Hero at Large

  Chris swilled down the final dregs of cold coffee. She tossed the empty paper cup into the trash and cracked her knuckles. It was raining in Boston. It had been raining for six days. The sky was gray. The streets were gray. The brick and stone buildings were gray. They had slogged from one rink to the other, carrying skates, heavy clothes, and dry socks. Thank goodness, it was the last day, Chris thought. She was totally out of dry socks and falling miserably short on enthusiasm. The only items she had in quantity were nerves and heartache.

  Bitsy came up behind her and draped an arm around her shoulders. “If it’s raining when we get back to Virginia, I’m going to shoot myself.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  “Waiting for Patti?”

  Chris checked her watch. “Yeah. She’s in the ladies’ room.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Checking her makeup. Patti doesn’t get nervous. The deal is that I get nervous for both of us.”

  Bitsy grinned. “You don’t have to be nervous. She’s second in the short program. If she skates well today, she’ll be on her way to Nationals.”

  “Mmmm,” Chris grunted.

  “You look sensational. New dress?”

  “Yeah. It was sort of a compromise. Aunt Edna wanted me to buy a wedding gown.” Chris smoothed imaginary wrinkles from her softly clingy skirt and impatiently tapped a toe clad in elegant tinted stockings and high-heeled sling-backs. At the sight of Patti emerging from the ladies’ room, Chris slid her arms into the down coat that had been resting on her shoulders. “Showtime,” she mumbled to Bitsy.

  Chris checked Patti’s elaborately beaded turquoise dress, making sure the zipper was secure. She bent to assure herself that Patti’s skate laces were properly tucked into her white boots.

  Patti smiled calmly and walked to rinkside beside Chris. Chris looked at the pretty blonde and thought how different each skater’s personality was. As a competitor, Chris had been a bundle of raw nerves—she couldn’t remember enjoying a single competition. Patti was just the opposite; Patti was a brick. In fact, that was part of her problem as a skater—she lacked that special spark that made people sit up in their seats when she was performing. And then there was Alex…Alex loved it all. Alex was a first-class ham. She said that her favorite thing in life was waiting at the gate to hear her name announced over the loudspeaker, then skating out to center ice with everyone watching only her. It showed, too. She always left the gate with a radiant smile that immediately won people’s hearts.

  The announcer called out the names of the four Junior women who were still waiting to skate. “Juli Schaller, Suzanne Weiss, Patti Barr, and Audrey MacIntyre, please take the ice for your warm-up.”

  Chris took the rubber skate guards from Patti and moved to a position at the barrier where she could act as coach. Patti stroked around the rink twice forward, twice backward, and glided to a stop in front of Chris.

  “A few fast single jumps and spins and go right to the triple Salchow,” Chris told her.

  Patti watched the three other women for a moment. Juli was the one to beat. She’d come in first in short. She always came in first.

  Chris frowned. She didn’t like her skaters to dwell on the virtues and weaknesses of their competition. “Skate your best,” she told Patti. “Skate for yourself.”

  Patti knew her coach’s philosophy. “Just checking out their dresses…” She winked as she skated away to mid-ice.

  Chris relaxed a little. Patti would do fine. She was a consistent skater. “Double axel, double toe,” Chris called out. “Perfect,” she smiled as the young girl glided past. “Nice warm-up.” She threw a coat over Patti’s shoulders and escorted her back to the lobby.

  Patti would skate third. Junior women skated to a three-and-a-half-minute program which meant that Patti would go on in about fifteen minutes. The two women sat side by side in companionable silence. There were some skaters who needed to be amused while they waited, but Patti wasn’t one of them. Chris turned to her own thoughts, mentally organizing a Christmas list to keep her mind busy. A cardigan sweater for Aunt Edna. A little tin of homemade cookies and a packet of stickers for each of her students. Lucy was getting a bicycle and clothes for her doll. Reluctantly she thought of Ken. What did you give to a millionaire for Christmas? If there was something he wanted…he’d have already bought it. The only things left to buy him would be things he didn’t want.

  Bitsy motioned from the doorway that it was time for Patti.

  “Here we go.” Chris smiled. “Knock ’em dead.”

