Whispers on the Ice (27 page)

“I’ll be right back with the ice, Megan,” Nick called over his shoulder as he stepped through the doorway.

“Thanks, Nick,” Megan answered softly, her voice shaky with emotion; her cheeks still pink and tear streaked.

Jordan closed the door behind Nick’s retreating form, appreciating the view of his broad shoulders, narrow waist and shapely bottom. What was it about skater’s bottoms? Figure skaters or hockey players—Jordan had yet to see a bottom that didn’t make her think about running her hands over the firm curves. Heaving a huge sigh, she turned to face Megan who watched her from where she reclined on the couch, her knee once again elevated.

“Didn’t I tell you he was cute?” Megan asked with a watery smile, her eyes dancing with deviltry.

Jordan could only shake her head in bafflement at her student’s outrageous comment and wonder at the workings of her very imaginative brain. With a last final glance toward the door, she returned her attention to Megan and walked to join her on the couch. “Are you sure you didn’t hit your head when you fell?”

Megan’s joyful laughter floated through the cool air, reaching Nick’s ears as he waited at the snack bar for ice for her knee.

George heard the familiar high-pitched sound and smiled at its source. His smile then faded as her sorrow filled eyes returned to his mind’s eye and he once again heard his hurtful words running through his mind. What was wrong with him? Never in his life had he ever purposely set out to hurt someone, but that was exactly what he’d done with Megan. People didn’t purposely set out to hurt those they loved. If you loved someone, you kept them safe and happy and protected. And as he pondered his motives behind his behavior, he froze, shaking his head in disbelief. No way—no way in hell! She was twelve years old—okay, almost thirteen—yet in so many ways she seemed much older. But still—love her? It wasn’t possible. In fact, it was impossible! What he felt for her was no more than what he would have felt for a little sister, if he’d had one. But the more he thought about it, the less impossible it seemed. They’d known each other forever. He’d always been there for her whenever her mother had needed to be somewhere else or with someone else. His shoulder had been the one Megan had cried on, his arms had held her when she was scared, or sad or hurt. He’d been there to cheer her on when she’d learned a new jump or perfected her spins. He’d been her cheering section, as no one else had, forever. And today he’d done his best to destroy her. Why? To prove he could? To prove he was a man? Shaking his head in confusion, he ran his hands through his hair. He owed her an apology—a big one! But how to explain what happened, let alone why it happened? This was way too confusing to do alone. There had to be someone who could help him sort out the confusing thoughts that zinged back and forth through his brain, make some sense out of the incomprehensible meanderings of his mind. Nick. Nick could help him out with this one. Nick would know what to do. Nick had to know what to do. If Nick couldn’t help him, he was surely up a creek without a paddle.

With a quick prayer and crossed fingers, he went to find his friend.

* * * * *

Jordan refused to allow Megan on the ice for a full week and instead kept her occupied listening to music for her next program, coming up with costume ideas and started her on the basics of choreography. Jordan felt if she kept Megan’s mind busy, she’d forget about being off the ice for a short time. It didn’t work. In the span of three hours on her first day off, she’d decided on her music, already had a costume in mind and she and Jordan were already arguing over the choreography, it was a loud exchange of opinions interspersed with laughter.

