Gloria came to a sudden stop.Her flesh had gone cold.“Where are we going?Why are we here?”
He sent her a quizzical look.“You recognize this area?”
Too well.She gripped his arm.“The pond is in the middle of those woods.I’m not going.”
“We’re definitely not going in thewater,” he agreed, his smile bemused.“It’s frozen over.People are ice-skating.”
“I don’t ice-skate,” she said.Her heart was beating too fast to let her think.“Iwon’tice skate.”
He rubbed the pad of his thumb against her cheek.“You don’t have to.Let’s just walk by.”
She swallowed.He didn’t understand.The idea of being near so much water… “I haven’t passed by the pond in six years.”
“It’s a pond.”He lifted her hands in his and gave them a comforting squeeze.“You’re stronger than you think.Let me prove it to you.”
Strong.She was strong.No need to overthink things.She gave a jerking nod.“We’ll walk by.At a safe distance.”
He placed her fingers back on his arm and led her down the path.
With each step through the trees, the sounds grew louder.The shriek of a child.Snow crunching beneath her boots.The shrill panic in her head with every step closer to the frozen pond.
When they broke from the trees, the icy surface was abuzz with activity.Couples skating in complicated figures, children pushing each other in a bright red skating chair, the skate-vendor shouting out prices to passers-by.
“Do you want to get closer?”he asked.
Her legs barely held her upright
“I don’t know if I can,” she whispered.
He covered her hands with his.“We can try it and find out.”
She flapped weak fingers toward the path.“Don’t you think it’s safer from the sides?”
“Sometimes,” he said.“But the greatest achievements require some level of risk.Trying one’s best, even if things don’t work out.It can make it an adventure.”
“Adventure is your peccadillo.”She shook her head.“Not mine.”
“Isn’t it?”he asked softly.“I’d wager you’ve read every travel journal on your shelves.I imagine you can quote from them at will.”
“That means I like to read,” she stammered.“Not that I’m Christopher Columbus.”
His forehead lined with disappointment.“Why did you ask me all those questions about Italy if you weren’t interested in going?”
“I’m interested,” she forced herself to admit.“I just can’t go.”
“Start smaller,” he suggested.“You don’t have to sail around the world in a canoe.Try something simple.Here, in your own hometown.Something you already know you can do.”
“Used to do.”Until the sea and its ripple effects had stolen everyone she loved.
“I’ll tell you a secret,” he said.“A wise person once told me, ‘A good experiment focuses on all information available, not just the results you like best.’”
She slanted him a wry glance.“Was it Penelope?”
“It was Penelope,” he admitted.“She’s a wise chemist.”
“Don’t listen to her,” Gloria said.“She sells perfume made of animal excretions.”
He was clearly trying not to laugh.“But does it work?”
