Letters to Nowhere (32 page)

He waited for me to act shocked or surprised, probably, but I just shrugged. My mom and I had had the “scale back on practice and go to regular school” talk on many occasions, more like arguments. And of course that was a big item on Mom’s “Karen’s Future Plan” list. She probably went to Bentley secretly because it went against the compromise Dad had made both of us agree to. We all knew, to prepare for college, I could just train four or five hours a day, five days a week. That wasn’t enough for an international elite.

“I know you’re angry, and I’m not saying this to try to change your mind or discredit the severity of what happened, but in the short time I knew them, your parents were the rare few who didn’t seem to be so caught up in your career that they couldn’t step back and see other options for you besides being an international elite gymnast,” Bentley continued.

“Wait…was Jordan at the gym that day in December? When you had a meeting with my mom?”

Bentley paused to think. “I think he was, actually.”

That was when he’d met her. She was talking to Bentley about realistic goals for me. She wouldn’t have done that with me around. “What did you tell my mom?”

“I told her that it was very risky to make predictions early, but I thought you would regret not giving the elite season your best effort, especially with your shoulder healed and that competitive fire present. I could tell you wanted it, and that’s not when a gymnast should stop.”

“But if I don’t do well in Chicago, what are my chances of making the World team? And if I make the Pan Am team, are my chances of making the World team going to be that much better?” I asked. “I know I can wait until fall semester actually begins at UCLA to start training with the team, but what about beyond that? Am I risking my scholarship and my spot on the team?”

“I’m not going to lie to you, it will be difficult to make the World team if you don’t show up and do well in Chicago, and being on the Pan Am team will probably make it ten times easier to be selected and give you some international experience before Worlds. Even a great showing at Nationals doesn’t prove your worth to judges outside of this country.” He watched me closely, probably to see if I would fall apart hearing this.

I mostly felt numb. Stuck between two places and not sure if I wanted to move forward or backward. At the moment, I wanted to stay put. “I figured that much.”

He patted my knee and stood up. “Let’s finish cleaning the garage before the sun comes up. Just think about what you want to do next week. You don’t have to decide right now.”

I nodded and stood up, stretching before slipping on my flip–flops again. “Is Tony in trouble? I’m assuming you found the folder.”

Bentley nodded. “I returned it already, and I think his mother is secretly impressed that Tony had the skills to swipe it. He’s never been more than a C student. Don’t worry, she’ll go easy on him.”

Oh man…poor Tony. Poor, kind, easy to manipulate Tony.
I’d have to apologize in the morning.

When we walked back into the garage, I noticed a trophy sitting on top of the deep freeze. On closer examination, I realized it had been broken and then somehow put back together. It was my oldest trophy. Level 7 state championships. I had won All–Around and Blair had won Floor, and we’d had identical trophies on our laps the whole car ride home.

“Blair said you were going to regret breaking that one,” Bentley explained, noticing me looking at the trophy. “So Jordan super–glued it back together. Took him two hours to find all the pieces and another hour to glue them together.”

Tears prickled at the corners of my eyes, imagining Jordan and Blair crawling around, looking for pieces to this stupid trophy and him gluing it all together. I glanced at Bentley, plunging forward with another big topic, since we were already on a roll. “He has nightmares, you know. Just like me.”

“Me, too,” he said before picking up the broom again. “But I would take his if I could.”

“Why is it so easy for you to talk to me but not him?”

He was quiet for a really long minute and I thought maybe I had overstepped my boundaries.

“I’m not sure, Karen. But I’m working on it. I promise.”

I smiled at him before picking a second broom. “You have a lot of potential, Coach.”

“You know what they say about potential,” Bentley said. “It only gets you so far.”

I
can’t breathe…I really can’t breathe.

Sparkly dots formed in front of my face as my eyes tried to focus on the gym ceiling. Pain shot through my entire body, and I couldn’t even breathe through it.

