He hugs her and looks up at her, and I know that in a couple of years, he will tower over her. “I will.”

“We should go out.” My mouth opens before my brain can register what it’s saying. “To celebrate the new job.”

“I couldn’t,” she says at the same time Dylan says, “Yes! Can we go somewhere nice?”

“We can go anywhere you want,” I say with a smile. “What is your favorite?”

“Pizza and spaghetti,” he answers without thinking about it.

“I know a great place. I’ll pick you up after the rink. I’ll call you,” I say, and I see her face fall.

“Um,” she starts and then looks down and then up again. “I’ll give you the number to my work.” I look at her. “I can’t have my phone at work, so use this one in case something happens.”

I hand her my phone. “Put it in there for me.” I turn and open the door. “Dylan, let’s go.”

“Bye, Mom,” he says, getting into the back seat and buckling himself.

“I’ll see you later,” I say, hoping that she doesn’t realize she is still holding my phone, but I don’t have luck this morning. While she is typing, something must happen because she shoves the phone back at me.

“Here is your phone. I put the name under Caroline work,” she says, and then she waves at Dylan and walks away. I watch her when my phone buzzes in my hand. I look down and see an unknown number, and the text.

Unknown: Last night was everything.

I look down at the phone and then up again and see that she has disappeared around the block. Right then, another text comes in.

Unknown: Sorry wrong number.

“Fuck,” I say under my breath, but before I can do anything about it, I hear Dylan yelling my name. I put the phone in my pocket and walk around to the driver’s side and get to the rink in time to change and get on the ice.

The morning flies by with the classes on the ice. Dylan just keeps getting better and better. If he had the height, he could smash even the kids three years older than him.

At lunchtime, I walk outside and call her cell phone by accident, and I get the same generic message about the caller not being available. So I call her work number, and she answers right away.

“St. Vincent, Caroline speaking,” she says, and I smile.

“Hey, it’s me,” I say. “Justin.”

It’s almost like I can see the way she changes. Her voice is curt. “Hi. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” I say, and then I sit in the same spot I did yesterday when I called her. “I was just calling to see how your first day was going.”

“Good,” she says, answering with one word.