Edge of the Past Page 2

  The Canadian champions were in St. Petersburg, as were all the top pairs in the sport. Chris and I had learned at Worlds that having “2002 Olympic silver medalists” under our names wouldn’t earn us bonus points from the judges. If anything, the expectations were higher. There was no room for mistakes.

  ****

  In the cold, gray underbelly of the Ice Palace, I flexed my knees and bounced up and down on my skate guards to stay warm. Waiting for our turn to skate was the hardest part. It gave me too much time inside my head.

  Sergei stood a few feet from me, staring down the hall. He had a faraway look in his eyes, the one he got on the rare occasions we talked about his days as a skater. The last time he’d stood in this corridor, he was part of Russia’s brightest young pair. He and Elena were already being talked about as future Olympic champions. But then one careless moment had ended it all.

  Chris’s hands massaged my neck, and I jumped. Craning my head up, I expected to see my partner’s usual confident smile. Instead, his jaw was set, his dimples hidden.

  “I’m not liking our chances here,” he said.

  “What?” I spun around to face him. “What are you talking about?”

  He held the serious expression a moment longer before a huge grin appeared. “Just kidding.”

  I smacked his arm. “Don’t ever do that again.”

  “I had to see your reaction if you thought I was freaking out.”

  “You’re not allowed to freak out.” I straightened the rolled-up cuffs of his burgundy shirt and then brushed my fingertips over his short dark hair, making sure it was neatly in place. “There’s only room for one worrier in this partnership.”

  “And you handle that role very well.”

  “It’s an unfortunate gift from my mother.”

  “You have nothing to worry about.” He returned his hands to my neck and lightly squeezed. “We’re gonna skate this program lights-out.”

  “How did I end up with the coolest partner in the universe?”

  “That’s a pretty big title to live up to… but I think I can handle it.” He grinned.

  Sergei snapped out of his daze and wandered over to us just as our team leader beckoned us toward the ice. He gave us a reminder about the overhead lift and a few other elements, but he still looked a bit distracted. Is he thinking about what might have been?

  Chris and I hopped onto the ice as the top Russian team exited. I fiddled with the skinny straps of my glitzy black dress and tugged on the short skirt. My hands never stayed still in the moments before a performance. Neither did my brain, and despite Chris’s reassurances, I couldn’t turn off my anxiety or the image of Sergei and Elena skating on this very ice.

  Chris took my hand, and we stopped at one end of the rink for our introduction. I closed my eyes, and the announcer’s rich Russian accent presented our names.

  “Emily Butler and Christopher Grayden – United States.”

  Polite applause received us as we skated to center ice and locked into our opening pose, our eyes fixed on each other. The music began, and I let myself get lost in Sergei’s passionate choreography. The strong piano notes provided the perfect backdrop for the emotions he wanted us to portray. Sergei and I had found the music, “Victoria’s Secret” while watching one of my favorite TV shows, Due South. The story of our program was a couple fighting to be together. Chris and I had become pros at faking a romantic connection.

  The elements flew by in a blur of clean jumps and centered spins. Approaching our final move, the star lift, Chris grasped my hip and I pushed against his shoulder to raise myself into the air. I started to exhale, but a loud grunt from Chris halted my breath. The noise had a painful groan to it.

  We kept moving across the ice but not with our customary speed. Even though I had complete trust in Chris to keep me safe, a panicky shot of adrenaline shook me. I changed positions above his head and gripped his hand like a vise. When he set me down, I looked to him for a positive sign, but he winced through his nod.

  The music stopped a few seconds before we struck our final pose, a result of our cautious pace during the final moments of the program. Disregarding the applause, I grabbed Chris’s waist and darted my eyes over his face.

  “What’s hurting?”

  His mouth twitched with discomfort. “My shoulder.”

  A thousand possible arm injuries flew through my mind as we took quick bows and skated over to a very concerned Sergei. He hugged Chris and held his elbow as he snapped his skate guards over his blades.

  “Did you hear anything pop?” Sergei asked.