  Patti gave her a thumbs-up sign, skated to center ice and assumed her opening position. As the first dramatic strains of the music filled the arena, Patti stroked out. Three-and-a-half minutes later, Chris choked back tears of happiness and relief over a perfectly executed program. There was no doubt about it—Patti had gotten her ticket to Nationals. Chris watched her skater gliding across the ice accepting sprays of flowers. A little red-haired girl was lifted up onto the barrier. She held out a bouquet and received an enthusiastic hug from Patti. It was Lucy! Chris grabbed Bitsy’s arm. “That’s Lucy!”

  Bitsy squinted across the rink. “Looks like the whole family’s here.”

  Chris felt the color drain from her face as she stood rooted to the spot in stunned panic, fighting to control her swirling emotions, seeing no one but Kenneth Knight.

  Bitsy poked Chris in the ribs. “Wave,” she ordered.

  Chris pasted her best professional smile onto her numb face and moved her hand weakly in the air. “I can’t get rid of him,” she said. “As hard as I try, I just can’t get rid of him. He keeps hanging around doing nice things.”

  “How awful. It must be terrible to have a handsome, sexy millionaire always doing nice things for you.”

  “Yeah…and I’m going to put a stop to it.”

  Bitsy rolled her eyes and thunked her forehead with her fist. “Unh!” she grunted.

  Chris and Patti stood together while they waited to read the judges’ cards. As the numbers came up, Chris did some fast calculations. Her mouth dropped open. “I can’t believe it! Second.” She hugged Patti. “You’re going to come in second overall.”

  Chris felt a tug at her skirt. “Mommy!” The little girl hurled herself into Chris’ arms. “I missed you. Patti skated be-ooo-tiful. Are you surprised to see us here?”

  “Yes. It’s a wonderful surprise. I missed you, too.”

  “Ken brought us. We flew up this morning.”

  “Mmmm. That was nice of Ken.” Reluctantly, Chris turned her attention to Ken. He wore a black pea coat with a bright red scarf and dressy black wool slacks. He stared down at her, his expression unreadable.

  “Ken said he’d take us to a late supper,” Edna rattled. “Don’t that sound fancy? Lucy napped all afternoon so she could stay up.”

  Chris squeezed Lucy’s and Edna’s hands. “It sounds great. I’ve been so lonely without you guys.” She hugged Edna and Lucy. “Gosh, it’s good to see you.” She purposely kept her eyes on her daughter, avoiding another visual confrontation with Ken. She wanted to kiss him and hug him, too. She wanted to tell him how she’d missed him, how she’d wanted his support before Patti skated. But she wouldn’t say any of those things. She would do what she knew in her heart was right—she would be cool and discouraging. She adjusted the collar on Lucy’s coat. I missed a man who doesn’t exist, she told herself. Ken Callahan Knight is a whole person. You can’t separate the Callahan from the Knight. Ken Callahan Knight is a person I hardly know. She felt a firm hand under her arm, pulling her into a more upright position.

  “Very nice job of avoiding me,” Ken observed, “but I think we might be in the way here. You’d probably like to talk to your skater’s parents for a few minutes. We’ll meet you in the lobby.”

  Chris winced under the businesslike tone and biting words. She gave her daughter one last kiss and reluctantly left her to find Mr. and Mrs. Barr.

  Ken took Edna’s key and opened her door. “Here you a
re, Aunt Edna. Chris and Lucy are down the hall in three forty-five in case you need anything.”

  “I’ll be fine. Some people complain they can’t sleep in a strange bed. Not me. I just conk off anywhere. I could sleep on a rock.”

  Chris and Lucy kissed Edna good night, and Ken solemnly escorted them to their room.

  Ken opened the door and patted Lucy on the head. “How about getting ready for bed, moppet. I’d like to talk to your mother.”

  Chris felt herself slump. She was tired. She was wet. She was elated. She was depressed. She was no match for Ken Callahan Knight. She looked at him blankly and wondered what on earth he wanted to talk about. At the restaurant, he’d been pleasant but distant. There had been no talk of marriage or love. There had been no loving glances or intimate asides. She wasn’t sure if it had been a relief or a disappointment. She wasn’t sure about anything.

