Chapter 6

“You watched?” Milo seemed surprised.

“Of course, I watched. I always watch.”

“I never knew.”

“You’re good,” his genuinely proud and suddenly remorseful-sounding father said. “I have always been proud of you for what you do. I…I definitely should have said it more.”

“Um, thanks, Dad,” Milo said.

“You’re welcome, son.”

Milo tugged at his wild mane. “I’ll call. Okay? We can Skype. Keep me posted. I mean if it’s bad…If…Well, keep me posted. Okay, Pops?”

“Sure. We’ll know more by this time tomorrow. I’ll ring you, say about half seven in the evening your time.”

“Cool. Call me. Or I’ll call you.”

“Sounds good.”

“Good luck…Dad.” Milo blew out a sigh after ending the call, then threw his head back and shook it, setting the fronds of brown that topped it bouncing like a palm tree in a late-summer Florida hurricane. Tom Alan watched the diminutive ice dancer grab hold of his tank top, yank it from the bottom up over his face, and howl loudly and forcefully into it. “Aaaooww-rrrrr!”