  Chris shook his head. “I don’t think so. Just a really bad pain.”

  While Chris walked to the kiss and cry with his right arm hanging by his side, Sergei hugged me and kissed my forehead.

  “You did a great job, Em.”

  I rested my head against his shoulder. Having my fiancé as my coach was sometimes a tough balance, but at times like these, it was wonderful to meet Sergei’s comforting embrace at the boards.

  I sat beside Chris on the small bench and put my arm around him, while Sergei reached behind me to pat him on the back. The red light on the camera in front of us blinked, and I thought of Chris’s parents watching in Baltimore. They were probably already calling his cell phone and leaving messages. I knew he must really be hurting because he ignored the camera and didn’t give his girlfriend Marley a wave or a shout-out.

  The scores were good but not our best – 5.8’s for both technical and artistic merit. We’d racked up a number of perfect 6.0’s over the course of the season. The other teams must’ve made mistakes, however, because our names flashed into first place on the scoreboard. Sergei applauded, and Chris and I stood to acknowledge the crowd’s cheers. I showed everyone a bright smile, but inside I churned with worry.

  Our team doctor led Chris toward the medical room as soon as we stepped backstage. There was no time to waste because the first of our two required long programs was scheduled later that night. If Chris needed treatment, the medical staff only had a few hours to tend to him. I didn’t want to think about a more serious injury – one that could cause us to withdraw from the competition.

  I slipped my jacket over my dress and went to meet the media alone. Since I couldn’t provide any information on Chris’s condition, the interviews didn’t take long. After I changed out of my costume, I found Sergei and the doctor huddled in the corridor.

  “How is he?” I asked as I rushed up to them.

  Sergei hesitated before answering, and my stomach plunged. “It might be just a strain, but it could be a torn rotator cuff. He’ll need an MRI when he gets home.”

  A torn rotator cuff? Being a Red Sox fan, I knew that injury was very bad news for a baseball pitcher. I couldn’t imagine it was any better for a pairs skater who had to lift a hundred pounds over his head every day. My stomach dropped further.

  “He can’t skate with that, can he?” I asked.

  Dr. Parker scratched his beard. “Well, he could with treatment if the pain was tolerable, but without knowing the extent of the injury, I’m advising against it.”

  “And we don’t want to chance anything with Worlds in less than a month,” Sergei added.

  Chris came out of the men’s locker room, pulling his rolling bag with his good arm. He wore a rare glum look. As I hugged him, he said, “I’ve never had to pull out of a competition. Ever.”

  “We can’t risk hurting you more,” I said, keeping my arms around him. He always took such good care of me on the ice. I needed to make sure he took care of himself now.

  Sergei accompanied us as we officially reported our withdrawal to the event referee. On our way upstairs to meet my parents on the concourse, Chris called his mom and was still on the phone when we reached the main level of the arena. My parents were with Anna in front of a popcorn stand, and Mom was jabbering and gesturing to Anna, communicating in some kind of sign language. Anna was just nodding in reply.

  Dad broke away from them
and hugged me. “You skated great.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  “Did Chris hurt his arm?” Mom asked, shooting a worried glance toward him.

  “Dr. Parker thinks it’s his rotator cuff. We won’t know more until he has some tests at home. But we had to withdraw.”

  “You not skate tonight?” Anna asked.

  “I’m sorry. I know how much you’ve been looking forward to seeing us compete.”

  She clutched my arm and shook her head. “No, no, Chris need to get well. I see you skate short program. So beautiful. So much better than watching on TV.”

  I smiled. “Thank you.”

  When Chris wrapped up his phone conversation, we all headed to the hotel. Without an event to prepare for later, we could have a leisurely dinner. In the lobby, everyone streamed into the restaurant except Chris, who paused and jerked his thumb toward the elevator. “I think I’m just gonna get room service.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, I need to call Marley. Besides, listening to your mom try to talk in some half English-half Russian language might be more painful than a bum shoulder.” A hint of a smile surfaced – a most welcome sight.

  “Sadly, that’s probably true,” I said.

