Edge of the Past (2 page)

Even though Sergei and I had a lifetime together ahead of us, a twinge of something – perhaps jealousy, perhaps curiosity – hit me as I stared at the photos. Elena had given birth to Sergei’s child. His first child. They’d always have that bond, no matter the time and distance between them. Going back to Russia would surely trigger old memories for Sergei, especially since his father was obsessed with past mistakes.

I shut my laptop and burrowed deeper under the blankets.
The ghosts must
finally be put to rest.

Chapter Two

“How should I greet your dad? A hand shake? A kiss on both cheeks?” I asked, fidgeting beside Sergei on the couch.

He rested his hand on my knee, his fingertips brushing my jeans. “Anything you do will be fine.”

My parents sat across from us in the lobby of our St. Petersburg hotel, the lodging headquarters for the Grand Prix Final. Having them at my competitions always gave me a feeling of comfort, so I was glad spring break came early at Boston University. Mom and Dad only had to miss a few days of work for the event and our side trip to Moscow afterward.

Dad flipped a page in his Russia guidebook and adjusted his glasses, while Mom patted her short brown hair and smiled at me.

“I’m sure Sergei’s parents are just as anxious about meeting us as we are about meeting them,” she said.

A tiny laugh escaped my lips. I doubted Sergei’s father was anxious. Except maybe to bring up Elena and chastise Sergei for mixing business with pleasure again.

“Do the trains from Moscow generally run on time?” Dad asked with a glance at his watch.

Sergei looked toward the entrance. “Usually. The taxi from the train station might run into traffic, though.”

I followed his gaze. “I hope they won’t be too delayed. I have to get ready soon.”

The impending start of the competition was also shaking my nerves. I had a routine I followed before every event, and being off schedule would make me even more jittery.

As if on cue, a woman carrying a suitcase, the old-fashioned kind without wheels, stepped through the revolving glass door. I immediately recognized her bright blue eyes and sweet smile from photos Sergei had shown me.

Sergei jumped up, and my parents and I followed. Anna set down her bag and walked toward Sergei with outstretched arms. Her eyes glistened as she held fast to her son.

Since Sergei had only been able to return home once in the past eight years, Anna’s emotion was understandable. When Chris and I had toured the U.S. with the Ice Champions show the prior summer, my heart ached every day Sergei and I were separated, and we were only apart a few months.

Sergei and Anna spoke quiet words in Russian to each other before Sergei stepped out of the embrace. “Where’s Papa?”

Anna’s smile tightened, and she paused a moment. “Could not leave work. Will try to take train tomorrow, but plant very busy.”

“Oh.” Sergei slowly bobbed his head. “Well, if he can’t make it, we’ll see him in a few days.”

Some of the tension drained from my shoulders. Not sure I bought the work excuse, but I’d take any reprieve I could get.

“Emily.” Anna beamed at me and took me into her slender arms. “So wonderful to finally meet you.”

I returned her warm hug. “I know. I’ve been looking forward to this for so long.”

She cupped her hands around my face as she looked on the verge of tears again. “You are beautiful angel. So happy you will be family.”

My own throat swelled, and I could barely squeak out, “Thank you.”

Sergei motioned to my parents. “Laura and Jim, this is my mother Anna.”

The three of them exchanged double-cheek kisses and a jumble of pleasantries. Mom spoke in a voice even louder than her usual powerful tone, as if that would help Anna understand her better. Sergei and I sent each other amused glances behind her back.

While Sergei accompanied Anna to the registration desk, Mom said, “It would be a shame if his father can’t come.”

“Yeah, it’s a real shame,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound as insincere as I felt. “I, umm, I should go upstairs to do my hair and makeup.”

Dad put his arm around me and kissed the top of my head. “Have a great skate. We’ll see you at the arena.”

Mom gave me a hug, and I hurried to the elevator. The absence of Sergei’s father eliminated a bit of stress, but the pressure of being the favorites to win remained. Chris and I hadn’t lost a competition since the Canadians, Madeline Hyatt and Damien Wakefield, had beaten us at the last World Championships. I’d fallen on the triple Lutz, my best jump, and the fatal error had gnawed at me for the past eleven months.

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.