Authors: Robyn Carr
Winnie and Leon had their daughter on skates before she was four years old. They pushed and trained her hard. In those early days, when skating was simply fun, when she yearned to be the best, Grace was happy. She begged to skate and hated her time off. She’d have been on the ice eight hours a day if her father had let her. She was coddled and loved and indulged. She had a few friends, other little girls who were training and taking lessons and part of a skating club, some of them Leon’s other students.
Grace loved her parents very much and didn’t quite understand until after her father’s death that theirs had been a difficult marriage. Her father was much older than Winnie and more focused on his students than his wife. Her mother was a demanding diva and socialite; she dragged a reluctant Leon to charity events and parties. Her parents disagreed on almost everything, especially Grace’s training and education. Grace never went to traditional school, public or private—she had tutors. Leon thought this might be a mistake, feared she wouldn’t be a well-adjusted child.
At the age of twelve the level of competition turned serious. But Grace was winning everything in her age category and was quickly viewed as unbeatable. She trained on the ice several hours a day, took gymnastics, ballet and practiced yoga. The family moved from Atlanta to Chicago and finally settled in San Francisco, following the best opportunities for her training and education, as well as for Leon’s coaching prospects. Her father was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer when Grace was fourteen. Winnie sought a tougher, stronger, more famous coach the moment Leon fell ill. It was almost as if she’d chosen Mikhail before he was needed. Then Leon passed away rather swiftly, within months of his diagnosis.
Winnie and Grace took a few days off, then it was back on the ice. “Your success meant everything to your father,” Winnie kept saying. It was true that Leon wanted the best for his daughter, but it was Winnie to whom winning was everything. No matter the personal cost. And skating became less for fun and more for life. Winnie blew a gasket whenever Grace didn’t take first place.
Grace left the world of competitive skating when she was twenty-three, right after the Vancouver Games. She went to Portland to stay with a sweet older couple who had once worked for her mother. Ross and Mamie Jenkins had known Grace since birth. They’d been part of Winnie’s staff, Ross a driver and Mamie in housekeeping. They had retired to open a flower shop a few years before Grace quit the circuit. When she needed them, they took her in.
She collapsed. She was exhausted and depressed and afraid of the future. Mamie pampered her and gave her time; it seemed as if she’d slept for a month. Then one evening Mamie spoke up. “If you lay around one more day, you won’t be able to walk. You have to do something—it’s your choice. Get a job, go to school, something.”
Grace didn’t want to be around people and she didn’t believe she had any marketable skills. So she started helping in the flower shop, in the back, learning to make beautiful bouquets and arrangements. Portland was a funky, interesting, welcoming city—not too big, not too small, not uppity or flashy. Little by little, Grace came out of the back room to deal with customers, sometimes delivering flowers, even helping Mamie and Ross with weddings. No one made a fuss over her or asked her a lot of questions.
Every time a major skating competition was covered by the mainstream or sports networks, Grace was glued to the TV, watching every move. And invariably there’d be some short vignette about Izzy Banks, the girl who had it all and threw it all away. “Izzy Banks, the brat on the ice, the fiercest competitor in figure skating, obviously couldn’t take the pressure,” one sportscaster noted of her.
Brat.
Boy, that stung.
Her mother would usually get in touch, proving that Winnie couldn’t ignore the competitions any more than Grace could. She’d pressure Grace to return home, return to skating, and the few conversations they had would end in a fight and they wouldn’t speak again for months.
A year before the 2014 Winter Games in Russia, when the dramatic story of her life might be publicly examined yet again, Grace went in search of a new place to settle and tackle life on her own. A little money had been set aside for her by her father and she found Pretty Petals, the shop Iris’s mother had owned. She’d been in Thunder Point almost a year when the winter competition took place. When Grace couldn’t watch it, she’d record it. There had been the usual newsy dish about the more stunning events of the life of Izzy Banks, but no one seemed to recognize Grace. There were, thankfully, more interesting sports scandals that year. And Thunder Point was more a football than figure skating town.
All she’d ever wanted was a life she could control. A life that didn’t include backbreaking labor, cruel rivals, endless travel across too many time zones, the occasional crazed fan or terrible loneliness. She wanted to know what it felt like to have real friends, not a staff of coaches, therapists, a security detail and competitors. She’d never had a boyfriend.
She did, however, have more than one gold medal. She’d won every significant competition in the world.
* * *
It drizzled in the days following Christmas, typical Oregon Coast weather in winter. Grace’s only part-time employee, a local married woman with a child in elementary school, came into the shop to resign. The woman’s life had grown too busy and complex, she complained. Grace knew it was going to create a challenge, even though all the woman had done was manage the front of the store. Grace was going to be back to doing it all, just as she had when the shop was new. She’d had the doorbell installed so she could lock the front door and go upstairs. The doorbell would buzz in her loft. And she could always close the shop to make deliveries when necessary. She’d ask around for a delivery boy.
Business was typically down the week following a holiday and the days were much shorter so Grace closed the shop at four one afternoon and drove out to Cooper’s for a beer. She wasn’t surprised to see Troy was back from visiting his family in Morro Bay. She was also not surprised that there was no one around the bar. People didn’t hang out on the beach in cold, wet weather like this. But she had to admit surprise at seeing a big pile of books and papers beside his laptop on the bar next to his cup of coffee. She jumped on a bar stool. “Welcome home. Did you have fun with the family?” she asked.
“More or less. My sister has three little undisciplined kids and I slept on her couch. It was brutal. What can I get you?”
“Beer?”
“Was that a question or order?” he asked.
“Beer, please.” She glanced at the books. “Homework?”
