Walk on Water (6 page)

What’s to ask?
Lexa thought, sighing as she opened her bag on the bed.
It’s Blake, not rocket science.

Walking into the attached bathroom, she changed into plaid flannel pajama pants and a thermal henley, then stood and stared at herself in the mirror. Nothing about that bathroom had changed since she was five years old—not the ornate fixtures, not the pink-and-gold-curlicues theme, not even the pink towels—but she was unrecognizable. She could barely remember the little girl who had stood on a stool to reach this sink. She didn’t see her reflected at all.

The door at the other end of the bathroom was closed, as usual. A thick robe hung from a hook on its back. Lexa added the robe to her outfit, then haltingly opened the door.

Kaitlin Lennox’s girlhood room was still the way she had left it the day she’d run off to elope. Beth had cleaned up the chaos of that departure and removed the photos of Blake, but everything else was the same. Kaitlin’s medals and trophies gleamed in carefully dusted cases. The open closet doors displayed her most beautiful skating costumes, preserved behind plastic now. The room had become a shrine.

Lexa made a slow circuit through the familiar displays, not touching anything, reluctant even to make a sound. There wasn’t a shred of evidence for her existence in that room. Time had stopped in this speck of the universe, yet Lexa could never breathe the stale air there without wondering if the place held her future as well as her past. Would she ever be as successful as her mother? As happy? As loved?

Would she die as young?

With each passing day the face in Kaitlin’s final photos looked more like Lexa’s own. Lexa was no longer a child visiting a grown-up’s room, but old enough to envision inhabiting it herself. In less than three years, she’d be older than her own mother. The thought filled her with urgency and a creeping sense of despair. Backing out silently, she went down to the kitchen.

“There you are, kitten!” Beth lifted a pot off the stove and poured out a mug of hot chocolate. “Marshmallows or whipped cream?”

Lexa pulled up a barstool. “Both.”

Beth had clearly been busy while Lexa dawdled upstairs. In addition to the cocoa, she had mixed up a batch of peanut butter cookie dough and had cookie sheets standing by. She paused with the dough scooper in her hand. “Should we nuke popcorn too?”

“G-mom, I’m surprised you even have all this stuff in the house. You do know it’s junk food, right?”

“How often do you spend the night? We’ll eat extra vegetables tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

“So you’ll still be here then?” Beth asked hopefully.

“If you still want me. Do you have any chocolate chips to add to those cookies?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

They had a hard time choosing a movie. Beth’s huge collection extended back through DVDs into videotapes, but she kept suggesting movies about ice skating, and Lexa was finally forced to admit that not only didn’t she want to think about skating, she was more in the mood for explosions.

“Star Wars?”
Beth proposed. “They blow up a whole planet in that one.”

“Now you’re talking.” Lexa sank into the recliner and pulled an afghan up to her chin.

Two mugs of hot chocolate and way too many cookies later, the tape was on Rewind and Beth finally asked the obvious question.

“What did Blake do this time?”

“He didn’t
do
anything. He’s just being Blake.”

Beth’s smile indicated the insult had found an appreciative audience. Shifting lengthwise onto the sofa, she leaned back into the cushions and crossed her slippered feet. “I’ve been thinking,” she said. “I have a proposal for you.”

“A proposal?” Lexa repeated uneasily.

“You’re sixteen now—such an important age! A teenage girl living alone with a middle-aged man wouldn’t be ideal under the best circumstances. But Blake’s so lost in himself that he doesn’t see who you’ve grown into, let alone the woman you’ll become. All he sees is what he wants and what he thinks he needs.”

“Sounds about right.”

“So come and live with me. Wait!” Beth held up a finger before Lexa could reply. “Hear me out. I know I must seem ancient to you, but I haven’t forgotten a minute of what it’s like to be a girl. I can help you with things that Blake will never understand, and that includes skating pairs. Move in with me and I’ll take over your training. You can skate at Cleveland Ice Arena with Candace Zaharian. I’ll pay for everything.”

Lexa’s heart leapt so hard it hurt. Candace Zaharian was a former Olympian and top pairs coach. No one in the Midwest had a better reputation for molding competitive teams. For a moment, teetering on the edge of a completely different future, all Lexa could hear was the blood roaring in her ears.

