Page 87 of Blade

Bobby Stark: It was personal.

Ada Olson: How so?

Bobby Stark: Does it matter now?

Ada Olson: Just answer the question, please.

Bobby Stark: But it’s not relevant to any of this.

Ada Olson: Mr. Stark . . .

Bobby Stark: Okay. Okay. Look—the year before Indy was sent to The Palace ... Patrice—she tried to initiate a relationship.

Ada Olson: A sexual relationship?

Bobby Stark: Yes.

Ada Olson: Did you refuse her? Turn her away?

Bobby Stark: Of course. I’m married—so is she. And I didn’t share those feelings.

Ada Olson: And how did she react?

Bobby Stark: She was furious—she accused me of leading her on—and then she ...

Ada Olson: What, Mr. Stark? What did she tell you?

Bobby Stark: She said I must be in love with Indy—her daughter. That must explain my interest in her—and their family. I think it made her feel better to believe that I was some kind of pedophile.

Ada Olson: What happened after that?

Bobby Stark: Two months later, Indy was sent away. And her mother never let her come back.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Ana

Before—One Year and Eleven Months at The Palace

After Sectionals, rumors swirled everywhere about Indy’s disqualification from competition that season—including Nationals and the Olympics. Someone had reported her to the USFS for using unauthorized drugs. The morphine in the DMSO. Dawn was appealing it but told Indy she couldn’t train at The Palace until it was sorted out.

Indy came to collect her things. Patrice was with her. Indy was crying so hard she could barely breathe as she carried her duffel bag down the stairs.

Ana tried to comfort her, whispering in her ear that this was all going to be okay—she would be able to train with Bobby Stark again, and they’d reverse the ruling in time for Nationals. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise.

Indy tried to smile when they held each other in the driveway, a last goodbye. Just like Jolene, chest to chest and cheek to cheek. When the car drove off, Ana ran to the basement closet, squeezed inside, and cried until she had no more tears.

Dawn seemed to know the extent of her loss. The dinners became more frequent. Ana had earned a spot at Nationals, and Dawn said they needed to evaluate her programs very carefully. “Meticulously,” she said. Make sure they were placing everything just right so she could get the most points.

“Come for dinner,” she would say, after a lesson. Then she’d pick her up along the access road. Put out the linen place mats and the fine crystal, and they’d eat stir-fry and drink orange soda.

They watched videos of her programs on the big blue sofa, and Dawn crept under her skin like never before. The weed growing bigger, around every bone and ligament. Every vital organ. Bigger and tighter, squeezing out Ana’s loneliness for her mother, and Indy. Kayla and Jolene. And each day Ana would wonder if Dawn would invite her to dinner, praying she would, fearing she wouldn’t.

Day after day with the Orphans all gone, their dreams all dead, Ana tried to convince herself that sadness was just a feeling, like fear. She wondered if that, too, could be turned to rage.

Because the alternative was incomprehensible. The feeling unbearable.

At Thanksgiving, Ana went home for a visit.