Chapter Eight Clearing The Air
Caleb
I brought Abby to the rink because she had been asking for days and because saying yes to her felt like the easiest kind of promise.
There was no hidden expectation in it, no performance, no old ghosts waiting in the corners.
It was just ice and loud kids with the familiar smell of damp mittens and hot chocolate.
Eva met us in the parking lot with Abby already bouncing at her side, her skates slung over her shoulder like she was headed into battle. Abby’s cheeks were pink from the cold, her eyes bright, and she grabbed my hand the second she saw me.
“Uncle Caleb, can we go fast?” she asked.
“We can go safely,” I corrected, which only made Eva laugh.
“You’ve been hanging around children too much,” she said.
I looked at her. “She is literally a child.”
Eva reached up and straightened my scarf the way she used to when we were younger, like she was still convinced I couldn’t be trusted to dress myself. “I mean your music lessons. You should get out more. Maybe date someone.”
I ignored that and ushered Abby through the doors.
The rink was already full. Kids clung to the boards, parents shouted encouragement that sounded suspiciously like instructions, and teenagers moved in clusters like they were trying to look effortless.
Music played through tinny speakers, some upbeat holiday song that had been overplayed enough to become a form of background noise rather than something anyone truly listened to.
Abby tugged me toward the benches. “Watch, I can do it without holding on now.”
“That’s what you said last time,” Eva replied.
“That was last time,” Abby said with deep seriousness.
We sat to lace our skates. Abby’s were the kind with bright colors and sturdy support, designed to keep children upright even when their bodies hadn’t decided what balance was yet.
Mine were plain and familiar, the leather softened with use.
Eva’s were older than mine and sharper, because Eva skated regularly.
I tied my laces carefully, then glanced up as Abby stepped onto the ice and immediately wobbled.
Eva leaned close. “You’re overthinking again.”
“I’m watching Abby,” I said.
Eva made a sound that meant she wasn’t buying it.
Abby pushed off, arms out for balance, and managed a small glide before grabbing the boards again. She looked back at us triumphantly.
“I did it,” she called.
Eva clapped. “You did it. Very brave. Very stable.”
Abby beamed and started inching along the boards with determination.
I followed her onto the ice, steadying myself with a small shift of weight.
Skating felt different than snowboarding.
It was quieter. You could hear the blades cut, the soft scrape as people adjusted their stance, the small gasps when someone nearly went down.
It was a place where movement was its own language, and I understood it.
For a few minutes, I focused only on Abby.
I kept pace beside her, close enough to catch her if she tipped, far enough to let her feel independent.
Eva skated nearby, occasionally leaning down to offer advice and then immediately contradicting herself because she enjoyed being right more than she enjoyed being consistent.
“You’re not holding your arms right,” she told Abby.
Abby frowned. “Like this.”
“No,” Eva said, holding her arms out. “Like this.”
Abby mimicked her, then wobbled again.
Eva laughed. “Actually, your way was fine.”
I shot Eva a look. “You look like a penguin. Doesn’t she, Abby?”
“What,” Eva said. “I’m encouraging her.”
“You’re confusing her,” I replied.
“It builds resilience.”
Abby fell to her knees a moment later, not hard, more of a gentle collapse. She stared at the ice like it had personally offended her.
Eva skated over quickly. “You’re okay.”
“I know,” Abby said, already pushing herself up. “I’m just mad.”
“That’s also fine,” Eva said.
Abby stood again and looked at me. “Uncle Caleb, do you think I’m good at this?”
I opened my mouth automatically, ready to praise effort over talent, and then stopped because I heard my own voice from the lesson with Kitty.
You’re allowed to be bad at something.
“I think you’re getting better every time.” I said instead.
Abby accepted that, as if improvement was an acceptable form of greatness, and pushed off again.
Eva watched her for a moment, then skated closer to me, her expression shifting into something more knowing.
“So,” she said.
I exhaled slowly. “No.”
“Oh, come on,” she replied. “You’ve been weird all week.”
“I have not been weird,” I said.
“You have been cleaning your shop like you’re preparing for an inspection,” she said. “That’s weird.”
“That’s normal,” I argued.
“You texted me and asked if a shirt was okay. When I asked if you were going on a date, you said it was just for a guitar lesson. When I asked why the shirt would matter, you stopped texting me,” Eva remarked.
“I just wanted an opinion. Perfectly normal,” I told her, feeling slightly defensive.