“Lesson plans,” he said, closing everything up, stacking it all and pushing it to one side. “We’re caught up in a couple of my classes so we’re going to have some fun. I’m going to offer them a chance for extra credit if they research the history of something that interests them—like a rock band or in-line skating or maybe a sport like kayaking. I’m writing up a few examples.”
“That almost sounds fun, but not enough fun. Did you get in any skiing over the holiday?”
“Nope,” he said, drawing her a draft. “We played some golf, but the weather wasn’t great. I might make a drive up to Mount Hood before I get back to work, maybe for a day. If I had more time and money I’d check out Tahoe. So, you were the maid of honor.”
“I was. Kind of short notice.”
“I heard it wasn’t exactly planned in advance...”
“That’s how I heard it, too. Iris said they decided and just did it. They got a marriage license, called a judge Seth knew, told Seth’s family and got it done. I didn’t even have time to order special flowers.” She sipped a little of her beer. “How are you handling it?”
“Fine,” he said.
“Good. That’s good.”
He leaned both hands on the bar. “I went out with my little brother and got roaring drunk. Then I bought a Jeep I can’t really afford.”
“Oh,” she said. “Gosh, I hope you don’t get your heart broken too often or you’ll go broke.”
“I’d wanted that Jeep anyway. And I deserved a good drunk.”
“Is that what caused...” She reached out toward the remnants of what looked like a healing bruise on his forehead.
He ducked away from her fingers. “I forgot I was sleeping on the couch, fell off and hit the coffee table.”
She couldn’t help herself. She laughed.
“And my heart isn’t broken,” he insisted. “Just a little coronary bruise. Gimme a week or two and it’ll be like nothing ever happened.”
Bullshit
, she thought. He looked completely miserable. “You’re very resilient,” she said. She sipped her beer.
“I guess we’ve all been there,” he said.
“Where?”
“Heartbreak hotel.”
“Hmm. Well, I don’t think I have. I haven’t had my heart broken. Not by a guy, at least.”
Troy appeared to be momentarily frozen. “There’s no polite way to ask this, but has your heart been broken by a
girl
?”
She giggled. There were times, and this was one of them, that it would feel so good to dump the story on someone, explain how a heart can be broken by ruthless competitors or the media. “No, Troy. I’m perfectly straight. I’m into guys, I just haven’t been seriously involved. I guess it’s not in my nature to be tied down to one guy.”
“No boyfriend, then?”
“Are you fishing?” she asked. “I’ve had some terrific boyfriends, just nothing serious. No steadies, engagements or live-ins.”
“Why haven’t I ever met any of them?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I guess you weren’t around at the same time one of them was. I have a date later tonight, as a matter of fact.”
“Oh? What’s he like?” Troy asked.
“He’s kind of like a medieval knight, but has a gentle, sophisticated side. Big and brawny, very physical but disciplined. He’s also clever. Wise.”
“Fantastic,” Troy said. “Where are you going?”
“We’re staying in, actually. We might watch a movie.”
Troy lifted an eyebrow. “If I popped over unannounced, would I meet him?”
“Very probably. He’s a little possessive but I completely ignore that. Like I said, I’m not one to get serious. Let’s talk about your girlfriends.”
“I don’t kiss and tell.”
She straightened. “Humph. Yet you expect me to!”
“I think you were bragging and maybe stretching the truth. You’re a little weird, Grace. The last time we hung out was Halloween and you were a witch, complete with missing teeth. And you put a hex on me.”
She smiled, remembering. She’d told him she was going to shrink his thing. “How’d that work out?”
“Turns out you’re not much of a witch. So when you say your heart was never broken...”
“Come on, I’ve had my share of disappointments like everyone else, just haven’t had a romance end badly. We can moan about our various letdowns another time, when we’re both drowning our sorrows and feeling sorry for ourselves. Let’s not do that now, okay? I have a feeling if you get started...”
“Did Iris ask you to check on me?”
“Absolutely not. She said you were very grown-up and wished her every happiness. And I must say, buying a Jeep you can’t afford is definitely mature.” Then she grinned at him.
“It’s a great Jeep. Maybe I’ll take you off-road in it sometime. Besides, I only have one person to worry about so if I have trouble paying the bills, it’s not like I’m taking milk out of the baby’s mouth.”
She leaned her head on her hand. “You’re all about fun, aren’t you, Troy?”
“I work two jobs, Grace. I like to think of myself as active.”
“And your favorite activity is?”
“It’s a toss-up between diving and white-water rafting or kayaking. One of the things that brought me to Oregon is the great river trips. I was torn between Colorado, Idaho and Oregon. Oregon had the job. In a town on the water.”
“And you’re a teacher for the time off?”
“And the high pay,” he said, smiling.
“Iris says you’re the most dedicated teacher she knows,” Grace said.
“Iris should raise her standards.”
“Okay, so you’re still a little pissy.”
“I said I’d need a week or two,” he reminded her. He lifted his coffee cup to his lips. “What’s your favorite thing to do with time off?”
She didn’t answer right away. “I need more balance in my life,” she finally said. “That shop gets too much of my time. But it’s a good workout.”
“Flower arranging?” he asked doubtfully.
“I beg your pardon! I stand all day, haul heavy buckets full of fresh-cut flowers in water, deliver hundreds of pounds of arrangements to weddings and other events, get in and out of the back of that van all day, lift heavy pots and props and that’s before I have to clean up and do the books. It’s not for sissies.”
“And for fun?”
“I like to dance,” she said. “I don’t very often, but it’s fun.”
“I bet you were a cheerleader,” he said.
“I was
never
a cheerleader. I think I could’ve been. But I wasn’t interested.”
“You are the first girl in the history of the world, then.”
“I’m sure I’m not,” she said. “When I was that age I was into ballet, sort of. They are not the same moves at all. That, like flower arranging, takes strength. Plus, I have a bike.”