It was music to George’s ears and despite the fact Jordan had banished him from the office whenever Megan was present, their voices raised in playful bantering and vigorous bouts of making their opinions known brought a smile to his face. Megan could hold her own when it came to making her feelings known and he had the feeling that Jordan was on occasion creating excuses to get Megan to argue with her and give her the chance to express herself. Something Megan’s mother had never done with her daughter. Megan’s mother made all the decisions—period. Fortunately, these days Megan’s mother rarely made an appearance, unconcerned with her daughter’s injury despite Jordan’s call and explanation about the fall. Megan’s mother had full confidence Jordan would do all that was necessary to see to her daughter’s safety. And if it was okay, did Jordan mind watching her until she got back from her quick get-away? It shouldn’t be more than four or five weeks. Jordan couldn’t believe the gall of the woman and was more than ready to blast her about her non-mothering attitude when she caught the look of relief on Megan’s face and her eyes lighting up in excitement at the prospect of spending all that time with her coach. All thoughts of the forth coming argument dissolved and she agreed, shaking her head in disbelief as Megan’s mother jotted down the number where Jordan, or her daughter, could leave a message if she was
really
needed. But stressing, time and again, her necessity for a complete get-away—the world was just too much for her right now—so to call only if it was a dire emergency. Thanks so much. Good-bye. With nothing more than a kiss blown in Megan’s direction and a quick, brief wave, Megan’s mother had departed without a backward glance. Jordan had felt like crying herself at the woman’s coldness but upon seeing Megan’s resigned expression, simply pulled the young girl into her arms and held her, absorbing the tears Megan silently shed as her small form shook in Jordan’s arms.

And now, a week later, Megan was driving Jordan crazy with the same one question. “Why can’t I skate? My knee feels fine. I’ve been off the ice for a week—just like you said—so when can I skate?

Jordan was beginning to believe that was the only sentence Megan remembered. “Can’t you manage just one more day off the ice? Would it really kill you to give your knee one more day?” Jordan asked with more patience than she felt.

Jordan’s day had started out badly and was quickly moving towards miserable. With only two weeks to go before the ice show, everyone’s nerves were on edge. The last thing Jordan needed was Megan’s relentless pleas to let her skate. But Megan continued her assault on Jordan’s goodwill and finally exploding in frustration, Jordan had told her to get out of her face, take her skates and as far as she was concerned, skate her nagging little butt off.

Megan felt about two seconds of guilt at her behavior but happily grabbed her skates and ran from the office toward the rink, shrieking in joy.

Jordan listened to Megan’s happy laughter echo from the high ceilings and gritted her teeth in frustration. It wasn’t totally Megan’s fault she was so on edge. Over the past week it seemed she was continually tripping over the new hockey coach and each time she saw him the urge to draw closer was harder to fight. She wondered if this is what it felt like to be a leaf in a windstorm, helpless to fight against the inevitable push and pull of something more powerful than herself. Worse still, it upset her that she had to work harder to bring Aleksei’s face to her mind’s eye. She was so sure she had loved him with all her soul and yet when she closed her eyes, his beloved face wasn’t as clear and detailed as it once had been. Suddenly his eyes would look sky blue instead of ebony, his hair a tawny brown instead of dark and wavy. She often wondered if this was the path to madness and had been more than willing to sell her soul to the devil for the chance to spend one last day with Aleksei. Of course, she knew that was impossible and so she set her goals much lower. On days like this one, she wondered what she had worth bartering with for fifteen minutes of silence, peaceful, deafening, silence.

Instead, the phone rang, its sound obnoxiously loud and with a scowl she answered it. Immediately a woman’s voice on the other end of the call starting jabbering excitedly, speaking so quickly she could scarcely understand the jibberish. George then entered the office, casting an apprehensive glance toward Jordan and smiling when she held the phone away from her ear and rolled her eyes in exasperation. George’s smile widened when what sounded like the voice of Alvin the chipmunk clearly echoed from the phone. Shaking his head in amusement, he dropped his hockey bag beside the door and started for the cabinet that held the schedules for the next several hockey games. Just as he opened the door, the room vibrated with a deafening crash and the entire building shook.

“Oh, Christ. Dad,” George offered in explanation, slamming the cabinet door and racing for the direction of the Zamboni’s garage.

Jordan mumbled an
I’ll get back to you
and dropped the phone into the cradle, dashing after George as he ran toward the double doors leading to the garage. Just as Jordan cleared the double doors, hot on the heels of George, she skidded to a stop, George’s back taking the brunt of her slight weight as she crashed into him, grabbing his arms when she nearly fell.