Then reality intervened.

“Zaharian isn’t taking new students, and she’d never agree to take me. Not this late in the game. Not considering . . . everything.”

Beth’s eyes gleamed with an almost predatory sparkle. “Never assume,” she said. “Your father may have been the skating star, but he’s not the only one who knows how to work the system. How do you think he
became
a star?”

It was true, Lexa realized. Beth had managed Kaitlin’s and Blake’s skating careers right up to the day they’d run off to Atlantic City and become Walker and Walker. Maybe she
could
pull it off. Except . . .

“You know Candace and Blake can’t stand each other. They don’t even make eye contact.”

Beth laughed. “You don’t have to talk her up to
me
, kitten. I’m already sold!”

Lexa’s mind reeled. Was there any actual chance Candace Zaharian would take her on? Could she get herself back and forth to Cleveland Ice Arena? It was over an hour’s drive each way, longer in bad weather.
But if I wasn’t working at the rink anymore, I could use that time to commute.

“School would be a problem. More of a problem.”

“I’ve considered that too,” Beth said. “What makes the most sense is to pull you out. There’s only a few weeks left of this year anyway, and you can finish it off with the tutor. It’ll be much easier not working around a school schedule.”

“It would be.
Much
easier.”

Beth swung her legs off the sofa, smiling happily. “Wonderful! It’s settled, then. I’ll start making calls in the morning.”

“What?” Lexa blinked away her confusion. “I mean . . . no.”

“But, kitten, you just said—”

“I can’t do it, G-mom. I’d love to, but . . .” Lexa shook her head. Leave Blake’s house, his rink? Skate with another coach? Skate
pairs?
“Blake would never forgive me.”

She wasn’t sure she’d even blame him. “I appreciate the offer. I do. But I can’t.”

“I have a feeling I’m going to be sorry we came,” Bry said.

Lexa nodded. “I already am.”

Jenni was at the center of the gym with Jacob Larimore, her white formal hiked over her knees, dancing like a pole should be involved. Everly Brooks and her top-ranking sidekick, Emmi Wallace, glared from a gang of cheerleaders as if they’d like to poison the flask Jacob and Jenni were obviously drinking from. Lexa and Bry were already forgotten on the sidelines. And the prom had barely started.

“Her mom will kill her if she gets suspended,” Bry said.

“She’ll talk her way out of it. She always does.” It was impossible to understand what Jenni was thinking, though. She finally had the school audience she’d always wanted, and the show she was giving them was one she could only regret in the morning.

“Do you think she even likes him?”

Lexa shrugged. “She likes having his attention. Do you want to dance or something?”

“We could. We’d lose these chairs.”

Neither of them moved.

The Erie Shores High prom committee had put a lot of effort into decorating the gym. Ten-foot potted palm trees flanked the photo booth. Smiling couples posed for their pictures before a blue cloth backdrop of a painted waterfall. More palms and birds-of-paradise dotted the gym floor, and the DJ booth had been decorated to look like a grass shack, complete with bamboo, palm fronds, and electric tiki torches.

“We could get our picture taken,” Bry offered.

Lexa smiled. “We do look fine.”

“You know that’s right.” Grinning, he pulled her up onto her feet.

They mugged for the camera, not remotely trying to get a flattering shot.

“Say cheese,” the photographer told them.

“Cheesy!” they called back, mashing their faces together.

The man shook his head and snapped the picture.

Their chairs were taken by then, so they decided to dance after all. Years of skating-related dance lessons had run more to ballet and ballroom than pop and hip-hop, but the musicality they’d imparted enabled Lexa and Bry to pick up any style fast. They danced three or four songs together, having a great time. When the DJ switched to a slow song, Lexa went into Bry’s outstretched arms.

“It’s getting crowded in here,” she said as he turned her in a slow circle. They scanned the gym over each other’s shoulders. “I don’t see Jenni. Do you?”

“Unfortunately.” He nodded toward a dark corner.

Jenni and Jacob were making out under a potted palm, Jacob’s hands in all the wrong places. Jenni not only didn’t seem to care, she was matching him grope for grope.

“Classy.”

“If she’s just going to suck Jacob’s face the whole night, why did she want us to come?” Bry complained.

Something in his tone caught Lexa’s ear. “Jealous?”

