Life on the Edge Page 4

  “Em, remember what we’ve talked about. Your body knows what to do. Relax into it, let it feel the energy of the music.”

  The clarity in his eyes spoke of confidence, but the six minutes I’d just spent on the ice weren’t making me very sure of myself.

  “Imagine the perfect program,” he said. “Keep that picture in your mind through each step.”

  I couldn’t help thinking about worst-case scenarios, though. “But if we miss the twist . . .”

  “Don’t think about missing it. Think about nailing it. But if you make a mistake, remember to move past it and focus on what’s ahead.”

  He spoke so calmly and with such assurance. Before I’d moved to the Cape, my career had stalled at the junior ladies level because of my competition anxiety. I could do the difficult jumps with ease in practice, but when I stepped on the ice to compete, my entire body would tense and my mind would fill with doubt. Sergei had worked with me on freeing my mind of negativity and visualizing a flawless program.

  Those techniques didn’t eliminate all the jitters, however. My nerves, plus the nearness of Sergei, sent my pulse on a sprint.

  An event volunteer signaled us, so Chris and I marched through the tunnel and waited near the ice door for Claire and Brandon to finish their program. The moment they exited, we claimed the ice and circled the rink while the scores were read.

  Moments before our introduction, we stopped in front of Sergei to take final sips of water. He smoothed the jacket of his dark blue suit and fed us a string of reminders.

  “You’re trained and ready for this.”

  “Take one element at a time.”

  “Have fun out there.”

  Before I left him, he gave me a smile and one final nugget of encouragement. “You’re stronger than you’ve ever been.”

  I

  returned his smile and nodded, inhaling and exhaling a measured breath.

  The audience treated us to a warm ovation but silenced as Chris froze in his starting pose. Taking deep breaths, I skated around him and tapped my toepick into the ice, positioning myself next to him. He gave me a subtle nod, his comforting sign of reassurance I’d come to rely on.

  The powerful beats of the Spanish-flavored music guided us through our sharp opening movements. Approaching our first element, the triple twist, I thought, Quick and tight. Quick and tight.

  I soared above Chris’s head and spun three times, but I couldn’t pull my arms out fast enough. My elbow crashed into Chris’s shoulder, and I slid down his silky shirt. He grasped my waist and held onto me to keep us upright. Muted applause recognized our valiant attempt.

  Chris must’ve seen a dazed look in my eyes because he squeezed my hand extra hard. Reminding myself to stay positive, I looked ahead to the side-by-side triple Lutzes and envisioned the perfect jump. I stabbed my right toepick into the ice and went straight up into three rotations. Chris matched me, and our blades reconnected with the ice on the same beat. That time, the response from the crowd came at a much higher decibel.

  The tension in my muscles eased a bit as we moved into our circular footwork, and I let myself settle into the music. But when the throw Lutz loomed, my body tightened and I saw the image of my botched landing during the warm-up.

  Positive thoughts, Em.

  See the perfect jump.

  I

  flushed the warm-up from my head and pictured Chris throwing me across the ice into three revolutions, followed by a clean run-out on one foot. I thought of it again and again as he pressed his hands against my hips and sprang me into the air. My body responded instinctively, spinning the way I did countless times in practice and landing upright, one blade on the ice.

  Yes!

  Chris grinned at me, and we sailed into our overhead lift. A boost of energy flowed down my limbs, carrying me through our final elements and to the end of the program.

  I

  hugged Chris and exhaled, but the mistake on the twist soon came back to me, diminishing my smile of relief. As we took our bows, stuffed animals flew from the stands and landed near our feet. Tiny sweeper girls in pink dresses scooped up the gifts. I picked up a multi-colored stuffed snake and twisted it in frustration as I skated to the Kiss & Cry, the sitting area to wait for the scores.

  Sergei greeted us with quick hugs. “Very good start.”

  I

  continued to squeeze the furry snake between my fingers. “I should’ve had the twist. I opened up too soon.”

  “You did great.” Chris swung his arm around me as we sat on the small bench. “You got the full rotation.”

