Picks and Sticks Page 13

  She entered the final thirty seconds of her short program. As she stroked backwards into the double Axel, the spreading pain under her ribs made her sick to her stomach. “Land it, darn it!” she said aloud and stepped forward into the jump. In mid-­air, she knew she was in trouble. Keening dangerously to the right, she realized she’d have to adjust mid-­air. If she fell, she’d be physically destroyed; for sure she’d lose. Wrenching her body in mid-­rotation, she somehow pulled off a landing, coming to an almost complete stop on one foot. She nearly screamed as her hand touched down on the ice. She heard the collective groan from the audience. At least I didn’t fall! she thought, panting. She stroked a little to gain back momentum, then turned into her final corkscrew spin, tightening in on herself. Lifting her arms over her head, she realized her rib had had enough. She planted her picks viciously into the ice, sending a giant chip flying, and stopped the spin before the end of her music.

  Jane bent double as the music finished, and gouged a finger into her rib. Breath came in short, quick gasps. As her breathing slowed, so did the pain. She straightened up as best she could and heard the crowd’s warm applause. She grinned. Not bad for an injured rookie, she thought. She moved to centre ice, gathered herself, and bobbed a small curtsy straight up and down.

  Jane lay awkwardly down on her bed. Her rib throbbed, but the pain was not overwhelming: a good sign. Maybe she hadn’t reinjured it too badly. Still, she knew she had overexerted herself, and there was enough constant jabbing to force her to rest. She reached for Ivan’s salve on the side table, lifted her pyjama top, and slathered it on. The smell of honey enveloped her as she laid her head back and closed her eyes, reviewing each moment of her program. Would I rather be reliving a hockey game? She didn’t shake the question away.

  Deb entered the room with a bucket of ice. Jane quickly pulled down her pyjama top. Her mother went into the bathroom and returned to the room with a small towel. She spread it on her bed and poured on the ice. She wrapped the ice in the towel and brought the package to her daughter.

  “Here. Let me put this on.” She gently lifted Jane’s pyjama top. She sees the salve, Jane thought. Deb hesitated, then touched the sticky substance. She brought her finger to her nose, and sniffed. “Interesting,” she smiled. “I’ve smelt this around me for a while now. I wondered what it was.” She laid the ice-­laden towel on the green and yellowing bruise very exactly. Jane thanked her, grateful for her mother’s touch.

  “You were fantastic today,” Deb began. “Even with an injury. You have no idea how talented you really are.”

  “I did all right.”

  Deb sat down beside Jane on the bed. She began to stroke through her daughter’s hair, combing the dark strands with her long fingers.

  “Fourth place in the short. Third overall! It’s an amazing achievement, especially since they’ve never even seen you before.”

  “I’m just lucky most of the others fell on their butts. Except Geneviève, of course.”

  “I suppose that’s part of it.”

  “I hear Stacey had a hard time. Did you see her?”

  “She’s lucky she didn’t drop to seventh. She’s lucky she’s still in the running. She seemed completely out of it. Her mother was furious.”

  “Her mother’s a maniac. Stacey’s really nice.”

  “Nice doesn’t count, Jane — ”

  “I thought it did. I think it’s amazing I’ve found a friend here.”

  “Competition is not about friendship, Jane,” Deb said, incredulous. “It’s all about focus.”

  “I think you’re wrong — ”

  “You’ve just gotta stay focused. If you don’t get distracted, you’ll go so far.”

  The cold ice was beginning to have an effect. The jabbing sensation was easing off, but Jane was starting to freeze. “Can you please put the blanket on me, Mom?” she asked, childlike.

  “Sure, darling.” Deb reached past Jane’s body and pulled the blanket up under Jane’s chin. Jane settled down once again. “So you don’t think I should withdraw?” she asked as her mother returned to stroking her hair.

  Deb laughed. “You couldn’t quit now if I pulled you off with a cane. Competitive! Just like your father.”

  “Yeah, just like him …” Jane closed her eyes and felt her mother’s fingers massage her scalp.

  “What’s wrong, Jane?”

