all make it in?" My voice softens instantly as I switch calls, the festive noise of the city fading into background static.
Carly's voice comes through warm but tired. "We just got checked into the hotel. The kids are wiped." A muffled sound of children arguing filters through the connection. "Luke's excited but exhausted. His sister won't stop bouncing on the bed."
My gaze drifts back to the rink where Woody now pretends to chase Sanders, both gliding across the ice with surprising grace. Jesus, don't they ever get tired?
"Have you eaten yet? There's a cute little restaurant I saw about a block from the hotel." My tone shifts to practical.
"We ate something not too long ago, but I think after some rest, we might be up for that.
"Okay, we will probably be back that way in about an hour or so. It's nothing fancy, but I noticed it when we walked by, and it looked like a perfect spot for us to duck into. We can get some real food for the kids and talk about tomorrow. We have our big interview."
"That sounds perfect." Relief floods her voice. "Luke needs to take his evening meds anyway, and I should probably feed them something besides airport pretzels."
"Don't worry about dressing up. We've been skating, so we'll be just as rumpled."
Carly laughs softly. "Perfect. Text me when y'all head back."
We say our goodbyes, and I pocket my phone, eyes drawn back to the ice.
Woody has Sanders by the hands now, spinning him in a half-circle.
Their laughter erupts over the Christmas music—pure, uninhibited joy.
Sanders throws his head back, eyes squeezed shut, completely trusting his father won't let him fall.
My heart twists painfully in my chest. For all our history, for all the nights I cried myself to sleep waiting for him to come home from the hospital, this is the version of Woody I fell in love with.
I wish Sanders had always known this connection. Present. Engaged. Putting our son before everything else.
Something shifts inside me, a wall I've maintained for God knows how long starts to crumble just enough to let light through the cracks. I'm not ready to examine what that means.
I cup my hands around my mouth and shout as they glide past. “Are you two skated-out yet?”
Woody glances up, eyes locking with mine. His smile softens, turning private, something meant only for me.
I look away first, afraid he’ll read too much. He slows at the rail, grin tugging at his mouth, breath steaming in the cold. His voice drops low, pitched for my ears alone. “I’m exhausted. But I can’t let our nine-year-old show me up out here.”
“Pretty sure he already did,” I shoot back.
Sanders skids into the wall in front of us, clutching his chest like a wounded soldier. “Hot chocolate. Immediately,” he groans before collapsing onto the bench at my side.
"So dramatic."
I laugh, looping an arm around him. Woody pushes off again, eyes glinting. “One more lap, for my pride,” he calls. “I gotta prove I still got it.”
Oh, you’ve still got it, all right. That’s the problem.
The restaurant hums with Midtown energy. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, Formica tables gleam under the too-bright glare, and a checkerboard floor gives the place a time-warp feel, like something out of the 1950s.
At the counter, a row of chrome stools is filled with bundled-up strangers, shoulders hunched over late-night pancakes. I slide into a booth by the window, Carly pressing in beside me.
It reminds me of Monk's Cafe from Seinfeld. I keep looking around for Ruthie Cohen, the cashier.
Woody takes the booth across the table, stretching out like it’s his personal real estate. The kids claim the table behind him, grinning at the thrill of being “on their own” in the city. From here, Carly and I can watch them without hovering.
“This place is drippy,” Sanders declares, elbowing Luke as he snatches a menu. I think I could totally live in New York City.
Luke’s tired eyes brighten. “Actually? Looks old to me. I wanted neon lights and Travis Scott on the speakers.”
“Bet,” Sanders fires back. I still don't even know what the response, "bet" is, but it's become one of Sanders's go-tos lately. That and "actually" in response to anything unbelievable.
Their shared language makes me smile. Even with the pallor in Luke’s cheeks, even with the dialysis port peeking from his sleeve, his spark is still there.
"Hot cocoa for everyone?" Woody suggests, catching my eye across the table.
"With extra whipped cream," we both add in unison.
Sanders grins. "You guys sound like you practiced that."
Heat creeps up my neck. We didn't practice. We just remembered. Seven years of separate lives, but some rhythms remain unbroken.
