Page 54 of Thin Ice

"About twelve miles an hour," I said.

"That's not that fast."

"It feels fast when you're going backward."

"You go backward?" She put her fork down and stared at me like I'd told her the earth was flat.

"The whole sport. You face the back of the boat."

"That's dumb," she said. "How do you know where you're going?"

"You trust the person steering."

She thought about that for exactly one second. "Gymnastics is still harder."

Sam was at the far end of the table between Danny and Grandpa, hunched over his plate. He hadn't spoken to me directly all night. He'd spoken in my general vicinity. He'd asked Maddie a question about rowing that was clearly meant for me, and when I'd answered, he'd looked at his plate and said "cool" and gone back to his phone. Fifteen.

This was the loudest meal I'd ever sat through.

At Peninsula Point, dinner was a performance. You spoke when the conversation arrived at your chair. You held your glass by the stem. The silences between courses were designed. You could hear the clock in the next room.

Here, I couldn't hear myself think. Uncle Russ was at the head of the table, talking with his mouth full, gesturing with a piece of ham on his fork. Linda was up and down from the stove behind us, carrying serving dishes and foil and the butter nobody could find, and every time she passed behind Liam she touched his shoulder without looking at him. Grandma Jean was correcting Maddie's posture from across the table without raising her voice. Danny was at the far end, sliding beers down to me without asking.

And I was sitting in the middle of it in borrowed khakis eating ham with my hands because Russ had told me that's how you eat ham in this house. Nobody was watching to see if I used the right fork because there was only one fork, and it was the wrong size, and it didn't matter.

I caught Liam's eye across the table. He was between his Grandpa and his mom, leaned back in his chair, and was watching me. He'd been watching me all night. Looking for something.

I held his eyes and let him see what was there.

After dinner, the dishes piled up fast. Linda and Aunt Deb were at the sink before anyone else had pushed back from the table, the water running, their voices low and easy underneath the noise. I picked up my plate and carried it around the table to the counter, and Linda took it from my hands without looking at me.

"Go sit down," she said.

I went and sat down. The living room couch, next to Uncle Russ, who had claimed the remote and was flipping channels. Danny was on his other side. Grandpa Ed was in the chair by the window with a fresh beer and his eyes half-closed. The TV light flickered across the small room.

Liam appeared beside me in the hallway between the kitchen and the living room. He leaned against the wall with his hands in his pockets.

"Hey," he said. Low, just for me. "Come here for a second."

I followed him down the narrow hall, past the bathroom and the family photos on the wall, to his room. He shut the door behind us and leaned against it. The room was dim. Just the lamp on the nightstand, the twin bed still unmade from this morning, my duffel bag in the corner. He looked at the floor.

"Sorry," he said.

"For what?" I said.

"For all of it. The noise. My uncle. Maddie asking you that in front of everyone." He gestured at the walls, the ceiling, the house. "I know it's a lot. And it's not what you're used to."

"Liam."

He stopped.

"What do you mean you're sorry?"

His jaw was tight. He was leaning against the door with his arms crossed now, making himself small, and his eyes were wet, and he was trying not to let them be.

"I grew up in a dining room where the forks were the right size and every conversation was a test," I said. "I just ate ham with my hands because your uncle told me to. Nobody tested me on anything tonight except whether gymnastics is harder than rowing. And it is, apparently. Maddie was very clear."

He laughed. Shaky.