  “I can’t feel him here,” Jane whispered, pointing to her heart, “anywhere here when I’m figure skating. When I play hockey, I feel close to him. Especially on that pond. I remember him.”

  “I can understand that,” Deb soothed.

  “Do you still … miss him, Mom?” Jane opened her eyes and looked at her mother.

  “Yes, of course I do,” Deb allowed. “But now he’s a memory. I miss a memory.”

  Jane felt tears spring to her eyes. “I miss his lap,” she whispered. “I want to crawl onto him and feel safe.”

  “Janey, darling, you’re safe with me.”

  “I so want that to be true,” Jane said.

  Deb didn’t answer, but her fingers stopped moving.

  Jane pressed on. “I’ve just gotta ask. When you hung up my dress the other night … it was a sign, I know that, that you wanted me to skate. And I was glad. But … am I doing this for myself, Mom? Or am I doing this for you?”

  “We’ve been through this, Jane.”

  “Please answer me.”

  “I’d … I’d like to think you’re doing it for both of us … and for your father. Is that okay? Is it okay to think that way?”

  “I … I think so. I don’t know … I’ll have to think about it.”

  Jane turned her head away from her mother’s need, holding off tears, and closed her eyes again under her mother’s gentle caress.

  Jane stood at the side of the ice surface with Leonard. His usual pep talk was not forthcoming. His fingers drummed the top of the boards. He seemed as nervous as she. Jane had spent the day before in bed, icing her strained injury, watching television. She had no idea if she could physically hold up, especially for a four-­minute program with a shaky, new ending. As they listened to Geneviève Côté’s excellent marks, awareness dawned on her. Merely completing her final routine would be difficult; it would be miraculous if she won.

  Leonard grabbed Jane’s elbow and muttered, “Ribs okay?” as her name was announced. He thrust the puck at her. She was touched that he was prepared for her ritual. Jane rubbed it like a genie lamp, nodded to her coach, and stepped onto the ice, opening her arms to present herself to the audience.

  The moment she skated out, she heard her name reverberate off the rafters. She looked around, confused. Her name was being called over and over again. At the very top of the arena, in the standing-­room-­only section, people were jumping up and down. Jane noticed Irina first, her white-­blonde hair shimmering. Mike was beside her, George beside him, then Ivan, Susan, and Trevor. And in the row behind them, jumping and waving, was the rest of Jane’s hockey team! Jane stared up at them as she slowed to the opening position of her program. She stopped, placed herself, broke her concentration, and waved back. “Hey, you guys!” she shouted, completely out of line.

  Jane’s music began and with it her spirits soared. She couldn’t believe they were here! All of them! Ivan had said he would come, but, even so, she hadn’t expected it. Especially all of them! Adrenalin pumped through her veins. She felt light, capable, incandescent, floating above her pain; she was music alone. She danced her way through the first three-­and-­a-­half minutes, the audience feeding her strength and artistry. She was playful, serious, creative, and technically brilliant. She added little moves that she didn’t know she knew, and marvelled at her presence of mind. Three-­quarters of the way through, after landing her most difficult combination in competition once again, she began to smile. The new half-­minute was upon her.

&nb
sp; Calling on all her skills and imagination, she glided into the music. She used Leonard’s ideas, but added her own, improvising choreo­graphy that was funny and poignant at the same time. Coming round the end of the ice, she swung her leg behind her and arched back into a long, graceful Ina Bauer. Even then, she didn’t feel a twinge in her ribs. Coming out of the Ina Bauer, using the last bit of strength in her legs, she soared into her signature delayed Axel. She hung in the air for what seemed like ages and, as the last note of music played, she turned forward out of her graceful landing and glided down the centre of the ice, one leg in arabesque, her arms thrust behind, not stopping when the music ended.

  Audience members leapt to their feet. Jane’s huge gang of supporters noisily celebrated. Jane skated to centre ice and lowered herself into a curtsy, her knee shoved against her rib. She collapsed her knees onto the ice, put her face in her hands, and began to cry. She stayed there for a stretch of time. Then Stacey was upon her, gingerly hauling her up. Jane completed her second curtsy. She smiled gratefully at her friend, and skated backwards, waving to her hockey team as Stacey skated ahead and disappeared.

