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in hockey skates; a young mother in a short dress with her toddler in a snowsuit; and a few other people who glided confidently around the rink. Jeremy, my barefoot-skating young friend, eyed all the skaters, perhaps counting them, and kept time to the organ music that blared from the loud speakers. At the far end of the rink, Lyla, wearing a big brown jacket like Jeremy’s and Mark’s, coached a woman dressed in a puffy white coat. Maybe I should have arranged for some lessons before trying it on my own , I thought as I removed my skate guards, left them on a bench, clumsily stepped through the swinging half door, and ventured out onto the ice, gripping the railing of the boards that ran around the periphery of the rink. The surface was a lot slipperier than I remembered. I held on tightly, wondering if maybe the skating chair Lyla had suggested wasn’t such a bad idea. Nonsense, Jessica; you’ve done this before , I told myself.
    Girding my loins, I slid forward, my arms out to the sides, but I stayed within grabbing distance of the boards. One, two, three , I silently counted as I stroked with first one foot and then the other. Okay, not too bad , I thought, moving a little farther into the rink. I knew I could do it. Then my blade caught a gouge in the ice and I gasped. I straightened my back, abruptly bent forward, and shuffled to the boards, one leg sliding out from under me just as I dug my fingers into the wood. Notwithstanding my awkward posture and heavy breathing, I was grateful I’d managed to stay on my feet and not land on my bottom. Now I see what he meant by feeling the texture of the ice.
    While I stood by the boards trying to boost my confidence, I caught sight of Eve Simpson escorting a gentleman around the far side of the rink. She was gesturing with her arms as they looked up at the ceiling. My eyes followed their gaze, but I couldn’t imagine what fascinated them up there. I watched for a few more moments, but when they walked in my direction, I turned my back, hoping they wouldn’t notice me. If I was going to make a fool of myself, I preferred to do it in relative anonymity.
    The older couple I’d noticed earlier did not skate together. Instead, she followed a circular pattern at one end of the rink, where large rings were painted on the ice, while he swiftly stroked down the length of the rink, leaning into the center and executing smooth crossovers like a speed skater. If they can do it, I can do it , I told myself. Buck up, Jessica. It’ll come back to you.
    Both inspired and intimidated, I started out once more, staying close to the boards, trailing the fingers of my right hand over the railing to assure myself that it was available should I stumble again. I worked my way around the oval, trying to sense the edges of the blades. Little by little, I remembered the feeling of skating. Counting the numbers of strokes, I tried to skate longer from foot to foot before resting on a glide. By the third time around the rink, my confidence had risen enough to allow me to give a slight wave to Lyla as I skated past her and her student.
    “You’re doing very well, Mrs. Fletcher,” I heard her say.
    The fourth time around, I was smiling, and by the fifth time, I was confident enough to stop and say hello.
    “Are you enjoying yourself?” she asked.
    “Very much. I had hoped skating would come back to me, and it seems to be happening.”
    “Good for you!”
    “Yes, I’m so pleased,” I said, twisting to watch the older woman skate smoothly by and for a second forgetting where I was.
    It happened so fast I had no time to correct my posture. One moment I was standing. The next moment my feet slipped out from under me and I was flat on my back, my head snapping hard against the ice.
    Lyla was at my side in an instant, helping me sit up. “Don’t get up too quickly,” she said. “Are you dizzy?”
    I felt a spray of ice as Jeremy raced over and stopped just short of plowing into me.
    “You