“It is not normal for you,” she said, and then she smiled slightly. “Who is she?”
I turned my head to track Abby as she made another cautious glide. “Who is who?”
“The girl?” she asked in a sing-song voice.
I didn’t say anything.
Eva waited, which was one of her most irritating talents. She could outlast anyone.
“I misread a situation,” I said finally.
Eva’s eyebrows rose. “You misread a situation.”
“Yes,” I said. “She brought up the talent show. I thought she was asking me to perform.”
“And she wasn’t,” Eva guessed.
“No,” I admitted, the word tasting like annoyance at myself. “She was asking for advice on organizing the event. She’s overwhelmed.”
Eva hummed. “And you panicked.”
“I didn’t panic,” I grumbled.
Eva gave me a look that suggested she had known me my entire life, which unfortunately was true.
“I set a boundary,” I corrected.
“You set a wall,” she said, and her tone was light, but the truth underneath it landed anyway.
I watched Abby wobble and recover, wobble and recover, and tried to keep my attention on her instead of on Eva’s words.
“She doesn’t know,” I said quietly.
“Know what,” Eva asked.
I hesitated. “Who I was. Maybe she’s figured it out since then. People always do. But she didn’t come into the shop with that. She just came in as herself.”
Eva’s expression softened slightly. “And that scares you.”
“It shouldn’t,” I said.
“But it does,” she replied.
I sighed. “I don’t want that life again.”
Eva nodded. “You’re allowed to not want it.”
I looked at her.
“What,” she said. “I can be reasonable.”
I let out a short laugh despite myself. “She’s not asking me to tour. She’s asking how to keep a community event from turning into a disaster.”
Eva smiled. “And you thought she wanted you on a stage.”
“I heard the word talent show and I…” I trailed off, not wanting to say it out loud.
“You went back there,” Eva finished for me.
“Yes,” I admitted.
Eva skated a slow circle around me, then came back close. “Caleb, you have been living like every request is a trap.”
“It’s not every request,” I said.
“It is every request that involves people watching you with your music,” she replied. “And this is Maple Ridge. People watch everyone. That’s the whole town's hobby.”
I frowned. “That’s not fair.”
Eva shrugged. “It’s accurate. Remember how they gossiped about me? It’s what they do.”
Abby skated toward us then, arms out, smiling wide. “I went all the way without holding on.”
“You did,” I said, pride surprising me with how quickly it rose.
Eva leaned down. “See. Growth.”
Abby nodded solemnly. “Growth.”
For some reason, I glanced around the outdoor rink and happened to see Kitty.
I paused, watching her on the ice with Meri, gliding smoothly, confident in a way I hadn’t yet seen from her.
On skates, she looked like she belonged to the rink.
She cut a clean line across the ice, knees bent slightly, arms relaxed, her focus outward instead of inward.
Meri skated beside her with surprising competence, expression calm as if she was thinking about something else entirely.
Eva’s smile turned sharp and delighted. “Oh.”
I pretended not to understand what she meant.
Kitty glanced up, her gaze sweeping the rink, and her eyes landed on me. The shift in her face was immediate. She knew. She had looked me up. She had found the old versions of me online.
She turned slightly, and for a moment it looked like she might change direction.
Then Abby, of course, chose that exact moment to wobble with confidence and veer straight toward Kitty like a tiny missile in bright skates.
“Abby,” I called.
I was too late.
Abby collided gently into Kitty’s side. Kitty stumbled, caught herself, then reached out instinctively and steadied Abby by the shoulders before either of them fell.
Abby looked up, horrified. “I’m sorry.”
Kitty blinked, then smiled, the reflexive kind that softened quickly into something real. “It’s okay. You did a good job not falling.”
Abby’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Really,” Kitty replied.
“Abby, you menace. Are you all right?” Eva asked Kitty, though the question sounded far too amused to be sincere.
“I’m fine,” Kitty said, brushing hair back beneath her hat. Her gaze flicked to me again, cautious now.
I moved closer, heart doing something inconvenient. “Hey.”
“Hi,” she replied.
For a moment, it felt like the ice beneath us had become thinner.
Eva extended a hand without hesitation. “I’m Eva, Caleb’s sister. And this is my daughter Abby.”
Abby waved, then looked back at Kitty. “I didn’t mean to crash into you.”
“I’m Kitty Bennet and this is my sister Meri.” Kitty smiled again. “I know. You’re just learning. It happens.”
