I laugh, and we head out into snow and skate under the winter sky. In the distance, the bay churns angrily in the wind. Icicle grabs me and spins me.

But the cold of the world can’t hurt me today.

“Whoo!” Icicle yelps.

Because I’m with a friend.

I think of Joncee and the snow globe. As I come to a stop, dizzy from spinning and laughing, Icicle comes into focus. He is wearing a green sweater, and his emerald eyes sparkle. This kid is sensitive, smart, funny and deep. I finally see him, as if for the first time. Not just see the way he looks, but inside of him, the clarity of his soul, the size of his heart, the brightness of his being.

It’s as if Joncee’s soul has taken up residence in Icicle’s body.

“What are you looking at?” he asks. “Did my face freeze in a weird way?”

Joncee would have said exactly the same thing.

“No.” I point behind us. “Look,” I say. “Our tracks on the ice disappear so quickly.”

“Ice-skaters apply a huge amount of pressure on the surface of the ice,” Icicle says, “which causes it to melt super-fast and become slippery, which is best for ice-skating. But when we skate away…” Icicle suddenly spins in a circle and points at the ice “…there’s no longer pressure on the surface, and it freezes over again. That entire process happens in the blink of an eye, and that’s why you don’t see any tracks on the ice.”

I stare at him. “Wow,” I say. “That would make a fascinating segment. Something for kids that interests them in science and meteorology perhaps. Take a fun winter activity and explain the science behind it. Maybe we can work on something. Goodness knows, I have the time now.”

Icicle’s green eyes grow large. “Could I help?”

“It could be your thing,” I say. “I’d help you.”

“What about Polly Sue?” he asks.

“Polly who?”

As we leave the ice, I turn around again. A beautiful pattern may not remain on the ice, but it does in my heart.

“Her hair color’s not even real, Mom.”

My mother grabs the end of my hair and gives it a slight tug. “Glass houses, honey.”

“Thanks for the confidence boost, Mother.”

She laughs. My mother truly thinks she is Nora Ephron and Leanne Morgan all rolled into one seventy-five-year-old woman’s body.

“When was the last time you ran this far?” my mom asks. “And I don’t mean away from home.”

“You’re on a roll today, aren’t you?”

My mom pops her hip out and slaps her own rump. “I’m feelin’ it.”

“I hiked a lot in the desert, and I got in a few miles every week running,” I say. “I’m in great shape for my age.”

“You are. But I know how much you hate running in the cold.”

“Okay, Mom. I just got demoted. I’m literally running behind Polly Sue today and handing her the ‘virtual’ baton, the personal and professional symbolism of which is so rich I can barely take it.”

“I hate to repeat what your agent told you, but…”

“Keep my mouth shut and just do my job?” I finish. “I hear you. I’m trying. I’m good at doing my job. I’m not so good at keeping my mouth shut.”

“The world is nodding its head in agreement, my dear,” my mom says. “Now, are you sure you can actually run in all of that stuff, Frosty?”

I finish lacing my tennis shoes and look down at myself. I’m wearing two long-sleeve tech shirts, running tights, shorts, running gloves, a headband, a windproof jacket, tech fabric running socks and new running shoes with a good sole. My mother is right: I hate running in the cold. I love running when it’s ninety degrees.

“Oh, and this! I forgot!”

I grab another long-sleeve T-shirt from the stool beside me in the kitchen and hold it up.

Reading from the front, I say, “‘2022 Frostbite Marathon! BRRRR by the Bay!’” I flip the shirt around and continue reading. “‘Team TRVC! Sonny Dunes!’”

“I can’t tell you how much I love this,” my mother says, her voice dripping in sarcasm. “Here, let me help you put it on.”

My mom yanks it over my head and forces it over my body. My arms stick out beside me like a fat snowman. “You look adorable,” my mother says. “Let me see you run!”

I take off and jog through the living room. My mother is nearly hysterical when I return. “I may not have grandchildren, but this makes up for it in so many ways.”

“Okay, Erma Bombeck,” I say. “Let’s go.”

My mother grabs her coat from the foyer, and strides past me toward the garage.

“Grab your purse and keys,” she says. “You’re driving.”

“Excuse me?”

“If you can run in that gear, you can drive in it.” She puts her hand on my shoulder and gives it a shake, as usual. “You need the experience. You have a car. I can’t be driving you to work and on dates all the time. You’re nearly my age after all.”

I don’t move. “I can’t.”

“You can, and you will.” My mother cocks her head and gives me the look, that look that mothers always use on their children when they’re making a stand. I’d like to have met the mother who invented that look. If she had patented it, she would be very, very rich today.

“Mom,” I start. “The snow. The road. The memory. Everything.” I stop. “How can you pass by the same place every day where she died without thinking about it.”

“I do think about it, honey. Every single time. In the winter, I watch kids slide across that bay on skates. In the summer, I watch them tube behind a boat. That very same spot where your sister died is a spot that brings so much joy to kids to this day. The irony used to be too much for your father and I to take sometimes. We’d drive the opposite way, add twenty minutes to the drive just to avoid the memory. But, one day, I drove to the spot where Joncee died and just sat on the beach sobbing. When I looked into the water, the sun was illuminating it. It sparkled and shimmered, and I swear I could hear your sister giggling in delight. That spot is such a parable for life: we must somehow allow the light to shine so we can erase the darkness.”

