Whispers on the Ice (23 page)

Jordan heard Dee’s shocked plea and slowly raised to her elbows, the comforter sliding down to her waist, the huge sweater swallowing up her petite frame. “What’s wrong?” Jordan asked fearfully, her eyes wide and deep green.

Dee didn’t answer. She handed Jordan the note, picked up the tape and walked the short distance to push it into the VCR, turned on the TV and walked back to sit on the bed beside Jordan, placing the remote in Jordan’s lap.

Jordan watched Dee’s trek to the TV and back and glanced in confusion at Dee’s stunned expression,the note still unread in her hand.“Dee?”

“Read the note,” Dee stated softly.

Jordan cast a final questioning glance at Dee and encouraged by Dee’s nod of approval, turned her eyes toward the flowery sheet of paper and neatly written words that flowed across it’s surface. It read:

Dear Ms. Jamison,

Words can never express our sadness at the loss of your partner, Aleksei Rocmanov. You probably don’t even remember us—our meeting was so brief-and when I remind you of it, we hope it will not bring additional sadness to you for we met only moments before your accident. On a day that became so harrowing, we wouldn’t blame you if you had forgotten meeting an old married couple in a diner. Surely, we ourselves, have met people briefly, and forgotten them soon after. But we wanted you to know how very special that brief encounter was to us, and wish you gentle, quiet days in which to heal your broken heart and soul.

We hope you will not think badly of us, but enclosed is a videotape which we hope will bring you a small amount of comfort. It was taken only days before of a pair of skaters we happened to see skating on the pond near our home. We did not know who they were, but we were entranced by the beauty of their skating, and the obvious love they shared for one another. Little did we know, those skaters would turn out to be you and Aleksei. We thought it was only right that you have this tape of the final performance of Jamison and Rocmanov. The memory of the beauty you shared with us will remain with us forever.

Thank you for your gift and may God bless you and keep you safe.

Most sincerely,

Nora and William Harrison

Jordan brushed the tears from her cheeks, her vision blurred and looked at Dee in disbelief. “How can this be?”

Dee shrugged and offered the remote to Jordan. “I don’t know. Maybe one last gift from Aleksei,” Dee suggested softly.

Jordan looked at the remote, apprehension clear in her dark green eyes. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Do you want me to leave?” Dee asked.

“No,” Jordan answered firmly, shaking her head from side to side; her hands shaking as she started to reach for the remote then pulled back. “I’m afraid of what I’ll see,” her voice whispered.

Dee stroked her cheek, her thumb brushing away newly fallen tears. “What you’re afraid of is admitting what you’ve lost. This is a gift, Jordan, a gift most people would kill for. A last look at everything that was good, and happy between two people in love. Don’t fear it, sweetheart, cherish it and know that you’ll always have this final glimpse into the beauty and wonder that was Jamison and Rocmanov.”

Jordan remained silent, her eyes closed as she struggled to still her fears and find the courage to face what lay before her. Moments later, she opened her eyes and Dee recognized the faint glimmer of determination in their green depths. “Are you ready?” Jordan asked quietly.

“Whenever you are,” Dee agreed and held out her hand to Jordan. Their fingers slid together and held tightly as Jordan pushed the PLAY button on the remote and the TV/VCR combo came to life, the screen filling with the clear images of the final performance of Jordan Jamison and Aleksei Rocmanov.

CHAPTER 17  

The blizzard began in earnest. Snow fell steadily, huge flakes that fluttered silently through the dark blue-black night and settled in shapeless mounds on the frozen earth. Towering pines surrounded the small cottage, struggling to hold their branches up as snow blanketed their outstretched limbs. The soft glow of candles in the windows of the cottage attested to yet another night without electricity due to the above-average snowfall. Still, to look at the cottage, one could feel the welcoming comfort of the cheerily burning fire in the large stone hearth as its flickering lights cast their glow through the night’s darkness. A beacon of sanctuary and welcome in the swirling snow storm.

The cottage was small but cozy, consisting of one main room that held a huge fireplace, over-stuffed sofa, two wing chairs and assorted small tables, along with a kitchen and small eating area. The single bedroom, off to one side, boasted an antique wrought iron bed covered with a floral print comforter in muted shades of mauve, cream and jade, and the small adjoining bathroom held a cast iron stand-alone tub complete with claw feet. Though small, it was more than enough room for the lone woman who lounged silently on the cream colored overstuffed sofa before the roaring fireplace, an open photo album resting on her lap, the soft strains of Tchaikovsky’s Romeo and Juliet playing quietly in the background.

The woman inside was petite, her bone structure fine, falsely hinting at fragility, her complexion as smooth as rich cream. Her shoulder length hair waved in soft coppery curls, golden streaks threading highlights, showcasing large dark green eyes fringed with long black lashes, eyes that held too much sorrow for one so young. Her nose was small and straight, leading the eye toward full, rose colored lips that had rarely smiled in the past two years, and when they did showed a haunted smile despite her straight, white teeth. Dressed in simple chocolate brown leggings, a warm toffee colored cowl necked tunic sweater and wool socks, she looked much younger than her age of twenty-one.