“Breathe, Karen.” Bentley leaned over me and stuck his hands under my back, lifting my rib cage off the floor. “You’re all right. It was a safe fall.”

I closed my eyes and nodded just as air finally whooshed into my lungs. “Not enough…chalk…my fault,” I croaked out, one syllable at a time.

My hands had just slid right off the vault table while attempting my new vault in our last workout before training camp. Bad timing. Very bad. My palms had been sweaty and I hadn’t gotten enough chalk right before. Somehow I’d managed to turn the vault over and land flat on my back rather than breaking my neck.

I sat up slowly and then eventually got to my feet. Exhaustion weighed my entire body down, all the way to my bones. I couldn’t help thinking, looking at that vault table…
Why the hell am I doing this? Who’s going to care if I don’t do it anymore, or if I do something easier?

I rolled out my neck, trying to loosen the stiff muscles, and glanced over at Jordan, who was teaching some classes tonight. He clutched his chest and let out of sigh of relief. I gave him a tiny smile before walking off the landing mat.

The past couple days had been strange between us. I didn’t think Jordan knew what else to say to me after the other night when he had admitted his failure to help me, and I didn’t know how to tell him that it didn’t matter. That he was still the same Jordan to me and I’d never expect him to have all the answers.

I watched him go back to teaching his class of little boys while Bentley had me stand beside the vault runway as he checked my neck, shoulders, back, and head, making sure I hadn’t done any real damage. He turned my head side–to–side, asking over and over, “Does this hurt? How about this?”

And I kept saying no, because it didn’t, but everything else did hurt. Whatever gave me that drive to keep going even though I was exhausted after five turns and ended up doing ten had dissipated after the other night, and I didn’t even have the energy to search for it. Maybe it would just come back on its own before Monday.

“Karen! Coach Bentley!” Mrs. Garrett called from the front desk.

A man in a dark blue suit stood near the old secretary, looking around and seeming very out of place in this chalk dust and sweat filled building that usually only housed barefooted kids and gossiping mothers.

Bentley nudged me forward and I followed behind him. The man stuck his hand out to me. “Nice to finally meet you, Karen. I’m Nick Stone, I worked with your father and Mr. Johnson. He’s the one who went over your parents’ will after the funeral.”

I looked up at Bentley and back to the man before shaking his hand. I didn’t know if I was glad to meet him or not, so I couldn’t say anything.

“Do you have a few minutes to chat? Mr. Bentley is welcome to join us.”

Bentley waved at Stacey to take over for him on vault and he led the way to his office. I had no idea what Nick Stone wanted from me, and I could only hope we weren’t going to have to do the awkward I’m–sorry–for–your–loss chat.

I sat beside Nick Stone and Bentley sat across from us, behind his desk. “As you probably already know, your father left the firm in charge of your parents’ estate and financial management in the event that you were still a minor during the time of their death. Your grandmother took over your tuition payments here and for your online courses, health insurance, as well as your additional monthly expenses. Your father’s life insurance policy is covering mortgage payments at the moment, and utilities as well as car payments and car insurance,” Nick said.

Bentley leaned on his elbows, listening carefully but giving away nothing in his expression. I didn’t actually know most of these details, because Grandma was good at getting things like this done. I nodded anyway so he’d get to the point.

“But the life insurance policy is only going to cover those expenses for a few years,” he continued. “We did a test run with realtors, and there’s already an offer up for your parents’ house. Twenty–four hours and there’s a potential buyer. And you might not be aware of this, Karen, but your parents took out a fifteen–year loan on your house thirteen years ago, so it’s nearly paid off. I would estimate that sale will get you somewhere in the range of four or five hundred thousand. You have a savings account with another hundred thousand that is set to be accessible when you turn eighteen next year, but with Mr. Bentley’s signature, we could turn that over to you as well if you needed the money for something. All we need is both your signatures on a few forms and we can put the house up for sale officially.”

