Follow My Arrow

Rafael was charged in Carlo's death. In the spring, Vincent testified about the money he'd signed over, and Adrian gave evidence about the men at the terminal and the addresses he'd kept. Vincent stepped down from the family company and put proceeds from his share of its legitimate businesses toward restitution. Some families asked to see him. The ones who wanted nothing to do with the Romanos were left in peace.

By the time North Pier reopened, Danny had replaced the red maintenance door. The old one had hung crooked for years, and the new one closed so softly that Vincent still found himself pushing on it a second time.

Sophie objected to the new paint.

"It was darker before," she said. "It was more like a raspberry."

"The hardware store had this or brown."

"Next time I'll go with you."

Vincent put a hand on the top of her head and turned her gently toward the ice. She was wearing the blue dress again. Elena had let down the hem, and a line of darker fabric showed where the old fold had been.

Outside the front doors, people were lining up for the evening skate. On the boards by the ticket counter was a paper sign with the schedule for the neighborhood lessons. Elena had written the number for equipment loans in big enough type that a parent could see it from the end of the line. There was a second sign by the office with a phone number for families looking for help away from the rink.

The public opening had taken months. Nina had wanted longer sessions for beginners. Danny had wanted a carpet that would stop curling up where children came in with their skates half tied. Marisol had come in on a Tuesday with a pan of lasagna and spent two hours arguing that a child should be able to borrow a pair of skates without the parent having to explain how much money they made.

Vincent had voted with her. He'd also saved Elena the burned corner.

Rafael's old spot on the visitors' bench was occupied by a father with two small girls, trying to work out which glove belonged to whom.

Elena was waiting at the home bench with two pairs of skates. One belonged to her. The other looked new enough to hurt.

"I brought your old size and the next one up," she said. "It's been a while."

"I skated every winter until I was twenty."

"At twenty you said you only came to the harbor for the coffee."

"The coffee was terrible. I liked watching you try to get the lid on with your gloves still on."

She laughed. Vincent sat down to lace up. There was a time he'd have paid quite a bit to hear her laugh like that again. Now she did it in his kitchen when he made toast too dark, or in hers when Sophie negotiated for one more story and he got caught helping her.

He pulled the laces tight. "I could take these home and break them in."

"You could," Elena said. "Sophie told everyone you were going to skate tonight."

"How many people is everyone?"

"She told the man who came to fix the soda machine. You should assume it's the whole borough."

Sophie arrived at the gate just as Vincent stood. She took a long look at his knees.

"You're bending them like a chair."

"I haven't even gotten on yet."

"I know. You're practicing wrong."

Vincent put one foot on the ice. His weight came down too far forward and the toe pick caught. Elena gripped his sleeve. He steadied himself without dragging her off balance, which he considered a better start than he had any right to expect.

"Bend your knees a little more," Sophie said. "Then you can let go."

Elena put her bare hand out. Vincent had spent years looking for a reason to reach for her that wouldn't require saying he wanted to. He took it in front of everyone who'd come to see the rink open.

A few careful strides carried them past the bench. Sophie skated backward ahead of him, squinting at his feet with the seriousness she'd once reserved for the last marshmallow in her cup.

"You're doing better," she said.

"Than who?"

"Than you were over there."

She pointed toward the gate. Vincent looked back. They'd covered more ice than he'd thought.

Elena eased to a stop beside him. "Can you come over tomorrow morning?"

"Do you need something fixed?"

"I want you to come over while the coffee's still hot. Sophie says you're better at making the little pancakes."

"Does she want me to bring anything?"

"She wants you to bring a toothbrush. She thinks that's what people keep at houses they want to come back to." Elena's face warmed. "I told her I'd ask you myself."

Vincent felt his fingers tighten around hers. He loosened them enough to hold her hand properly.

"I can bring one," he said.

"Good. There's room next to mine."

A shout carried from the far end of the rink. Sophie had made it nearly to the blue line and was skating back and forth over the same section of ice. She put her head down and made one final pass, then stopped with both mittens raised.

Vincent could make out a long scratch in the surface. Two shorter marks crossed it unevenly at the end.

"Mr. Romano," she called, "can you tell where it goes?"

This one pointed past the bench and the bright lobby, toward a gate he hadn't opened since the city started work on the walkway outside. Through the glass he could see lights along the river and people with their collars turned up, strolling without any particular hurry.

"The river," he said.

"I want to show you where Mom and I get pancakes."

Elena squeezed his hand. "That way takes a little longer."

Sophie skated up beside him and tucked her mitten into his free hand.

"That's okay," Vincent said, and let her lead them off the ice.