Lou blessed himself as the warning signal appeared at 11:25. They moved the boat around, trying to get into position so that they’d be one of the first to cross the starting line. At 11:26 the preparatory flag went up. At 11:29 the one-minute signal flag went down. Lou waved his arms around wildly, trying to signal to Quentin where to place the boat.

“Right starboard, starboard right, Quentin!” he yelled, waving his right arm. “Thirty seconds!” he yelled.

They came dangerously close to another yacht. Lou’s fault.

“Eh, left port! LEFT!” Lou yelled. “Twenty seconds!”

Each boat fought hard to find a good position, but with thirty boats in the race, there could be only a small number that would make it across the starting line in the favored spot close to the committee boat. The rest would have to do their best with stolen wind on the way up the beat.

Eleven thirty heralded the start signal, and at least ten boats crossed the start line before them. Not the best start, but Lou wasn’t going to let it get to him. He was rusty, he needed some practice, but he didn’t have time for that. This was the real thing.

They raced along with Ireland’s Eye on their right and the headland to their left, but there was no time to take in the view now. Lou thought fast and looked around him at all the yachts racing by, with the wind blowing in his hair, his blood pumping through his veins, feeling more alive than he’d ever felt. It was all coming back to him, what it felt like to be on the boat. He was slower, perhaps, but he hadn’t lost his instincts. They raced along, the boat crashing over the waves as they headed toward the weather mark, one mile up in the wind from the starting line.

“Tacking!” Quentin shouted, watching and steering as the team prepared. The runners trimmer, Alan, checked that the slack on the old runners had been pulled in. The genoa trimmer, Luke, made sure that the new sheet had the slack pulled in and gave a couple of turns on the winch. Lou didn’t move an inch, thinking ahead about what he needed to do and watching the other boats around them to make sure nothing was too close. He instinctively knew they were tacking onto port and would have no right of way over boats on starboard. His old racing tactics came flooding back, and he was quietly pleased with how he had positioned the boat right on the lay line to the weather mark. He could sense Quentin’s confidence in him gaining at their now favorable position when the tack was completed, powering toward the mark with a clear passage in. It was Quentin’s belief in him that Lou was fighting to win, just as much as first place.

Quentin made sure that there was room to take and started the turn. Geoff, the cockpit man, moved quickly to the old genoa, and as the genoa backwinded, he released it. The boat went through the wind, the mainsheet was eased a couple of feet, and the boom came across. Luke pulled as fast as possible, and when he couldn’t pull anymore, he put a couple more turns on the winch and the grinding began. Quentin steered the new course.

“HIGH SIDE!” Lou yelled, and they all raced to hang their legs over the windward side.

Quentin whooped, and Lou laughed into the wind.

After rounding the first mark and heading toward the second with the wind on their side, Lou jumped into action in time to hoist the spinnaker, then gave Quentin the thumbs-up. The rest of the team instantly got busy, tending to their individual duties. Lou was a little too much fingers and thumbs, but he could tell it was coming together.

Watching it rise to the top, Lou happily called, “UP!”

Alan trimmed the spinnaker while Robert grinded. They sailed fast, and Lou punched the air and roared. Behind the wheel, Quentin laughed as the spinny filled with wind like a windsock, and the wind with them, they raced to the next mark. Quentin allowed himself a quick look astern, and it was some sight: there must have been twenty-five boats with spinnakers filling, chasing them down. Not bad. He and Lou caught each other’s eyes and smiled.

AFTER THIRTY MINUTES OF QUEUING for the ice rink, Lou and his family finally reached the front.

“You guys have fun,” Lou said, clapping his hands together and stamping his feet to keep warm. “I’ll just go to the coffee place over there and watch you.”

Ruth started laughing. “Lou, I thought you were coming skating with us.”

“No.” He scrunched up his face. “I’ve just spent the last half an hour watching men my age making fools of themselves out there. What if someone sees me? I’d rather stay here, thank you. Plus, these are new and dry clean only,” he added, pointing to his trousers.

“Right,” Ruth said firmly, “then you won’t mind taking care of Bud while Lucy and I skate.”

“Come on, Lucy.” Lou had an instant change of heart at that and grabbed his daughter’s hand. “Let’s get us some skates.” He winked at Ruth, who looked amused, and made off to get their ice skates. He got to the counter ahead of Smug Family Man. Ha. He felt a sense of silent victory.

“What size?” The man behind the desk looked at him.

“Ten, please,” Lou responded, and looked down at Lucy and waited for her to speak up. Her big brown eyes stared back up at him.

“Tell the man your size, sweetheart,” he said, feeling Smug Family Man breathing down his neck as he waited.

“I don’t know, Daddy,” she said, almost in a whisper.

“Well, you’re four, aren’t you?”

“Five.” She frowned.

“She’s five,” he told the man. “So whatever size a five-year-old would take.”

“It really depends on the child.”

Lou sighed and took out his BlackBerry, refusing to have to line up again. Behind him, Smug Family Man with the baby in the pouch called over his head, “Two size fours, a size three, and an eleven, please.”

Lou rolled his eyes and mimicked him as he waited for his call to be answered.

“Hello?”

“What size is Lucy?”

Ruth laughed. “She’s a twenty-six.”

“Okay, thanks.” He hung up.

Once on the ice, he held on to the side of the rink carefully. He took Lucy’s hand and guided her along. Ruth stood nearby with Bud, who kicked his legs excitedly while bouncing up and down and pointing at nothing in particular.

“Now, sweetheart”—Lou’s voice and ankles wobbled as he stepped on the ice—“it’s very dangerous, so you have to be very careful. Hold on to the sides now, okay?”

Lucy held on to the side with one hand and slowly got used to moving along the ice while Lou’s ankles still wobbled on his thin blades.

Lucy started to skate faster. “Honey,” Lou said, his voice shaky as he looked down at the cold, hard ice, dreading what it would feel like to fall.

The distance between Lucy and Lou widened.

“Keep up with her, Lou,” Ruth called from the other side of the barrier, walking alongside him as he moved. He could swear he heard teasing in her voice.

“I bet you’re enjoying this.” He could barely look up at her, he was concentrating so much.

“Absolutely.”

He pushed with his left foot, which skidded out farther than he planned, and he almost broke into a split. Feeling like Bambi getting to his feet for the first time, he wobbled and spun, arms waving around in circles as he tried to keep his balance. But he was making progress. He looked up now and then to keep his eye on Lucy, who was clearly visible in her fire-engine-red coat, halfway around the rink ahead of him.

Smug Family Man went flying by him, arms swinging as though he was about to take part in a bobsled race, the speed of him alone almost toppling Lou. Behind him, Smug Family Man’s kids raced along, holding hands, and were they actually singing? That was it, Lou decided. Slowly letting go of the barrier at the side, he tried to balnace on wobbly legs. Then, bit by bit, he slid a foot forward, almost toppling backward, his back arching as though about to fall into a crab position, but he somehow managed to rescue himself.