The words were gentle, but they landed hard in my chest anyway, because they sounded like my own.
I was suddenly very aware that I still hadn’t said what I should have said after the guitar lesson. I should have explained things better.
And I might not get a better chance than this.
Eva didn’t miss the tension. She took one look at the way Kitty and I were standing a fraction too far apart and smiled like she had just been handed front-row seats to something entertaining.
“Well,” she said brightly, “this is perfect timing.”
Abby clutched Kitty’s sleeve. “Can you show me how to do the turn without my feet going everywhere? Just like you were doing before I skated into you?”
Kitty glanced at me first, as if checking whether it was all right for her to answer. That small instinctive pause did something sharp and uncomfortable to my chest.
“Sure,” she said to Abby. “Do you want to try it together?”
Abby nodded vigorously.
Kitty skated a short distance ahead, then slowed so Abby could follow. She bent her knees slightly, demonstrating the movement with an ease that made it look effortless. Her instructions were clear but gentle, offering suggestions rather than corrections.
“Keep your knees soft,” she said. “And don’t look at your feet. They already know what they’re doing.”
Abby tried and nearly toppled.
Kitty reached out without hesitation, steadying her. “That was close, but you stayed upright. That counts.”
Abby beamed and tried again.
Eva leaned toward me. “See that?”
“Yes,” I said quietly.
“She’s good,” Eva said. “And she doesn’t even know it yet.”
I watched Kitty guide Abby through the movement again, patience unwavering. Abby responded instantly, adjusting her stance and managing a small but recognizable turn.
“I did it,” Abby shouted.
“You did,” Kitty confirmed. “And you didn’t panic.”
Eva clapped loudly enough to draw a few looks from nearby skaters. “You are a natural instructor.”
Kitty laughed, flustered. “I’m just explaining it.”
“That’s literally the job,” Eva replied.
Abby skated back toward us, glowing. “Uncle Caleb, did you see?”
“I did,” I said, and meant more than she knew.
Eva turned to Kitty with interest sharpening her voice. “Have you ever thought about teaching?”
Kitty blinked. “Teaching what?”
“Skating,” Eva said. “For kids and beginners. You’re very good at breaking the steps down.”
Kitty waved a hand. “Oh, no. I just skate. I’m not—”
“Good,” Eva interrupted. “You’re good.”
Kitty’s smile faltered slightly, uncertainty creeping in. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”
“You started with Abby,” Eva said. “That’s usually how it works.”
I cleared my throat softly. “She’s right. You’re calm and did really well with her.”
Kitty glanced at me, surprised. “You think so?”
“Yes,” I said simply.
For a moment, something shifted between us.
Eva, sensing it immediately, clapped her hands together. “I’m going to get hot chocolate. Abby, you coming?”
Abby shook her head. “I want to practice.”
“Of course you do,” Eva said. “Caleb, supervise.”
She skated away before either of us could object.
Kitty and I stood there for a beat, watching Abby circle nearby.
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly.
She looked at me, expression guarded but open. “For what?”
“For assuming that you wanted me to go on stage,” I said. “And for how I said it. I could have phrased things better.”
She considered that. “I understand now.”
“That doesn’t make it fair,” I said.
She smiled faintly. “No. But it makes it clearer.”
I nodded, grateful for the distinction.
“I didn’t mean to push,” she continued. “I was overwhelmed. I thought I was asking the right thing.”
“You were,” I said. “I just heard something else due to past experiences. I’m sorry I wasn’t listening properly.”
She studied my face for a moment, then looked back to Abby. “Your niece is very determined.”
“She gets that from Eva,” I said. “And unfortunately from me.”
Kitty laughed softly. “That makes sense.”
We fell into an easy rhythm after that, skating slowly while Abby practiced nearby. The conversation stayed light and careful. But the tension eased enough to breathe.
When Eva returned with drinks, she looked between us, clearly pleased. “Good. You didn’t implode.”
“Give it time,” I muttered.
She ignored me. “Kitty, if you ever want to explore the idea of coaching, I know people. The rink is always looking for instructors. One just went on maternity leave and another left for college. They really do need help. It’s a paid position.”
Kitty hesitated, then nodded slowly. “I’ll think about it.”
As the session wound down, Abby skated over, flushed and tired but happy.
“Can we come again?” she asked.
“Yes,” Eva said immediately.
I watched Kitty gather her things, the way she moved with quiet purpose, and felt something settle into place.