  “Thanks for helping me keep my head on straight before,” I said to Sergei.

  “I just gave you a few reminders. You’ve come a long way.”

  The announcer’s deep voice droned the scores–5.5, 5.4, 5.5 . . . Out of 6.0, those were good marks, but I still wanted a do-over on the twist.

  At the end of the evening, we were in fourth place behind the Canadians, a Russian team, and our American rivals, Claire and Brandon. Once we finished our media obligations, we shared a few minutes with our parents and then sought out empty seats for the Original Dance competition.

  Aubrey and Nick were one of the first couples to skate. Chris whistled at our friends, and through my cupped hands I cried, “Go Aubrey and Nick!”

  With her blond hair curled and slinky black dress showing off her trim figure, Aubrey was the picture of beauty, and Nick’s dark good looks made him the perfect match. His black tie and tails completed the sophisticated image for their foxtrot program.

  I

  clutched the arms of my seat and tapped my heels as Nick led Aubrey through the dance. They floated around the rink, their intricate hand-holds not hurting their speed. I watched their blades closely, and my eyes didn’t see any missteps. Chris and I jumped up as soon as the program ended.

  While we waited for the scores, Chris asked, “How bad do you think they’ll get screwed this time?”

  My

  mouth curled downward. “They’d better get some five-twos or five-threes.”

  “They won’t. The judges won’t give them the marks they deserve because they’re young and they have to ‘wait their turn.’” Chris made air quotes.

  Since ice dance didn’t include jumps, the judges could be more subjective with their scores. I often asked Aubrey if the system frustrated her, and she said she couldn’t worry about things out of her control. That was a lesson I was still trying to learn.

  A line of 4.9’s and 5.0’s lit up the scoreboard.

  “Pfft” was my response.

  Later at the hotel, I was showered and in my pajamas by the time Aubrey returned from the arena. Snug under two blankets, I looked up from my paperback and started to say, “Great jo–” but Aubrey’s moist eyes and quivering chin halted me.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  She sniffed and dropped her rolling bag on the carpet with a thud. “Just Viktor being Viktor.”

  I slipped my bookmark between the last pages I’d read. “What did he say? You guys did so well.”

  “He said I didn’t give enough energy to the program.”

  “What? The crowd loved you. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

  She hunted through the pile of clothes on the dresser and yanked out an extra-large T-shirt. “Well, he thinks he’s right. As always.”

  Aubrey’s teary voice had become bitter. I threw aside the blankets to give her a hug, but she stalked to the bathroom in a rush.

  Her frequent Viktor rants made me thank God for Sergei’s patience and encouragement . . . and a few of his other qualities. Ones I shouldn’t be thinking about.

  ****

  The following night at the free skate, Chris and I took the ice last, not knowing how our competitors had fared. In my ivory dress, trimmed with glittering crystals, I felt beautiful and strong, ready to make our lyrical program come alive.

  The next four and a half minutes didn’t feel li
ke a long program. Every stroke, every jump was light and free, as if I had wings carrying me. Even the triple twist was the cleanest we’d ever done.

  Throughout the program, Chris showered me with the loving looks Sergei had asked for, and I returned them with equal conviction. When the music ended, the entire arena stood and so did all the hairs on the back of my neck. Chris pumped his fist and wrapped me in a tight embrace.

  With my ears buzzing from the cheers, I swiveled to face the Kiss & Cry. Sergei’s smile gleamed brighter than my costume. As Chris and I approached him, he banged our skate guards together in celebration. I hopped off the ice and threw my arms around his neck.

  “Absolutely beautiful,” he said.

  Sergei went to kiss my cheek as I turned to speak, and his lips grazed the corner of my mouth. My already pounding heart staggered against my chest. The moment had been like tasting one crumb of the most delicious dessert imaginable and then having it taken away.

  Tension crept into Sergei’s arms, and he made a hasty move to hug Chris. I snatched a tissue from the box behind the boards to blot the beads of perspiration from my face.