“You want to sell my house?” I almost stood up in my chair. So many emotions had hit me at once. “And why would I need Coach Bentley’s permission?”

Bentley’s eyes widened, and then he let out a breath and looked right at me. “Your grandmother turned the legal guardian rights over to me. It’s just a technicality. If you needed medical attention, she’s so far away. It was easier this way. There was no reason to mention it because she’s still very involved in many of the details that I have nothing to do with.”

Grandma didn’t even want to be my legal guardian? Is that why Bentley had cut Nina Jones off when she asked about the notarized form to travel with a coach outside of the country? My coach was my guardian, apparently, so I didn’t even need a letter like everyone else.

Nick Stone looked extremely uncomfortable all of a sudden, and I had the feeling he didn’t usually do the personal interactions. He probably just showed up and delivered forms and technical stuff without having to sit in an office with an emotionally unstable teenager.

Nick scratched the back of his head, eyes bouncing between me and Bentley. “Well, I suppose we could turn the account over to her, use those funds for the mortgage payments, but it won’t last forever and there’re taxes and upkeep. If the house just sits there, the value is going to plummet if you do choose to sell it eventually.”

He was absolutely right. What the hell was I supposed to do with a house I wasn’t even willing to set foot in? Why hadn’t this crossed my mind before today?

Because I put them in there…because I’m away at camp writing letters.

It would be summer soon and the grass would start growing, and my dad wouldn’t be there to pull his riding mower out of the shed and my mom wouldn’t be there to plant flowers. And the hedge trimmer Dad had a sick obsession with had probably rusted over from the icy winter. And I couldn’t do all that stuff. Had Grandma even had it cleaned in the last four months? I was nearly positive she’d had something done to maintain it, but she wasn’t exactly young herself, so how long could I expect her to take care of all of that?

But all the logical thinking and rationalizing and analyzing didn’t make it physically possible for me to hold a pen and lift my hand and sign my parents’ house away.
My house
.

Bentley must have seen the panic on my face because he turned to Nick and said, “I think Karen might need to get back to you with a decision.”

I nodded, grateful for Bentley’s intervention.

Nick stood up right away. “Of course, take as much time as you need. I’ll check back with you next week.” He gave me a small smile. “It might be nice for you to have some funds for college or whatever you might need it for in the future. I think your dad would have wanted you to not have to worry about money.”

I looked away from him, hating that my dad could plan for things like life insurance and secret savings accounts for his only child, but he couldn’t keep himself from drinking and driving. “I don’t want the money. I don’t want any of it.”

Nick Stone’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth, but no words came out. I sat up straighter, trying to look more adult and less like a pouty teenager. “If I do decide to sell the house and the cars, you’re a lawyer, right? You can give the money to charity or something? I’ll pay all my bills first or whatever, but I don’t want the money.”

I must have stumped him, because Bentley finally got up and opened the door for the poor lawyer we had cornered in this office. “We’ll talk about it and get back to you. It’s kind of a bad time.”

Yeah. Indefinitely a bad time.

Nick handed Bentley a business card and then said a polite good–bye to both of us. I stood up to get back to practice, but Bentley stopped me at the door. “Let’s sit down and talk for a minute,” he said.

I shook my head. “There’s nothing to talk about. Not anything that’s going to change the situation.” I waited for him to argue, but there was no argument because I was right. “I’m going to Chicago, and I don’t need this kind of distraction right now.”

That seemed to satisfy him, because he opened the door and let me back in the gym. Jordan found a way to walk past me and asked who the dude in the blue suit was.

“Just a lawyer who needed some signatures. Insurance and stuff.”

He looked at me carefully and nodded. I could feel this distance growing between us and I wanted to pull him back, and at the same time, I cared about him too much to drag him under with me. How much more of my drama could he handle on top of his own dramatic life?

“You okay?” Blair whispered when I returned to vault.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” To prove my point I put on plenty of chalk and took off down the runway, completing a good vault that didn’t include slipping and landing on my back.