“No. Well. Not specifically.” He jerked his head toward the exit. “You want to get some air?”

A concrete slab behind the gym was the only place students were allowed outside if they wanted to come back in. The prom committee had roped it off with track hurdles and blue crime scene tape, saving their budget for indoors. Couples stood talking around its edges, avoiding the harsh security lights and chaperones near the door. Bry and Lexa claimed a spot to one side.

“It’s not that cold out tonight,” he said. “The weather’s finally heating up.”

“Yeah, well, it’s May. Bring on summer vacation.”

“Double practices—woo-hoo!” he returned with a wry grin. “It’s like summer camp, with yelling.”

Lexa laughed, not at all offended on Blake’s behalf. “I think you mean bellowing.”

“Your dad was even harder to please than usual this week. I’m seriously busting my butt out there and sometimes he acts like . . . I don’t know. Do you think he even likes me?”

“He doesn’t like anyone. Don’t take it personally.”

She’d meant to be funny, but Bry drew back, wounded.

“Bry! I . . . That was a stupid thing to say. I know he likes you. Blake just doesn’t do touchy-feely.”

“I’m obviously not as good as Ian,” he said, still upset. “Or as experienced. But I work just as hard.” He shrugged. “I skate more hours, anyway.”

“That new job of Ian’s is making Blake crazy. He acts like every missed minute of training is taking a year off his life.”

“You think that’s why he’s so edgy lately?”

“Maybe.” Lexa fidgeted with the orchid at her wrist, looked away from him, looked back. “My grandmom offered to set me up with a pairs coach.”

His mouth fell open. “No!”

“I didn’t tell Blake,” she hurried to add. “I mean, not that part. He knows I want to skate pairs, though, and it’s really pissing him off. It’s kind of an issue right now.”

Bry’s favorite new song started in the gym. He ignored it. “A
pairs
coach? Blake won’t even let you guys in the rink!”

“Obviously. New rink, too.”

“But . . .” Bry gripped her shoulders and searched her face. “You’re not considering it?”

She shrugged.

“Lexa! Forget Blake’s meltdown. You’ve got a shot at being national champion next year!”

“Not a good shot.” She held his shocked gaze, desperate for someone to understand. “Pairs is my dream and that clock is ticking. If I’m ever going to do it, I need to do it now.”

“Be serious,” he begged. “You would seriously jeopardize a singles championship just for the chance to skate pairs?”

“In a heartbeat. But how can I? Life as I know it would be over.”

He stared another moment, then pulled her into a hug. “I’m sorry.”

“For what? It’s not your fault.”

“No. But I know how you feel. It’s not pairs for me, but . . . I get it.”

“Really?” she asked past the lump in her throat.

His head nodded against hers. “Don’t we all just want to believe that somebody out there will catch us?”

“Sloppy!” Blake shouted from the boards. “Put some effort into it, for crying out loud!”

Like you do,
Lexa thought resentfully. He hadn’t shaved again that morning, his hair looked especially slept in, and Zamboni grease stained his red parka. Everything about his appearance suggested a raging hangover, right down to the Big-Gulp-sized coffee mug clutched in both hands.
Another rink probably wouldn’t even let him on their ice like that,
she thought, skating around for her fifth pass at double axel, triple toe loop, double toe.

Her next combination was perfect—clean edges, full rotations, no deductions. Lexa held her third landing with relief, thinking that at last he’d move on.

But Blake still wasn’t satisfied. “The axel was okay, but you had zero height on the triple. Don’t make the judges hold their breath to see if you’ll squeak out that last double.”

“I didn’t ‘squeak’ anything,” she said, sliding into a hockey stop ten feet away. “That was a good combination.”

“It was all right. You’d get points. But you wouldn’t impress anyone.”

“It felt good,” she insisted.

“Who cares how it feels?” He gestured with his mug, sloshing coffee onto the ice. “How it looks is all that matters, and that triple looked low.”

“I’d like to see you throw a triple anything!” she shot back, losing her temper. A few early regulars were stretching at the rail, but she didn’t care who heard. “Feel free to demonstrate anytime. Come out here and show me how it’s done!”

Blake’s jaw tightened ominously. He shuffled closer in his wrecked Sorels. “Anything else you want to get off your chest?”