Slowly she turned the pages. Her fingertips smoothing lovingly over the photographs before her, smiling wistfully at moments remembered the pictures brought to life, brushing away tears as she mourned, yet again, what could have been. The sudden shrill ring of the telephone seemed extraordinarily loud in the semi-silence, yet she didn’t flinch at the noise and reached for the phone.

“Hello, Whittaker,” she answered softly, knowing who was on the other end of the call. The same person had called her each January ninth for the past two years. Despite the interruption, her hands continued to trace the figures in the pictures before her.

“I heard the weather reports for your area and was worried about you. I knew the storm would knock your electricity out but I wasn’t sure about the phones. How is everything, Jordan?” Whittaker asked, his voice deep and grave with concern.

“Electricity’s out, as usual, but as you can tell, the phones are working fine,” Jordan answered quietly, her pensive gaze still studying the photographs, her fingertips softly tracing the face of the man in the pictures, the man she had fought, laughed and cried with. The man she had loved more than life itself.

Whittaker frowned at the sadness in Jordan’s voice, trying to keep his own tone light. “I imagine your place looks like some fairy land with all that snow and candlelight.”

“Yeah, the way Aleksei always said a home should look. The way we’d talked about our home together looking before he…” she could barely tolerate finishing the thought let alone speak the words aloud.

“Before the accident,” Whittaker supplied, shaking his head in sadness. Even two years later, it was impossible to believe something so magical had ended so abruptly. No warning—no foresight, simply a sudden, unexpected accident. An accident she would never understand. A tragedy she would never believe was for some greater purpose—there could be no plausible explanation for such waste. A tragedy that made the magical pairing of figure skaters Jordan Jamison and Aleksei Rocmanov into another tragic tale of sports legends. But more than that, a tale of beauty and love that had made the world a little more magical for a brief moment in time. A time when people envied the love and success they had found with one another and wished to experience the overwhelming emotions they saw pass between Aleksei and Jordan when they skated together, seeing only each other.

A time when the world had cheered with joy at the magic they cast when on the ice and awaited their upcoming chance for Olympic gold. When everyone waited to see where their blossoming love would lead them. Then suddenly, tragically, wept and mourned as a whole, for the loss of shared dreams, and wishes for a happy ending.

One moment magical—the next, gone forever.

“So how’s Dee?” Whittaker inquired casually.

“Why ask me? You saw her just yesterday,” Jordan stated impishly, a small smile curving her full lips.

“Oh, yeah. I forgot,” Whittaker mumbled awkwardly.

“You forgot? Nice try, Whittaker. What’s up?” Jordan chuckled, her smile widening as she came to a favorite picture of Aleksei in the album resting in her lap.

“What makes you think anything’s up? I just called to see how you’re doing, that’s all.”

“Right. I’m fine. Now, are you going to get around to mentioning the fact that you and Dee are coaching a new pair team, or do I have to actually catch you in the act doing it on the ice?” Jordan asked calmly, struggling to control the surge of threatening laughter straining to erupt.

“I’m not sure I heard you right. Jordan? Jordan? Are you there?” Whittaker banged the handset of the phone on the table.

“Whittaker, stop screwing around with me, and stop banging the damn phone on the table. You heard me just fine. I know all about your new team, and I think it’s great. It’s about time the two of you got back to work, and quit baby-sitting me,” Jordan explained.

“We haven’t been baby-sitting you. We just wanted to make sure you, ah, ah…” Whittaker’s voice trailed off as he searched for a plausible explanation. In a way, it was true; he and Dee had been watching her closely over the last two years.

“It’s okay. I love you both for all you’ve done for me. But it’s time we all got back to the business of living. No matter how much I wish it otherwise, I can’t bring Aleksei back. I can only thank him everyday of my life for what he gave me and keep his memory alive in any way I can,” Jordan answered quietly.

“That’s great, Jordan! Dee’s going to be so damn happy to hear you’re coming back to the ice. When can we expect you?”

“Hold on, Whittaker. I didn’t say I was coming back to skate. You and Dee both know I haven’t set foot on the ice in two years.”

“That’s okay. Give it a little time. You’ll get your feet under you in no time!” Whittaker encouraged, trying to ignore the little red flag that he could hear in her voice.

“Whittaker, listen to me. I don’t know if I’ll ever skate competitively again. At this particular moment, I have no intention of ever skating pairs again. Once you’ve had the best, the idea of starting over is unbearable. And face it, I’m not exactly young anymore.”

“Twenty-one isn’t over the hill, Jordan.”

“Not to a pair team that’s been together for years, but it is to someone just starting out. Besides, Whittaker, my heart isn’t into it the way it once was, and even if my body was willing, my soul isn’t. It wouldn’t be fair to a new partner to have to live up to a ghost that reminds me of his presence every time I stepped foot on the ice. I can’t imagine someone else’s hands touching me, and I’d be disappointed every time I turned to my partner expecting to see Aleksei’s face and saw someone else. I’m sorry Whittaker,” Jordan explained matter-of-factly.

“I understand. I think you’re giving up too soon, but I understand. Maybe you’ll be ready to give it a try again someday,” Whittaker offered.

