1. Wait until the frost on the grass melts to the tips of your fingers. This should be around mid-December when the branches on the apple trees frighten your mother. She’ll shake her head at them while she drinks her tea in the morning.

2. The spot between the garage and the fence in the very back is the most level. Don’t let Frank help. He’ll look over the fence and try to tell you what to do. Do not listen to him. But feel free to stare at his black and bruised eye.

3. Your mother probably won’t let you go out there without a jacket. Wear one. If you feel yourself overheating, you can unzip it a bit. There are some things worth fighting for, but this isn’t one of them. Your mother is right about that.

4. Drag the 2×6s out from the woodpile. You’ll see them. Some are already joined to make them about twenty-four feet long. Those are the longer sides. The twelve-foot ones are the other. Make a rectangle. Frank will say something about how he used aluminum sheets for the sides. Tell him you’re busy, and that you really don’t care because you have these instructions. Your dad wrote you all the steps. And if you have questions, sneak into the laundry room with the cordless phone. Dial my number. I will answer.

5. Once you get the boards in place, it’s time to screw them together. There’s a box of screws in the garage on the shelf with all your mother’s seeds and gardening shit. The box is blue. She’ll insist that you knocked some seeds over or misplaced the shears. She’s only trying to get your attention. She used to do that with me, too. Say you’re sorry. Sorry for knocking anything over or messing anything up. But it’s not your fault, okay? You were following my instructions.

6. You’ve got the screws. You’ll need at least eight; two for each corner. Now you’ll need the drill. That should be by the toolbox, unless your mother has given it or lent it to Frank. If she has given him the drill, or anything, you’d tell me, right? Frank can’t be trusted.

7. Find the drill. Run the orange extension cord from the outlet next to the toolbox to the farthest corner of the rink. Your mother will watch you do all of this, even if you think you are alone. She likes to peek out windows, make excuses to come out. In a way, she is a great mother. Tell her, when she comes out with hot cocoa, that you love her, and she’s the best mother in the whole world. It is okay if you want to ask about us. It is okay if you look up at her and ask why I’m not there to help you with the rink.

8. Don’t believe everything she says, though.

9. She’ll ask if you need help. That is up to you.

10. You’ve got the screws and drill; the boards are all lined up. There are holes from the past years at the ends. Sometimes, they’ve been drilled and screwed so much that they’ve lost all grip. If this happens, move the board about an inch or so inward so that the screws have fresh wood to bite.

11. If your mother is still out there with you, mention that Frank creeps you out. Say that he’s watched you the whole time, making weird animal noises. Maybe like a gopher.

12. With the boards screwed together, now it’s time for the tarp. There is a new one in the garage that I had bought before I left. Say to your mother, if she is still there, that you miss having me over for dinner. That you’d like to have me there to help. Say that people can misunderstand each other. Especially when they love each other.

13. Find the tarp tucked in the corner of the garage by your mother’s Christmas decorations for the front yard. Shove Santa out of the way.

14. I hope there isn’t a lot of wind. Unfold the tarp in the middle of the boards. The tarp should be about a foot bigger than the inside of the boards. Let the tarp drape over.

15. This is important. Once you have the tarp spread out, take off your shoes. Walk inside the boards in your socks to flatten the tarp. Think about how, when you were younger, we used to do this together. Remember when I held your hands and your feet were on my feet and we would walk around in circles? Do you remember how your mother watched us from the window? And Frank didn’t even exist then? He does not have any right to come on our property. You remember how gentle I am, right? How restrained I was?

16. With the tarp settled, slip your shoes back on. Drink your hot cocoa, it should be the perfect temperature. With your hands warming, say that I did the right thing. Say that when an intruder enters your home, you have to respond. Dad did the right thing. Say it so your mother hears you.

17. One more thing until you can fill it up with water — you need to staple the tarp to the boards, so it won’t shift with the water. You may need help for this part. Ask your mother. If she says that Frank can help, complain. Whine. Cry. Do all the things we told you not to do.

18. Your mother will tell you that Frank is a nice man. She’ll tell you that Frank is helpful, that he gets lonely this time of year. That, to allow him to help you, is in the spirit of the Christmas season, that we make amends, forgive, renew — a recommitment for our love of thy neighbor.

19. Frank will come over. He’ll work the staple gun along the tarp. Don’t thank him. Stay distant. Stay cold. If he asks you questions like, How is your Christmas break going? give him one word answers. Tell him you miss me. You can even tell him he’s nothing like me. He’s not your dad.

20. He’ll give you a nickname. Maybe Tommy Toes, or Tom Bomb, or anything related to your actual name, Thomas. Tommarama. Tompher. I don’t know, but they’ll probably be terrible. Remember who first gave you a name. Remember when I woke you up every morning for school. Do you remember how I used to sing your morning song? Thomas’s new day?

21. After the tarp is secured, all you have to do is fill it with water. Take the hose that’s curled up against the side of the house next to the back porch and drag one end to the middle of the tarp. Take the other end and pull it inside to the kitchen sink. You’ll need duct tape. Tape the end to the faucet. Your mother will say that you’re letting all the warm air out. Tell her that you’re liberating the warm air. This will make her laugh. She’s laughed at that stupid joke for the past four years.

22. The hose is secure. The sun is almost gone. See how the branches of the apple trees slice up the light? Turn on the water. No matter how well you tape the hose, water will find a way out, even perspiring through the woven, glued, plastic strands. This is okay; not everything is meant to stay in place.

23. This will take some time. About forty minutes. Relax. Finish your hot cocoa, now cold. Frank will come over for dinner. He’ll offer you a brownie or a cookie. You can take it but say that you don’t like being around him. Pretend you don’t feel good. Your mother will suggest chicken noodle soup. Say that Frank should stay at his place. If need be, storm to your room and slam the door. Listen for their voices. What are they saying? What are they doing?

24. Has it been forty minutes? Has it been long enough? Ask your mother that question for me.

25. The water should be about a couple inches below the top of the board. Turn off the water and pull the hose free. Roll it back up. Frank may come out to help you finish things up. He may close the garage and carry you into the house.

26. Give it a couple of nights. Test the ice with your foot. Press down. If no water seeps, you should be good to go. Lace up the skates I bought you last week. When you are on the ice, look at the house. See those warm yellow lights in the windows? See your mom? She’s watching you. She’s taking care of you. And if you see Frank? I’m your dad, and things are temporary sometimes. Like the water seeping out of the taped faucet, like the bare branches of the season, like Frank’s bruised and battered face, it will pass. Take a couple laps for me. We are holding hands again. Look how good you’ve gotten since last year when we went to the frozen lake outside of town and even your mom skated with us.

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