CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

TABITHA, PETER AND BRETT ARRIVED in Philadelphia for Nationals on the third Sunday in January. The competition didn’t start until Thursday, but the days would be full of practices, fan and charity events, and media interviews.

With no response from Daniil, she had no choice except to put him in the past, and move forward. Fiona had tried to comfort her, saying it was better to have loved and lost than never loved at all. Tabitha wasn’t sure she believed it. Maybe in time. Only that time hadn’t arrived yet.

For now, the best she could do was keep her heart guarded and her sights on the ice. Nationals were high-intensity under normal circumstances and a Winter Games season ratcheted the pressure to stratospheric levels. New stars were born, others saw their dreams die.

Tabitha wouldn’t let hers die without a fight.

Though the Ice Queen mask didn’t fit as well as it used to, she wore it anyway. Her disastrous St. Petersburg skate and Mia Lang’s triumph were too interesting for people not to talk about. Peter’s interview comments about Tabitha’s mistakes and poor choices only fueled more gossip. Curious stares seemed to follow her everywhere.

But by Wednesday morning, an even bigger mystery had surfaced. Where was Mia Lang?

“I heard she’s injured. Or had some kind of mental breakdown,” Brett said in the elevator, on their way down to Wednesday afternoon’s press conference. “But if that’s true, why doesn’t Claudia just confirm or deny it? No one’s heard boo from her, either.”

“Mia showed up at the last minute in Russia too,” said Tabitha. “Maybe she just likes the drama. Or maybe her coach does.”

Peter shook his head. “Mia’s a kid and doesn’t need to deal with any more pressure than necessary. Claudia has kept her off-site as long as possible, to minimize the distractions.”

Brett tilted his head and peered at their coach. Tabitha wasn’t the only one surprised that Peter was privy to intel from Mia’s camp. “How do you know that?”

He rubbed his palms together and thrust his hands in his pockets. “Claudia mentioned it.”

“In Russia?” Tabitha was still troubled that Peter had gone out to dinner in St. Petersburg with Claudia and Mia, but not her. Of course, she’d slipped off to see Daniil that night, which was why she hadn’t brought it up. Even if Daniil was over, the hurt wasn’t. She saw no reason to revisit a painful topic.

Peter looked away. “It could have been. I don’t remember.”

She and Brett exchanged wide-eyed glances. It wasn’t unusual for coaches to talk with each other, but Peter talking with this coach was definitely unusual. He seldom mentioned Claudia. Tabitha had always assumed they weren’t on good terms. Had she been wrong about this too? “How often do you talk to her?” she asked, but before he answered, a group of skaters and coaches from Michigan crowded into the elevator. Tabitha was left to wonder.

They got off on the ground floor, and the commotion around the conference room shifted her thoughts back to where they needed to be. Not only was there a respectable showing of press, but a handful of intrepid fans stopped skaters for photos and autographs. Tabitha smiled and signed, then went into the conference room.

A long table was set with twelve place cards and microphones, for the top six skaters in both ladies and men’s. Her seat was close to the middle. The fact she was in the prime center position affirmed she was still the acknowledged leader, but the seat just to her left was Mia Lang’s.

So Mia was planning to be here. Tabitha hoped her return from injury, a mental hospital, or wherever she’d been would interest the reporters more than another rehash of Tabitha’s disappointing season.

But five minutes before the three o’clock conference was to start, Mia’s seat was still empty. Tabitha leaned forward to make eye contact with Brett, further down the table. He lifted his hands and shoulders, stumped.

One minute before three, the buzz of conversation grew louder. Everyone looked at the door behind the skaters’ table. Tabitha turned to look too.

In walked Mia. She wasn’t injured. She was blond.

Tabitha set down the water bottle she’d been about to open as the once dark-haired girl took the empty seat beside her. She tried not to look at the flashing cameras. No one could miss that American figure skating’s current and rising stars were now a matched set. Tabitha nodded a greeting. “Nice hair.”

Mia flashed a bright, red-lipped smile. “Thank you,” she said, and then, collapsed into a spasm of coughing that shook her entire body.

All eyes were on the center of the table. Though Mia had her hands clasped over her nose and mouth, Tabitha inched her chair back. When the fit had passed, Mia cleared her throat, and swigged from the bottle of water at her place, draining most of it. The moderator looked over and raised his eyebrows. Mia nodded. “We can start now.”

The first reporter asked what Tabitha, and most likely everyone else, was thinking. “Mia have you been away because you are ill?”

“Oh no. I stayed home an extra day because it was my mom’s birthday, but I’ve been practicing hard, and feel great.”

“We love your new look. What prompted the change?”

Mia coughed and took another drink of water. “I was ready for something different that reflects the skater I want to become. It feels like a whole new me.”

The skater she wanted to become. And who might that be? Tabitha knew her feelings weren’t rational. People changed their hair color all the time. Hers was fake too, for crying out loud. A style consultant Olga brought in had suggested it. If her shift from dishwater blonde to Golden Girl signaled to another skater that her moment had passed, she’d never given it a thought. Not until today.

There were a few more questions for the other ladies’ skaters. Tabitha hoped she would get off easy. Then a journalist who’d never cared for her much, rose to ask his question. “With less than stellar results in the International Series, and outstanding performances by some of the other U.S. ladies, how will you feel if you’re not selected for Grenoble?”

Sweat prickled on her palms, but she summoned her poise and aimed her Ice Queen gaze at the man, just as Antigone might have faced brutal King Creon.