I look at my mom. So strong. All alone and yet surrounded by friends. And…light.

“You know the irony of ironies, don’t you?” my mom asks. “The fact you left Michigan and changed your name to Sonny. That always astounded me. It always made me smile.”

“Why?”

“You chose light in your life, honey. Can’t you see that? Despite running away from everything, despite going to the other side of the country to escape, you changed your name to reflect optimism and hope to people. But we both know you didn’t do it for your viewers, you did it for yourself, right?”

I look at her, dumbfounded, shaking my head.

“Must be nice to wake up and look in the mirror every morning and say, ‘Hi, Sonny!’ Must make you feel really good inside.”

I throw my arms around my mom.

“And if my girl is strong and brave enough to wake up every day with such hope—much less to start over and establish a wonderful career—and then face all her demons and return home, well, it just reinforces what I’ve always known.” My mom puts her hand under my chin and looks me right in the face. “You’ve always been a bright light. And nothing can dim that. Nothing. Now you get behind that wheel, and you run your own race, and you set your own course, do you hear me?” She gives my head a little shake.

“Are you ever going to stop shaking one of my body parts?” I ask with a laugh.

“Never.”

I grab my keys and get behind the wheel of my SUV. I open the garage door. It is snowing heavily. I back out and brake too quickly in the driveway, fishtailing slightly. I can feel my heart pulsing in my head. I am filled with panic. I put my head on the wheel and then lift it to look at my mother in the passenger seat.

“I can’t do it, Mom.”

“Sonny…”

She is singing.

“‘Yesterday my life was filled with rain.’”

I look at her, confused.

“That old song ‘Sunny’ by Bobby Hebb,” she explains, “the one your father used to dance to with Joncee when she was little, remember? She would stand on top of his shoes, and they’d dance while it snowed. Sunshine in the winter. Forever love. Constant warmth.” My mom looks at me. “But you knew that, didn’t you? That’s one of the reasons why you chose that new name, wasn’t it, Sonny? It wasn’t just because you heard it in Palm Springs, it’s because you never forgot, did you, my sweet little girl? You just chose to remember in a way that only you would understand.”

Fat tears waver in my eyes and plop on my T-shirt.

“Ready?” my mom asks with a big wink.

I nod my head, back out of the driveway and point my car down M-22. When I pass the part of the bay where Joncee died, I look. Kids are playing in the snow. I grip the steering wheel tightly and keep heading the car—and my life—in the right direction.

You know how your mouth feels when you eat an ice cream cone too quickly? Painfully frozen? That dull ache that forces you to stop for a second no matter how much you just want to continue?

Well, that’s how my lungs feel right now. They burn. And I want to stop running.

There is just something about running in the cold and snow that’s not right. My eyes water. My snot freezes. My knees ache. The wind burns my cheeks. I feel like a hot ember that’s been tossed into a deep freeze. My insides are burning. My exterior is a sheet of ice.

There is a big crowd gathered to watch the annual Frostbite Marathon. They are the smart ones—drinking warm coffee, taking nips from flasks, eating piping hot doughnuts—cheering on their idiot friends.

I was chosen to run the third of the four legs, the six miles that go directly along the shore. More accurately, I was chosen to freeze to death and then hand off, literally, to Polly Sue, who will finish the race and receive all the glory, TV interviews and photo ops.

These are all the things than run through your mind when you’re mentally and physically exhausted and running in a windchill that is actually less than the number of miles you’re completing.

I hear a roar. My heart lifts.

People are cheering for me!

I feel invigorated and pick up my pace.

I look up. People are holding up signs saying, Run, Tim Allen, Run! You’ll Be The Last Man Standing! and School ’Em, Toolman!

I’d forgotten the actor has a home in northern Michigan and loves to support local causes. My heart drops.

“Sonny!”

I look up.

A group of people are waving signs in my direction.

You Will Never Be A Hero!

Sonny’s Funny… In the Head!

Today’s Forecast: Crazy

I stop, as if I’m stuck in quicksand. But then I hear “Sonny!” again and look up.

My mom is standing next to Mason. They are holding up signs that read, For Joncee! and Sonny Skies Ahead!

I smile, jumpstart myself and start running, faster and faster. I pass Tim Allen. I pass about twenty other runners as I finish my leg of the race. I turn to head toward town where I can see the final group of runners waiting to run the last leg of the race.

I will show everyone my strength. I will show Lisa that I will run toward this opportunity rather than away from it. I may not finish this race, but I will win the biggest race of them all and reclaim my job.

I see Polly Sue waiting in the zone sectioned off to the side of the race route called the relay exchange corral. When I cross the line in the corral, I must touch Polly Sue so she can start her leg.

Polly Sue looks like she just came from a department store makeover. Her hair, like her lips, is flame red in the snow. She turns away from me to scan the road ahead of her. That’s when I notice that emblazoned beneath her name on the back of her shirt are the words Chief Meteorologist.

The world spins for a second, and when she turns back, I trip. I go down like a house of cards.

That is, if the cards were made of concrete.

Somehow, I stumble-fall across the line. Polly Sue leans down and smacks me on the head to signal to the judges—in her own lovely way—that we’ve officially touched.

“God, you’re pathetic,” she says before taking off.

And then she’s gone. Like my career.

I feel like crying. I feel like running away yet again.

When I start to get up, a hand appears in front of me.

Icicle, camera perched on his shoulder, is waiting to help me off the ground.