Page 118 of Check & Chase
“It’s going to cost extra for the accelerated timeline,” Brad from Bradford Custom Ice explains as we walk through my backyard. “We normally schedule these installations months in advance.”
“Money isn’t an issue,” I reply, watching as he marks dimensions in the snow. “What’s your fastest possible turnaround?”
Brad scratches his beard, considering. “With enough crew and assuming the weather holds… ten days, minimum. That’s for the basic structure, piping, boards, refrigeration unit.”
“I need it in seven,” I tell him, knowing I’m asking the impossible. “Complete and operational.”
He whistles low. “That’s asking a lot, Mr. Mitchell.”
“I know.” I pull out the check I’ve already written, with enough zeros to make his eyes widen. “This is half. Same amount upon completion within seven days.”
He stares at the check, then at me. “Mind if I ask why the rush?”
I consider deflecting, but opt for honesty. “It’s for someone special. Someone who lost skating years ago and might find it again with the right environment.”
Something in my voice must convey the importance, because his skepticism transforms into determination. “Seven days,” he agrees. “We’ll need to work around the clock, bring in extra crew.”
“Whatever it takes,” I agree. “And I need absolute discretion. This is a surprise.”
We spend the next hour finalizing details—dimensions, board height, the refrigeration system, lighting that will make the space usable day or night. I opt for professional-grade components wherever possible, wanting this to be as close to a real rink as space allows.
By day five, the rink’s structure is taking shape in my backyard, boards erected, refrigeration system installed. The crew works around the clock as promised, transforming my property with remarkable efficiency.
I’ve seen Emma exactly once during this period, a brief, awkward encounter at the Bears facility when our schedules unexpectedly overlapped. She was leaving as I arrived for a meeting with management, her smile not quite reaching her eyes as we exchanged polite greetings in the hallway.
“How’s Richards working out?” she asks, clutching her files like a shield.
“Fine,” I lie, not wanting to make her feel guilty. “How are you?”
“Busy,” she replies, glancing at her watch. “I should go. I have a patient waiting.”
And that’s it. All the weeks of intimacy reduced to a thirty-second exchange in a corridor.
On day six, I wake to the sound of final preparations outside my window. The ice has been built carefully over the past twenty-four hours, layer by frozen layer. Brad and his team are installing the last components—safety padding along the boards, the small warming shelter at one end.
“We’re ahead of schedule,” Brad announces when I join them, pride evident in his voice. “The cold snap helped the ice set perfectly. You’ll be ready for skating by this afternoon.”
By early afternoon, they’re gone, leaving me alone with the ice waiting in my backyard. I stand at the edge, leaning on my crutch, imagining Emma here, nervous at first, then gradually reclaiming the grace and confidence that must have defined her skating before the accident.
My phone vibrates with a text, Mr. Richards confirming my PT appointment has been moved to tomorrow. I send a quick acknowledgment, then make a decision.
It’s time.
I pull up Emma’s contact and type a message, keeping it simple, non-pressuring.
Me:I have something to show you at my place when you’re free. No rush.
I stare at the screen for several minutes after sending it, watching for the typing indicator. Nothing appears. She’s busy, I remind myself. Working. Being professional.
The rest of the day passes with excruciating slowness. I occupy myself with exercises, a conference call with my agent, and a failed attempt at reading a novel that can’t hold my attention.
Evening comes, the automatic lights activating around the rink, casting a warm glow over the ice.
Still no response from Emma.
I’m about to call it a night when my phone finally buzzes.
Donny:How you holding up?