  His face turned solemn again. “Even if this turns out worst case scenario, we’re not missing Worlds. I’ll deal with it after. There has to be a shot or something they can give me to get me through it.”

  “I’ll be saying lots of healing prayers tonight before I go to sleep. And you know my mom will say like ten rosaries for you.” I jabbed his stomach.

  Chris’s phone jangled in his pocket, and he retrieved it. “That’s Mar. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  The back of his navy Team USA jacket disappeared into the elevator bank, and I rubbed my temples. Chris might think he was Superman, but what if he messed up his shoulder even more trying to skate at Worlds with the injury? Usually he had no problem backing up his confidence, but he’d never had to deal with this big of a physical handicap.

  “You are Emily,” a thick Russian voice said behind me.

  I whirled around and found a middle-aged man peering at me. My blank stare prompted him to continue, “I am Sergei’s father.”

  Of course! I saw it then in his strong cheekbones and slightly crooked nose. Since Max didn’t like to be photographed, Sergei hadn’t been able to show me any pictures of him.

  “I… I didn’t think you were coming so soon. Anna said you couldn’t leave work, that you were very busy at the plant,” I babbled, so caught off guard I didn’t think to speak in Russian. He probably doesn’t understand a word I’m saying.

  Indeed, his eyes narrowed and he appeared to be concentrating hard. I realized I hadn’t offered a handshake or a kiss or any greeting, but the time for that seemed to have passed.

  “Sergei and his mother here?” He scanned the lobby with his piercing green eyes.

  “Restaurant,” I said in Russian and pointed to the large arched doorway. Now I’m using sign language, too.

  Max picked up his suitcase, which matched Anna’s, and walked toward the dining room. My legs took a moment to move, but I soon trailed after Max’s tall figure. He had the same posture and long stride as Sergei.

  Max found the table where my parents, Anna, and Sergei were seated, and Sergei shot to his feet. “Papa.”

  My parents and Anna rose also with matching looks of surprise. Anna asked Max a question in Russian that I vaguely understood as, “You were able to leave work?”

  I couldn’t decipher Max’s mumbled reply, but he still wasn’t smiling. His stern face didn’t look like one that easily smiled. Anna swept her fingers through her long graying hair and cleared her throat. Sergei had a habit of clearing his throat whenever he was anxious.

  “This is Emily’s parents,” she spoke slowly. “This is Sergei’s father.”

  After handshakes were done across the table, Max looked at his watch. “Competition start in few hours?” He glanced at Anna then Sergei and me.

  Anna’s mouth creased into a frown. “Emily’s partner is hurt, so they not skate.”

  Max gave her the same confused stare he’d given me in the lobby. Anna switched to Russian and patted her right shoulder. In turn, Max grunted and spewed out a frenzy of agitated Russian I couldn’t follow.

  “What’s he saying?” I whispered to Sergei.

  He didn’t answer me. His cheeks had reddened, and the color was spreading down to the collar of his dress shirt.

  Anna and Max continued to converse while the rest of us watched in uncomfortable silence. Finally, Max shifted his suitcase to his opposite hand and nodded to us.

  “Good to meet you. Long on train, so I rest. Have good night.”

  And with that farewell he left. Anna gave us an apologetic smile, and I sensed that was something she was used to doing.

  “He work many hours. Very tired,” she said.

  Too tired to even give his son a hug? He’d barely acknowledged Sergei’s presence in the room. The bad car accident Max had been in a year ago obviously hadn’t made him appreciate his family more.

  “We understand,” Dad said. “Traveling is always tiring, especially after a long day at work.”

  Mom’s eyebrows were still raised as she returned to her seat. I stayed standing and tapped Sergei’s arm. “Can we talk for a sec?”

  I led him away from the table to a quiet spot near the entrance. A couple of Canadian ice dance coaches passed us, and we swapped brief hellos. I retreated further into the corner and looked up at Sergei.

  “What was your dad angry about?”

  Sergei rubbed the back of his neck and let out a frustrated sigh. “He wasn’t happy that he left work and now you’re not skating.”

