Thin Ice (27 page)

A shard of moonlight slid through a crack in the drapes and glistened on his pate.

I didn’t know what I owed him, but I did know what I’d
give
him: forgiveness; it was cheap enough. And maybe, in the morning, another thank-you. And he could sure have the damn car.

I walked to the window, stood behind the drapes, and looked out. The moon was high and the lake was sheathed in a silver skin.

I’d found my brother and I’d found my name.

Be careful what you wish for.

Arden.

Arden, Arden, Arden. At last I knew the story. Not exactly the one I’d imagined or hoped for. Okay, so I hadn’t been named for someone’s favorite fictional character, or a best friend, or a beloved bohemian aunt.

Arden.

I was named for an emollient.

PART 4

“What a beautiful little girl. What’s her name?”

“Baby Gap,” I answered. Hannah giggled. The gallery guard stiffened, which was a neat trick, considering how stiff they are normally. “It’s a nickname, from her initials,” I said, flashing an apologetic smile. “Her real name is Gwenyth Arden Poole.”

Hannah crossed her arms. “She’s named for my mom’s mom.”

And, of course,
moi
.

I shifted the gorgeous little redhead to my other arm and she immediately started sucking my shoulder. When had she last been fed? Probably just one of those minor details neglected amid the tempest of that day’s episode in the continuing saga of her parents’ long-distance
thing.
I fished in the diaper bag and felt for a bottle.

“The boss said you came down from Wisconsin,” said the guard. “Just for this, or is there a special occasion?” Then her walkie-talkie crackled and she lifted it and listened.

“What shall we tell the lady?” I whispered to Baby Gap as she lunged for the bottle. “That it’s the one-month anniversary of Daddy’s getting off probation?”

The guard holstered her radio and smiled, still waiting for an answer.

“My brother moved to the city recently,” I said politely. “We’re visiting.”

“And my mom is applying to work in a museum,” Hannah said to the guard. “The big one with the dinosaurs. She has an interview today. If she gets the job we might move here and she’d be the” —she took a breath and readied the words—“assistant director of education.”

“That’s cool, kid.” The guard’s walkie-talkie commanded her attention again. “Just about set,” she said to us. “This is really unprecedented, you know. I’ve never heard of any museum ever allowing this.”

Because they’d never had to deal with me, that’s why. I smiled again. “We’re very grateful. The curator was so understanding.” Hannah tugged on my arm. “Are you sure I can do it too?”

“Of course, hotshot; you’re family.”

The guard spoke into the walkie-talkie again, then nodded at me. “Go ahead, but the alarm’s off only for a minute. This piece is a crowd favorite and we don’t want to attract others.”

“No problem.”

I lifted my niece’s hand and stroked it with my thumb, then held it out toward the sculpture. A heavy bronze wrist bumped her pink pinkie. “Okay, little one,” I whispered into the small ear. “This one is your grandpa, that one is your grandma. Uncurl your fist—good. Here we go. Hold hands.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Marsha Qualey is the author of several young adult novels, including
Just Like That, Too Big a Storm, Close to a Killer, One Night,
and
Thin Ice.
Her books have been included on numerous best-of-the-year lists, including ALA Quick Picks and Best Books for Young Adults, IRA Young Adults’ Choices, New York Public Library’s Books for the Teen Age, and School Library Journal’s Best Books of the Year, She lives in Wisconsin.

Visit her website at www.marshaqualey.com.