  Jane stroked to the side of the ice, stepped off, and was embraced by her mother.

  “Careful!” Jane grunted.

  “Spectacular,” Deb whispered. “That was absolutely amazing.”

  “You watched this time?”

  “Yeah.” Jane looked at Leonard over her mother’s shoulder, but he was untypically tongue-­tied. Shock, astonishment, and excitement played over his face.

  “What got into you?” he managed. Then he playfully held up the puck.

  “Let’s go to the marks area,” Deb said, urging them along as some officials directed them. “We’ve got to move.” Jane grabbed her skate guards from the top of the boards and turned to go, but was given a bear hug by her brother.

  “Careful!” she exhaled. “Careful, careful, careful!” Her entire hockey team bounded down the steps and surrounded her. They were cheering and applauding and prevented from smothering Jane by her broad-­shouldered brother, Trevor, and George.

  “Thank you guys for coming. Thank you so much!” Jane gushed. “I couldn’t believe it when I looked up. You gave me so much energy! I couldn’t have skated like that if you weren’t here! I’m sure of it!”

  Tina said, “Bull.”

  “How’d you get here?”

  “Organized a three-­car caravan — Trevor, me, and Ivan drove twenty hours straight with a few pee breaks. Ivan pulled us all together,” Mike said. “It was his idea.”

  “We’ve got to move,” Deb said. “Everybody move! Jane’s got to get her marks! There’s a protocol here. Let her through!”

  The team parted, and Jane marched through them, finally feeling twinges of pain snake up her body. She got to the separate marks area for just-­finished competitors and stood with Leonard. He handed her the puck, but placed a finger upon it for luck. Her teammates were just on the outside of the lighted area where Jane could hear them, and they all waited in quiet anticipation for the judges to post their marks.

  “She has won,” Ivan predicted.

  “Don’t jinx her,” Leonard snarled at him despite the rolling television cameras.

  “We don’t know this yet, Papa,” Irina cautioned.

  Technical Merit marks — 5.5s and 5.6s — flashed across the electronic board. “That’s pretty good,” Jane breathed out, starting to bend into the pain.

  “More than good,” Leonard whispered.

  The Artistic Impression marks sent Jane’s figure skating contingent through the roof. Five 5.7s and four 5.6s flashed on the screen.

  “That’s more than Geneviève Côté got!” Leonard exclaimed. “That’s a whole lot more than Geneviève Côté!”

  “Jane’s in first!” Deb shouted as the rankings appeared.

  The hockey team went wild.

  Jane straightened and immediately bent over again. She willed her brain to understand the implications of what was happening. She tingled everywhere, and started to shake. She could not take it in.

  “Congratulations!” Ivan said, warmly embracing Deb as Leonard grabbed Jane around the waist and squeezed her tight.

  “AHHHH!” Jane shrieked. “CAREFUL!”

  “Sorry!” Leonard said. “Forgot!”

  “They’re standing for you, Jane,” her mother said. “Wave to the audience. There’s a good girl.”

  Jane waved to the crowd, puck in hand, the other hand poking into her ribs to dilute the spasms. “Mom? What’s going on?” she asked.

  “What?” Deb asked. “What do you mean?”

  Ivan answered. “She is in shock. Her brain and her body are in shock.” Together, he and Deb held Jane gently on either side. Jane breathed as lightly as she could.

  “This means Moscow, Deb,” Leonard gasped. “We’re going to Moscow … Worlds.”

  As the cameras rolled and the media announcers descended upon her, Jane heard her mother say to Ivan, “I know what you are doing here, Mr. Stepanov. Your support is welcome, but … you can’t have her. Not anymore.”

  Jane stood dizzy in the post-­competition party crowd, the gold medal wrapped around her neck. Finally alone for a moment, she surreptitiously stretched out her rib, testing it. She would need weeks of complete rest, for sure, if she were going to heal. Stacey joined her, catching her mid-­stretch. She pointed at Jane’s medal. “Congratulations. Looks good on you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You were amazing.”

  “So were you. Thank you. For everything,” Jane said, her voice catching. “Your … your friendship was the best thing about this competition.”