  I laughed dryly. “So, now he has something else to hold against me.”

  “No, it’s not you.” Sergei touched my cheek. “He doesn’t even know you. It’s just him… and the way he is.”

  “When you said he’s not a ray of sunshine, you weren’t joking. He didn’t even shake your hand.”

  “He’s never been good at expressing emotion.”

  “I’m sure glad you got your mom’s personality.” I tugged on the end of Sergei’s purple tie.

  He smiled and wrapped his arms around me, but I could feel the tension in his body. What else could go wrong on this trip? With two days left in St. Petersburg and three more in Moscow, I was almost afraid to ask that question.

  Chapter Three

  “Morning, sweetie.” Mom pecked my cheek. “How’s Chris doing?”

  “He’s feeling okay. He said he’s going to skip sightseeing with us, though.”

  “Do you think Max will join us? He didn’t seem very social last night,” Mom said while fiddling with her leather gloves.

  We hadn’t discussed Sergei’s father’s behavior at dinner, but it had been like an invisible unwanted guest at the table all night. Across the lobby, the decorative golden elevator doors slid open, and Sergei and his parents exited.

  “I guess that answers your question,” I said.

  Sergei kissed me, and I eyed Max warily as he shook Dad’s hand. He looked more at ease than he had upon his arrival, but his smile still seemed forced.

  Anna came over to me, buttoning her long coat. “We go to museum first?”

  “If that’s okay with all of you,” I said.

  “Yes, yes. We enjoy to be tourist. We are not here in many years.”

  Since money was tight for Sergei’s parents and they rarely took a vacation, I wasn’t surprised Anna was soaking up every minute of the trip. I couldn’t wait until her visit to the States for the wedding. She was going to love the colorful seascapes of the Cape and the historic charm of Boston. From what I knew of Max, he wouldn’t be as impressed. Or if he was, he wouldn’t show it.

  We set off for Palace Square, the famous landmark seen in most pictures of St. Petersburg and the site of the State Hermitage Museum. Sergei and I strolled behind our pa
rents, and I noticed Max kept his hands shoved in his pockets, not offering Anna any warmth. Dad had linked his arm through Mom’s as soon as we stepped outside.

  As we walked through the expansive Square, I gaped at the long stretch of ornate structures. The layers of snow on the ground surrounding the palaces added to the area’s majestic feel. We stopped in front of the Winter Palace, and my eyes swept over the three-story green and white building.

  “It kinda looks like a big wedding cake,” I said to Sergei.

  He laughed. “I’ve never thought about it, but it does a little.”

  We made our way into the museum and started our tour of the numerous collections. Max seemed interested in a sculpture of Adonis, so I formulated a comment in Russian in my head and approached him.

  “It must take so much patience to complete a detailed work like this.”

  “Yes, it must,” Max replied and shuffled over to another sculpture.

  Nice talking to you, too. Deciding to make another attempt, I followed Max and did my best to engage him in conversation, but he gave me only short responses. Sergei watched us from a close distance, and the glare he aimed at his father could turn mortals to stone.

  I wandered away from the group and stared at a row of Italian religious paintings, admiring the deep colors and precise brushwork. Mom joined me with a backward glance over her shoulder.

  “Am I imagining it or is there some tension between Sergei and his father?” she asked.

  I focused on the da Vinci painting before me so I wouldn’t have to face Mom with a lie. “They’ve never been very close, so it’s probably just awkward spending time together.” That might not be the main reason, but there was some truth to it.

  “Anna is such a lovely person. She’s really embraced you. But Max seems so distant to Sergei and to you, too.”

  Sergei walked up to my side, so I took that opportunity to leave Mom and the discussion of Max. I wasn’t going to share the reason for his coldness. My parents knew Sergei had been involved with Elena, but they thought his career had ended because Elena’s father didn’t approve of the relationship. They didn’t know about the pregnancy, and I wanted to keep it that way. If Mom found out Sergei had fathered a child as a teenager, she’d switch into judgmental mode in a hot second.