It was easy enough, as Tony approached, for Wanda to pretend that she hadn't heard what the surly driver hollered. Rather than verbally agree with the driver's suggestion, she offered Tony a smile and nodded. They went up to a kiosk to rent skates (Wanda's were tied by the zealously helpful college kid in his NYU sweatshirt running the rentals who assured her he knew the best way to tie skates and took his sweet time about it, kneeling in front of her bench while a line started forming at the kiosk's window).
When they finally got onto the ice, Wanda glided cautiously forward and slipped one of her arms in Tony's to keep them both upright. She wasn't wobbly-which was perhaps more than could be said for him- but she wasn't particularly adept at it either. They moved around the edge of the rink at a slow pace and Wanda watched the skilled skaters, mostly gravity-defying little girls in shimmery outfits, out in the middle of the ice. Occasionally during their meandering circuit, Wanda or Tony would slip a little and have to catch the other and Wanda would grip his arm more tightly (what was the harm, really? It was better than falling flat on her face). Their conversation was idle and eventually trailed off but the silence that followed wasn't an uncomfortable one. It was Wanda who eventually broke it.
"I hated winters on the island," she remarked and took a deep breath of the chilly air, a nostalgic expression on her face. "It didn't seem right. Not like it should, with cold and snow. I always missed New York. This is the first place I remember living. I don't remember Transia at all, but we lived in Rochester until we were nearly six." She turned to skate backwards, facing Tony as she spoke, still holding onto him to keep herself steady. "I know we used to do this sometimes, go ice-skating. With Uncle Charles, naturally. Never Father." Her reminisces seemed t produce conflicting emotions; despite the small smile on her lips, her gaze was sad. "It was lovely."