The sight that greeted them made their mouths drop open in disbelief. Briefly put, there was a new opening in the far back wall of the garage. An opening more than large enough to easily fit the Zamboni through. As they stood staring at the gaping hole in the wall, floating dust mixed with the snow swirling through the opening, and settled on the pile of splintered timbers that had once been the back wall, but now littered the floor.

George’s father coughed through the dust and debris surrounding him and stepped carefully from the battered Zamboni. As he scratched his head in bewilderment, he looked from the machine to the new opening, then back to the machine, his expression clearly stating he just couldn’t figure out what had happened this time. All he’d wanted to do was move the stupid machine from one side of the garage to the other. Should it really have been that difficult a task? Were all Zamboni machines so miserable to operate? Apparently so.

“Dad?” George asked, concern for his father’s well being out weighing his frustration at the newest disaster instigated by his unlucky father.

“Your mother’s going to shit when she sees this!” George senior stated knowingly, nodding his head up and down.

“I’d say that’s a safe bet, Dad. You okay?”

“Only until your mother sees this—after that, I can make no promises,”

“What on earth happened?” Jordan made the mistake of verbalizing the question on everyone’s mind.

“I just wanted that damn thing out of the way. I couldn’t get to the tools I needed—don’t you look at me that way, junior—your mother hasn’t taken away my right to use every tool around here. She’s still kind enough to let me use a power drill.”

“The battery operated one,” George, Jr. reminded him.

“Yes, the battery operated one,” George, Sr. scoffed, scowling that he was restricted to using such low powered tools. It really wasn’t his fault he’d drilled a hole in his hand with the electric drill, accidents happened all the time; they just seemed to happen to him a little more frequently than the average person. “All I wanted to do was reinforce some of the scenery with a couple extra screws.”

“Dad, the scenery’s fine.”

Jordan held up her hand, worrying her lower lip at George’s father’s words. “Actually, George, I asked him to do that for me. There were a couple of pieces of scenery that were a little rocky.”

“See?” George, Sr. demanded, pointing his finger at Jordan and nodding vigorously. “I was just doing what I’d been asked to do.”

“Okay, fine, Dad,” George Junior held up his hands as if surrendering. “Still, why’d you move the Zamboni?” he asked, running his hands through his hair in frustration, his mother’s shocked expression clear in his mind.

“I told you, Junior, I needed my
battery operated drill
,” his father explained patiently, enunciating slowly and clearly as if speaking to someone a bit dimwitted.

“Dad…” George Junior sighed, rubbing his temples where his headache was building mightily. “Why, didn’t you ask for help?”

“I didn’t want to bother anyone. Everyone’s running around here as if it’s their last day on earth. It shouldn’t have been a big deal to move that monster from one side of the garage to the other.”

“You’re right Dad, it shouldn’t have been a big deal. But as usual, it’s turned into a big deal and now we all have to deal with the fall-out,” George Junior explained in exasperation. Looking again at the gaping hole in the wall, he cringed when he thought of how his mother was going to react to his father’s latest mishap.

“Junior, it’s not that big a deal, really! It could have been a whole lot worse!” his father countered.

“What, the whole building could have fallen around our ears?”

George Senior hadn’t even gotten that far in his thinking. “Well there is that. No, I was referring to the size of the hole—it could be much bigger.”

“Dad, it’s big enough. It’s winter. Remember? It’s snowing, it’s cold, there’s a hole in the damn wall you could run a tank through, the ice show is two weeks away, Megan’s recovering from a knee injury, Nick’s going weird over Jordan and Mom’s running on black coffee, chocolate and Tums. It doesn’t get much worse than that!” his son demanded, oblivious to Jordan’s sudden paleness and in-drawn breath.

Nick’s sudden appearance through the hole in the wall surprised them all and Jordan’s tension increased as she worried about George’s comment regarding Nick and her. But Nick’s casual statement, “I know George complains about my shoulders being wide, but honestly, I still fit through the front door,” broke the tension and the small gathering soon found themselves trying to control their laughter, for the most part, unsuccessfully.