“I’d feel like anyone would who falls short of a goal they worked very hard to achieve. But I’ll support my teammates, and remember that I’ve been fortunate to do something I’m passionate about, and that the people I love stood behind me.”

Around the room, the reporters were jotting down her comments, or held out small recorders. Even though she hadn’t welcomed the question, she was glad she’d been able to answer it.

Her skating career had been a blessing. The only thing she regretted was that she’d taken it for granted, focusing on what had eluded her, rather than what she’d accomplished. Her love of skating had returned, and she had Daniil to thank for it.

If that was the one good thing to come from their relationship, she’d take it.

“That said,” she smiled, feeling her confidence shine through every word. “Peter and I have been working very hard since St. Petersburg. My programs are beautiful, I’m proud of them, and I can’t wait to take the ice Friday afternoon.”

“And we can’t wait to watch you,” the reporter added, with a twinge of sarcasm, then turned to Mia. “Now Mia, you’re on the verge of making it to the Winter Games at only fifteen. How does that feel?”

“It’s exciting, and I owe so much to my amazing team, especially my coach Claudia Davis. She’s had so much success and I really think that—”

Mia’s words dissolved into another fit of coughs and throat clearing. The reporters waited, but this spell went on much longer than the last. Mia drained the last swallow in her water bottle, but it didn’t seem to help. Her naturally pale complexion looked even more washed out. Tabitha handed Mia her unopened bottle. “Here.”

She took it and chugged, then took a moment to collect herself. Then she smiled and turned back to the reporters. Flawless.

The moment the conference ended, Claudia swooped in and hustled Mia toward the elevators, without stopping to talk with any of the fans waiting nearby. Something was wrong. Tabitha and Brett were scheduled for an autograph session sponsored by their blade company, but she couldn’t stop thinking about Mia. Or the small item upstairs in her suitcase.

“Hey Peter? I need to run up to my room for a minute. I won’t be long. Can you let the HydroGlide people know that I’m on my way?”

She dashed to the elevators, and boarded the car with Mia, Claudia and a group of business travelers. Claudia acknowledged her with a brisk nod, but her concern was Mia, who stuck close to her coach and said nothing. The pair left the elevator on the same floor where Tabitha was staying and headed in the opposite direction. She watched Mia go into a room near the far end of the corridor.

In her room, Tabitha opened her suitcase and brought out the tattered bear she’d found in St. Petersburg, just as she was about to check out. The bear had been half-hidden by the comforter and blankets piled at the foot of Mia’s vacant bed. She’d missed it in her haste to leave for an early flight. Tabitha had grabbed it and stuffed it in the front pocket of her suitcase.

More than once, she’d considered mentioning the bear to Peter, but he never talked with Claudia—she thought. She’d been so immersed in her own pain, focusing on the ice was challenge enough. Bear or not, Mia had skated brilliantly in the International Series finals and seemed to be doing just fine.

Or was she?

Beneath the blond dye-job and glamorous make-up was a fifteen-year-old facing the challenge of her life. Tabitha had been in her shoes, though at the time, she’d been the scrappy underdog, rather than the much-hyped rising star. But stardom and hype carried their own burdens. Every little comfort helped, even a ragged stuffed bear.

She tucked the bear in a shopping bag and headed down the hall. She paused outside what she hoped was Mia’s door and heard the faint sound of a television. There was no answer when she knocked. She tried again. Still no answer. She turned to leave. Then the door opened behind her.

A small voice croaked, “Tabitha?”

Mia stood in the doorway, wearing plaid flannel lounge pants and an American Figure Skating hoodie. Her make-up was gone and her golden hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She looked small, pale and very young.

“You really are sick,” Tabitha said, quietly.

Mia nodded. “They thought it might be strep, but it’s not. Just a bad cold and sore throat.”

“Lousy timing though,” Tabitha said.

She cleared her throat. “Please don’t say anything. I don’t want people to think I’m not up to skating. I will be. I just need to rest.”

Tabitha glanced down at the paper bag in her hand. “I brought something that might help you feel better.”

Mia took the bag. The moment she saw what was inside, she gasped. “Jo-Jo!” She pulled the bear out, and clutched it to her chest, her lips pressed against its matted fur. “I thought he was gone forever.” She looked up, her eyes wet and glistening. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

Tabitha nodded. She knew and was glad she’d brought Mia a little comfort. Her only regret was not letting her know sooner. “No problem.” she said, feeling a lump in her throat. “Take care of yourself and good luck on Friday.”

She turned to go.

“Hey, Tabitha?” Mia stood in the door to her room, still clutching the bear. “Even if things didn’t go so great in St. Petersburg, and it felt like you were sad about more than your free skate,” she paused, and Tabitha nodded. “I thought your short program was amazing. I mean, you’re always fantastic, but there was a spark to it that just drew me in.”

Tabitha bit her lip, knowing where that spark had come from. “Thanks for saying so.”

“One more thing,” Mia looked down, than back at Tabitha. “I know I’ve been kind of bitchy this season, but I hope that we both make the team for Grenoble. And that whatever you were so sad about is better now.”

It wasn’t, by a long shot, but Tabitha managed a wavering half-smile. “I’m working on it. And yeah, let’s take a picture together in Grenoble.”

Mia laughed. “But not with duck-faces.”

Before heading back down to sign autographs, she returned to her room to dab away the redness in her eyes. And to send a text. She knew it would go unanswered, and it was the last she would ever send to this number. That didn’t matter. She needed to send it, anyway.

Thanks for everything. I’ll never forget you.