Page 93 of Blade

And maybe it was. Because everything that Ana had feared had already happened. She was getting higher, hurling herself into the air with the same abandon that Kayla once had. High enough to make the full rotation, though that wasn’t what was driving her. It was leaving the ice, even for a second, that she started to crave. And how ironic, she thought, that beingonthe ice had once been her greatest joy.

It’s no big deal.

And it wasn’t, sleeping with Emile. It was nothing, really, when measured against the relief that would overwhelm her when they were together and her body had a mind of its own.

And while that mind was busy being tangled in his sheets, beneath his body, another part of her was set free, to float above the bed and be with the others who had brought her comfort, like they were still here, maybe up by the ceiling. Only seeing each other. Kayla. Jolene. Indy. Connie. She could be with them without feeling the pain of having them all gone.

So, yes, she found relief in his bed.

Which disgusted her the moment she left, every time she left, the disgust then fueling the need for greater relief. And on and on in a circle, a giant snowball rolling down a hill, growing bigger and bigger, but enabling her to survive. She was holding on, white knuckled, just trying to keep it together for Nationals, where everyone would see the new triple flip, but also wanting to disappear.

Until the night she wore the baby blue dress with the yellow butterflies to train in the second rink, working on a transition for her spin combination.

The night Emile came looking for her.

He stood by the open boards and called her name. “You need to come with me,” he said.

“Now?” Ana asked. “Let me go change ...”

“No,” Emile said. “Right now.”

Ana was confused because the session was almost over, and so was his, in the big rink.

“What’s going on?”

“Just do what I’m asking.”

So she did, following him to the parking lot outside the Zamboni bay, her skates still on her feet, guards on the blades but not even a sweater to keep her warm.

He didn’t so much as turn his head as they drove up the access road to the long driveway. Panic rising in her throat because they never went to the cottage during the day. Something was wrong.

He drove past the dirt road to the end of the driveway, parked, and got out. Ana took off her skates and carried them as she followed Emile to Dawn’s front door.

They walked inside, then back to the dining room, where Dawn and Dr. Westin sat at the table, nothing in front of them on the coasters and place mats. Not even a glass of water, just folded hands and serious faces, looking intently at Ana, in her tights and the blue dress, her skates dangling from her fingers.

Dr. Westin spoke first. “Why don’t you sit down.”

Ana didn’t answer, and she didn’t sit down. White specks floated across her eyes and blood surged in her veins.

Dawn sighed.

“It’s Indy,” she said. “Please—sit down.”

Emile took her arm and led her toward a chair, the same way he’d brought her to his bed. But this time, she pulled away.

“Someone tell me what’s happened.”

“Maybe we should call her father first,” Dr. Westin said to Dawn and Emile, as if Ana wasn’t even there in the room.

Dawn shook her head. “There’s no time,” she said. “It’s spreading fast. She needs to hear it from us.”

“Hear what?” Ana asked, her throat so dry her voice began to crack.

“Ana, honey,” Dawn said. “Indy died.”

Ana stared blankly at Dawn’s mouth. At the red lipstick caked between the small folds and the cracks in the corners. She stared, waiting for more words, because what she’d just heard didn’t make sense.

“Ana?” Emile said. “Did you hear what Dawn said? Indy is dead. It’s terrible, I know ...”