  Stacey beamed and squeezed her hand.

  “Yours is prettier than mine,” Jane continued, pointing at Stacey’s bronze. They both laughed. Stacey’s mother emerged out of the crowd, checking on them, and Stacey edged away. But a figure skating friendship had been forged, and for that, Jane was amazed and grateful.

  A stream of skaters and coaches congratulated Jane except runner-­up Geneviève Côté, who sulked in a corner. Overheated, Jane began to feel faint, just as she had in the classroom when the Canadians beat the Soviets. She wasn’t used to the press of the crowd. Everyone who was anyone in the cloistered skating world was here, and Jane searched the crowded room for a familiar face. She found herself wishing George could come to the party. She was certain he was her lucky charm. Or maybe the whole team was. Or the puck? Who knew? Jane found an empty chair and sat, daydreaming of meeting George later. She was jolted back to reality when the president of the Canadian Figure Skating Association, Gerald Finch, punched her shoulder.

  “Jane Matagov! Canadian champion! Moscow next, my dear! Worlds!!” Jane stared at him. “Can she handle it, Leonard?” asked the energetic president, calling her coach over.

  “Absolutely,” slurred Leonard as he stumbled over his feet. Jane stood and caught him, wincing. “This is one tough competitor. Nothing much fazes her.” He threw his arm around her. “Am I right, Jane?” She caught a whiff of alcohol.

  “Please stop squeezing me,” Jane whispered, embarrassed. “Mr. Finch? I don’t feel ready to compete for Canada at Worlds as a senior.”

  “Silly girl,” said Gerald Finch. “You won! Who else would we send?” Jane inwardly reeled as he continued. “A glorious victory,” he enthused, locking Leonard’s hand. “You are the coach du jour, my old friend.”

  Deb disengaged from her conversation with Katya Lehrer and walked over, smiling.

  “You’ll remember Deb Matagov from when she was my partner, Deb Little, right, Gerald?” Leonard gushed.

  “Of course. Your breathtaking partner,” Gerald trilled. “Deborah. The years haven’t touched you, my dear.”

  “I’ve asked her to marry me!” Leonard burst out.

  Jane’s hands flew to her mouth. Deb flushed
red.

  “What?” Jane said dangerously.

  “Leonard — ” Deb began, aghast.

  “What a day for you!” Gerald exclaimed, punching Leonard’s shoulder. “A decisive win and a wedding announcement to boot!”

  Leonard stared drunkenly from Jane to Deb, grinning. Jane turned to her mother. “Mom?” she demanded. Deb wouldn’t look at her.

  “Mom!” Jane yelled a little louder. The crowd around them hushed.

  Deb shook her head and reached for her daughter just as Mike, Ivan, and Irina entered the room.

  “Don’t touch me,” Jane uttered, stepping back from them all. She turned on the president.

  “Mr. Finch,” she announced, “I think you should inform Geneviève Côté that I’m not going to compete in Moscow. She can have my place. In fact, I’m never skating again.” She ripped off her medal.

  “What?” said Gerald Finch.

  “You’re fired, Leonard, you hear me?” Jane snarled. “We’re done.” She threw the medal at her mother’s feet and turned to run through the thick crowd. Trickles of gossip began to fan out from the centre of the action as she pushed past.

  Mike stopped his tearful sister in the doorway. “Jane? What’s going on?”

  “Ask Mom!” Jane sobbed and bolted out the door, plowing into incoming guests. She untangled herself and ran down the corridor, desperate to get out. Now, her rib throbbed. She turned into the dressing room and grabbed her new winter coat. She was trying to put it on when Mike stopped her.

  “For once in your life, leave me alone!” she cried and tried to get past him. “Just go away!” Mike stood resolutely still. She punched his chest and he became stone.

  “How can you stand it, Mike? Didn’t you hear him? He’s going to marry our mother!”

  Mike, immoveable, said, “No. What? Did Mom tell you that?”

  “No.”

  “Then how do you know it’s true?”

  “She didn’t deny it, did she?”

  “Please calm down,” Mike said.

  “This will change our lives completely!”