  In the Kiss & Cry, Sergei pointed to the slow-motion replay of our lifts and spins and noted some corrections to make. Meanwhile, the delay for the scores dragged. Had we moved up into medal position? Finally, the marks appeared–5.7’s and 5.8’s for technical merit, and 5.7’s for presentation. The placements showed unanimous second place ordinals from the judges.

  I

  slapped my hands over my mouth, and Chris smothered me in another hug. The audience cheered until we rose and thanked them with enthusiastic waves. As we walked backstage, Sergei beckoned us aside.

  “I felt the connection between you tonight. We can build on this for your next competition. You performed very well, but the great thing is, in Paris you can be even better.”

  The smile on both my face and Chris’s stretched wider. “Definitely,” I said, and Chris concurred.

  I’d

  switched to pairs because I thought skating with a partner would calm my nerves. Chris’s steady presence indeed helped me, but I hadn’t expected Sergei’s impact on my skating. He’d tapped into a confidence I didn’t know I was capable of.

  The medal ceremony began minutes later, and I spotted my parents in the front row. Dad aimed his camera at us while Mom whooped and shouted, “Yeah, Emily and Chris!” Chris and I stepped onto the second tier of the podium and congratulated the Canadians, Hyatt and Wakefield, winners of the gold. The Russian team who’d won bronze skated out last and occupied the third tier.

  An International Skating Federation official presented our awards. I fingered the red, white, and blue ribbon, admiring the dangling silver medal. Behind me, Chris pinched my waist.

  “First international medal,” he said.

  I

  smiled and tilted my head to look at him. “First of many.”

  ****

  “That was a fabulous dinner,” Mom said as she got up from the big round table.

  Chris’s parents echoed her sentiment. We’d spent the past two hours celebrating the successful weekend. Our table near the rear of the hotel restaurant had kept our noise from bothering the other dining skaters–some also celebrating, some looking grim after disappointing skates.

  Mom’s cell phone rang with the tune of “Für Elise,” and she checked the tiny screen. “It’s your Aunt Deb.” She answered her younger sister’s call while Chris’s parents bid us goodnight.

  “What time are you going to the closing party?” Chris asked me.

  “Aubrey’s meeting me in the lobby in a few minutes.”

  “I’m gonna run upstairs. I’ll see you there.”

  Dad and I smiled at each other as Mom continued to chat with Aunt Debbie. If the two of them went an entire day without calling or seeing each other, it would be national news.

  “Mom, can you ask Aunt Deb something for me?”

  Mom raised one finger. “Hang on a sec. What is it, sweetie?”

  “Can you ask her if I can use her summer house next weekend? A few of us are doing a clinic for the Martha’s Vineyard skating club, and I figured we could stay overnight instead of hurrying to catch the ferry home.”

  “We have a fundraiser at church next Saturday night, so she and Uncle Joe won’t be using it,” Mom said and then spoke into the phone, “Em’s going to the Vineyard next weekend. She asked about staying at the house.” She nodded at me. “She said of course, anytime.”

  When Mom finally ended her call, we weaved through the restaurant and came upon Sergei sitting with two other men, an American judge and Claire and Brandon’s coach. They each had a glass of wine and an open menu in front of them.

  Sergei stood and shook Dad’s hand. “Hi, Jim, Laura.” He bent to peck Mom’s cheek. “I hope you had a good dinner?”

  “It was wonderful. A nice way to end the weekend.” Mom circled her arm around my waist. “Sergei, you know I wasn’t thrilled about Emily doing pairs, but I can’t argue with these results. Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it.”

  He’s

  doing more than you know, like making me crazy.

  “I’m glad you gave me a chance to work with Em. I think she was born to skate pairs.”

  He smiled at me, and I remembered the brush of his mouth next to mine. The memory of that brief sensation was enough to make me shiver. Yep, definitely crazy.

  A waiter walked up to the table, so we started for the door. “We’ll leave you to your dinner,” Dad said. “I recommend the chicken marsala.”