“Maybe,” Jordan allowed.

“So what’s your plan? You sound like you’ve got something going on in that pretty head of yours.” Whittaker stated.

“I can’t give up the ice completely, it’s all I’ve ever really known. So I’ve decided to teach beginning skating to kids at the local ice house here in town.”

Whittaker nearly choked. “Please tell me you’re kidding, Jordan. That’s a very noble thought, but your talent will be totally wasted on that ice.”

“Whittaker, you’re being a snob. I had my chance now it’s my turn to help someone else. Just say ‘welcome back to the living’ and leave it at that.”

“Have you mentioned your hare-brained plans to Dee yet? What’s she think about this craziness?”

“She was the first one I ran the idea by. She thinks it’s a wonderful idea and has even offered her spare time to help if I need her.”

Terrific, she didn’t say a damn thing about it to me. Why wasn’t anything run by me for Christ’s sake?”

“Whittaker, quit over-reacting. It’s for this very reason we didn’t say anything. We knew you’d go ballistic, the same way Aleksei and I knew you’d blow if we’d told you we were involved with each other. Some things are better left unsaid.”

“Aleksei’s got to be going nuts wondering what in the hell you think you’re doing,” Whittaker grumbled.

“That’s not fair. Whether Aleksei would agree with me or not has absolutely no relevance to this decision. You, better than anyone, ought to know we didn’t always agree. Besides, if he were here, I wouldn’t have to make a decision like this. Hell, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation! I’m doing the best I can. Everyone keeps saying it’s time for me to move on, but now that I am, you’re not happy with how I’m going about it. Well guess what, Whittaker? I don’t give a flying fig if you’re happy about it or not! I’m not ready to take a big step yet so you’re just going to have to live with my baby-step, and if you can’t then we don’t have to associate anymore!” Jordan ended, emotion making her voice deeper.

“Jordan, calm down,” Whittaker requested huskily, kicking himself for hurting her. “I was wrong to make such stupid comments. You know what’s best for you and how much you can deal with. You go teach your young students. They’ll never know what they’re getting in you, but you do the best you can and you’ll make me proud. And if you need me, you just call. Both Dee and I will be there for you whenever you need us.”

“Thanks, Whittaker,” Jordan whispered. “I’ll call you in a week and let you know how things are going.”

“Good, I’ll look forward to the call. And, Jordan?”

“Yes.”

“Thanks for loving Aleksei.”

Jordan couldn’t hold the tears back any longer, and struggled to control her voice as she quietly answered. “Loving Aleksei was the easiest thing I’ve ever done in my life. It’s letting him go that’s killing me.”

“I know, Jordan. But when the time is right, you’ll know. Until then, you keep on loving him.”

“Forever, and always.”

“Forever, and always,” Whittaker agreed. “Good night, Jordan. I love you.”

“I love you too. Sweet dreams,” Jordan offered. “You too,” Whittaker suggested. “I’ll try,”Jordan answered.“Good-bye.”And quietly hung up the phone.

* * * * *

“Could you believe that snow on Friday? It took me the better part of the morning to dig my car out Saturday,” a young man of seventeen commented to Jordan as he chipped away at the ice on the sidewalk in front of the entrance to the ice house. In a gallant gesture, he then held the door open for Jordan to enter the old building.

“It certainly reminded us that winter isn’t through with us yet, didn’t it?” Jordan answered, smiling shyly at the gangly youth in baggy jeans and huge winter jacket with a jester’s cap in wild colors sitting jauntily on his head.

“I don’t mind the snow, but I could certainly do without the ice. It’s a bitch to break through. Oh, sorry about the language,” he offered, his chagrined smile saying otherwise.

“No problem. I agree with you. Ice is meant for the rink and not sidewalks and streets,” Jordan stated, glancing about uncertainly.

The young man watched her quietly, continuing to chip away at the stubborn ice covering the sidewalk in front of the doors. She certainly wasn’t hard to look at, probably a new student, and from the looks of her, no more than sixteen years old tops. The thought of asking her out crossed his mind, and his smile widened at the possibility, his braces shining brightly in the sun. “You look a little lost. My name’s George. Can I help you?” he asked, extending his hand in greeting.

Jordan looked at his outstretched hand, covered in a large red mitten and smiled. Anyone who wore red mittens couldn’t be all-bad. “Hi, I’m Jordan. I’m looking for Cynthia Washington,” Jordan offered, shaking his hand in greeting.

“Nice to meet you, Jordan. Chances are, Mom’s on the ice making sure dad didn’t drown the rink with too much water again. We’ve got a new Zamboni machine that he hasn’t gotten the hang of yet.”

Jordan’s look of confusion gave George the impression she didn’t have any idea what he was talking about so he went on to explain what the Zamboni machine was and what it’s function was. Clearly, she was a new comer to figure skating, as far as he was concerned. Still, he figured the way she looked, it didn’t matter if she could skate or not, no one would be looking at her feet anyway.

“You said your Mom’s probably on the ice? Which way would that be? I was supposed to meet her at seven-thirty, but the roads were a lot worse than I thought they’d be. I’m sorry I’m late.”