After we order, Carly clears her throat.
“I think I already told y’all, but Luke will need dialysis tomorrow after the show.
Thanks to Woody, we’ve got an appointment at noon.
GMA said we’ll be done by ten-thirty, so that gives us time to get across town.
We’ll be tied up until at least three, if all goes smoothly. ”
My brain clicks straight into logistics mode. “Right. I knew y’all were planning that after the show. Why don’t you let Woody take the boys, and you, me, and Leigh can have a girls’ afternoon shopping and doing girls' things? What do you say, Woody?”
Woody glances at me, like he’s not sure where this came from. But he doesn’t push back. Instead, he nods. “Yeah. That’s a great idea. We’ll meet you once we’re done.”
I only feel a little guilty for volunteering him. More than that, my chest swells that he stepped in so easily.
“Then it’s settled.” I glance at the kids, huddled over my phone, laughing at something only they understand. “Shopping and dessert for the girls, YouTube and TikTok for the boys after our morning at Studio C.”
Carly nods, cutting into her sandwich. “That’ll be good. Luke usually feels wrung out after dialysis. Sometimes he just wants to curl up, but other times, if he’s had a decent morning, he perks back up.”
Woody sets down his coffee mug. “We’ll play it by ear. Sanders will keep him entertained either way.” His eyes flick toward me, maybe looking for validation.
“So after the clinic,” I say, “should we plan a couple of contingency things?”
Carly hesitates, then nods. “Maybe something light. The Empire State Building tour, if Luke feels up to it. Or the Lego Store. Or just milkshakes around the corner."
"Yeah," I say. "If he’s wiped, we’ll hole up at the hotel and let him rest, and maybe we can all watch a movie or something.”
“That works,” Woody says. “We’ll see how he feels and decide then.”
“And Friday?” I ask, glancing between them.
“That one we can set in stone,” Carly says. “Hudson Park for the Statue of Liberty views. Both of my kids are dying to go see her with their own eyes, but we don't need to ferry to Staten Island.”
“And the 9/11 Museum,” Woody adds. "I've heard it's a must-see when you're here."
Carly’s eyes brighten. “Perfect. The kids should see it. Heavy, yes, but important.”
The plates arrive, the clatter cutting through the moment. Conversation shifts, but the plan lingers. Behind Woody, the kids argue over French fries like they aren’t about to be on national television at dawn.
"You know what you need for Christmas?" Woody turns around and tells Sanders, stealing one of his fries. "Ice skates of your own. The way you took to the ice today was impressive."
Sanders beams. "Mom fell three times."
"Thanks for that reminder.” I roll my eyes, but can't stop smiling.
"I caught you every time, didn't I?" Woody's voice is quiet, meant just for me.
Something flutters in my chest. I choke it back, trying to play it cool.
Leigh walks over to our table and sits beside her mom. "Can we see the big tree tomorrow? On our girls' day?"
"If Ms. Beamer is up for going over there again," Carly says, taking a napkin from her lap to wipe ketchup from her chin.
"Absolutely. I wanted to get a coffee from the Caviar & Bannans right there, and the boys wouldn't let me. I'd love to go back over there tomorrow, see the tree, do some shopping, and get some delicious sweet treats."
"Yeah," Leigh says, leaning into her mom.
The waitress drops the check between us. “You folks need anything else?”
Before Carly can reach for it, Woody nods toward the envelope on the edge of the table. “GMA’s got this one.”
Carly still shakes her head. “Feels strange letting someone else pay for everything.”
“Consider it a perk,” Woody says, sliding the slip back without even looking at the total. His voice is calm, certain, like he’s used to taking care of things.
Across the aisle, Sanders and Luke slap their hands on the table, still arguing about fries. Sanders declares, “Tomorrow, milkshakes are on me. I’ve got twenty bucks in Christmas money.”
Laughter ripples through the booth, and for a moment, with the neon buzzing and the snow falling outside the fogged windows, it feels like we’re exactly what the world will see on TV tomorrow—a family.
Too bad it isn’t that simple.