  In the lobby, Aubrey and another dancer were lounging on a plush couch, comparing their cell phones. Both of them wore jeans, a cute top, and heels, our standard outfit for skating event parties.

  Dad kissed the top of my head. “Have fun.”

  “Goodnight, girls,” Mom called as she and Dad headed to the elevators.

  We rode the escalator up to the hotel ballroom, site of the festivities. With the lights dimmed and a DJ spinning high-energy music, the room had the feel of a real dance club.

  Drew motioned for us to join his group dancing among the throng of skaters. During our first song on the dance floor, two French guys next to us crept closer and closer. Aubrey had the cute one’s attention, and they zeroed in on each other. The other guy persisted on invading my space, and I continued to slink away. The Frenchman had given me a creepy vibe when I’d met him at the arena. His limited English prevented him from saying much, but his awkward stares made me uncomfortable.

  Aubrey yelled in my ear, “Why don’t you dance with Vincent?”

  “He’s weird. I talked to him yesterday in the lounge.”

  She laughed. “Aw, come on, give him a chance.”

  I

  shook my head vehemently and snuck over to Drew, pulling him in front of me as a shield.

  “Save me!”

  He let out a deep laugh. “What are you doing?”

  “I can’t shake Vincent. You have to dance with me.”

  He glanced behind me and laughed harder. “Your boy’s got some pretty good moves. You sure you don’t wanna go back over there?” His hazel eyes glinted with mischief as he pushed me toward Vincent.

  I

  resisted, gripping his shoulders. “No!”

  “Okay, you can use me. But you better bring it ’cause you know I don’t mess around out here.”

  I

  put my hand in his face. “Please. You’re going to have to keep up with me.”

  He seized my wrist and moved my hand away. “You need to stop talking and start dancing, Butler.”

  Not wasting any time, I busted out my best dance moves. Drew challenged me, shaking his lanky frame in time with the pulsating beat. Pretty soon, we were dancing very close together, and his grin had gone from friendly to flirty.

  “I think Vincent’s going to be in Paris with us,” he said. “I’ll gladly offer up my services again if you need me.”

  I

  smiled.
“I hope he’s gotten the hint. I’m so excited about the trip. You said you’ve been there before?”

  “A few times.

  In addition to bodyguard services, I also act as a tour guide, if you’re interested.” He flashed an expectant grin.

  This is what you need. Some fun, uncomplicated flirting.

  “That would be great.”

  We danced together most of the night, stopping only for soda breaks and to watch Chris’s retro dance moves that had everyone cracking up. Drew and I were still laughing when we left the ballroom with Chris, Nick, Aubrey, and her new French friend.

  “You guys wanna hang out downstairs for a while?” Chris asked as he did a few hip hop steps on the way to the lobby, sending us into more laughter. We passed the hotel bar, and I saw Sergei and his dinner companions had moved over from the restaurant.

  My

  smile faded, recognizing yet another reminder of how Sergei was out of reach. He was where he belonged, networking over drinks with officials, and I was where I belonged, being silly with my fellow skaters.

  The dividing line between our roles was too defined to cross.

  Chapter Five

  No matter how many times I visited Martha’s Vineyard, I never tired of the scene in the Vineyard Haven harbor. The midday sun bathed the charming, historic homes lining the water, while the salty breeze flared the American flags flying in the marina.

  Next to me along the ferry rail, Sergei focused his small digital camera and snapped every inch of the landscape. A chilly whistle of wind blew strands loose from my ponytail, and I pushed them behind my ears and smiled at Sergei.

  “I can’t believe you’ve lived on the Cape over two years and you haven’t been to the Vineyard or Nantucket.”

  On the other side of me, Chris held onto the brim of his Orioles baseball cap. “And you live across the street from the ferry dock.”

  “I guess I’ve been busy,” Sergei said.

  Marley, Aubrey, and Trevor returned from the snack bar with bottles of water for all of us. When the Vineyard’s skating club had asked our club for volunteers to teach a basic skills clinic, we’d signed up quickly. Working with kids on the ice brought the potential for lots of fun.