Sky Above, Sky Below
SLADE
The box is on the back seat of the truck, wrapped in paper I had to ask the woman at the shop to do for me because I’ve never wrapped anything properly in my life.
I’ve been planning this for weeks. Ever since the rodeo. Ever since I heard her say what she said to Cassidy about marrying someone who thinks you’re the best thing that ever happened to them.
She’s the best thing, without question. That’s how she deserves to be loved. That’s the kind of love I can give her.
All that matters is making my wife happy, and I know that I’m the man who can do that.
From the courthouse, we drove straight home so I could pick up Lucky and the puppies. My explanation to Lila is that it’s a chance to give them an outing, which is true… but not the whole truth.
As I twine my hand in hers, thumbing across her diamondring, I take the turnoff onto the ranch road. The truck moves through the pine corridor that opens up after about a mile, and I watch her sit up when she sees it.
The lake.
At this time of year, it’s frozen flat and mirror-still, the ice catching the afternoon sun and throwing it back gold and white. The mountains behind it are enormous and snow-capped, reflected so perfectly in the surface that the world seems to double. Sky above, sky below.
I park the truck and cut the engine.
The pine trees at the edge of the lake are heavy with snow, the afternoon light coming in golden through the branches and across the ice.When I open the truck door, the air is sharp and cold and clean, the cold of high elevation that you feel deep in your lungs.
I reach into the back seat and get the box.
I hand it to Lila.
She peels the paper back slowly. Then she lifts the lid and looks down and doesn’t say anything for a long moment as she looks at the pair of ice skates resting in the box.
The skates are custom made. I had them done in shearling-lined ivory with rose-gold blades, her initials embroidered on the ankle.
“You had these made,” Lila says.
“A few weeks ago,” I confirm.
“You’ve been planning this for weeks.” She runs her thumb over the embroidery, the LR in thread. “LR,” she says softly. “Lila Rhodes.”
I kiss her before getting out the door and coming over to the passenger side to help her lace her skates. “Stay here for a sec,” I tell her.
Then I set about taking care of Lucky and the puppies. The puppies I arrange on a fluffy dog bed in the truck bed, coveringtheir fuzzy, wriggling bodies in a warm wool blanket. They’re weeks older now, full of energy, but they still need to be babied.
Their mama gets a set of dog boots that will help her grip the ice. I put the booties on Lucky first before I pull my own skates on. It’s been months since I last wore those skates. The longest I’ve ever gone without being on the ice.
There will be more skating this winter, no doubt. But not on a rink.
Lucky steps onto the ice and immediately her back legs go wide, all four paws splayed. She looks at us, then the ice. Then she glares at me, specifically, with a look of deep suspicion.
“You’re okay,” I tell her. “You got this, Lucky girl.”
She takes one careful step. Then another. Then something clicks and she’s moving, tentative at first and then with that Lucky confidence, the refusal to let any obstacle, including a frozen lake, tell her what she can’t do.
Her tail starts wagging.
Lila grins up at me. “All right. If a three-legged dog can do it, so can I.”
Holding my hand, Lila steps onto the ice carefully, one blade and then the other, and her arms come out for balance and she laughs at herself.
“I haven’t been on ice skates since I was a kid,” she says.