  Ken took her purse from her shoulder and fished through it. He extracted her key ring and looked at it a moment. Chris knew he was recalling the kitchen key exchange, and she wondered if he’d been as moved by it as she had. Probably not, she thought. It had been a lark…remember? And how did he feel now—had it become something precious? She couldn’t tell by the guarded expression on his face. He returned her bag to her shoulder and worked a key onto the ring.

  “I’ve moved out.” His voice was flat. No raspy sexiness. No gentle teasing or enfolding affection. It was a matter-of-fact statement that knocked the air out of Chris’ lungs and left only burning, searing pain. He took her hand and closed her fingers around the key ring. Warm, Chris thought sadly. His hands were always so nice and warm…and she felt so cold. He looked as if he might say something else, but then he turned abruptly and walked to the elevator—never looking back. The elevator doors closed behind him, and Chris watched the floors blink in red as he descended to the lobby.

  Chapter 11

  At five-ten Monday morning Chris pulled the silver Mercedes into the dark parking lot of the ice rink. She took the key from the ignition and slouched deep into the seat. I hate to admit it, she sighed, but I’m going to miss this car. It’s definitely a superior machine—it’s pretty, and it’s comfy, and everything works. In four days she could cash in her savings bond and buy a car of her own. Then she would have to return the Mercedes to Ken. How would she ever do that? she groaned. If she had to face him she was sure she’d do something stupid and maudlin…like burst into tears. Maybe she could get Bitsy to follow her out to Darby Hills and just leave the darn thing at his front gate.

  A large pickup truck rolled into the space next to her. Its inhabitants cut the engine and waved. They looked around the lot and settled back with containers of coffee. That was strange. Only skaters were usually here at this hour of the morning. She scanned the parking area and realized that there were no familiar cars. An odd sinking feeling settled in the pit of her stomach—the sort of feeling she might get showing up for a party on time but a day late, or if she’d accidentally gone to the supermarket in her bedroom slippers. Maybe they were having problems with the ice, Chris reasoned. Every now and then the ancient compressor or decrepit Zamboni would break, and the rink manager would have to cancel skating until repairs could be made.

  Chris stopped at the front door and read the professionally made sign. The rink was closed for alterations and would reopen under new management in a week. Chris was dumbfounded. There had been no warnings, no rumors. She had a skater en route to Nationals, and she didn’t have a skating rink. She rested her forehead against the glass door. When things started to go sour, they certainly went all the way…

  She heard the familiar growl of a Nissan pickup and wheeled around to see Ken park the truck and spring from the cab, a massive set of keys jangling in his hand. With a grim set to his jaw, he opened the front door and pulled Chris inside. Without saying a word, he walked directly to the office and switched on the parking lot lights. He flipped on the rink lights and the lobby heater.

  Chris still stood in the office doorway. “Let me guess. You bought the rink.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I needed a tax break, and I thought this would be more fun than Darby Hills.”

  Chris felt a bewildering flood of emotions rushing through her: joy at seeing him; anger that her agony would be prolonged indefinitely; fear over her inability to resist him; and, perhaps most immediate, anxiety bordering on terror that her skaters wouldn’t have a home. Chris swallowed and ordered her heart to stop racing. “What do you plan to do with the rink?”

  “Operate it at a loss…at least in the beginning.” He moved with efficient determination, his mouth unsmiling, his eyes glacier blue and just as cold. He pulled a contract out of his briefcase. “I’m offering you a job as head coach. I’m prepared to offer you a salary for helping me with scheduling and organizational problems. The rink will own exclusive rights to your services. The rink will take fifteen percent of all earnings from private and group lessons and in exchange will do bookkeeping, provide medical insurance, retirement benefits, and so on. You can read over the terms. The other coaches will get similar contracts, with the exception of salary.”

  Chris stared, dazed, at the cool businessman standing in front of her. He looked like Ken Callahan in jeans and a navy hooded sweatshirt, but, without a shadow of a doubt, this man was Knight.

  He took a schedule card from the top of the desk. “The other coaches will have the week off with pay. If you accept the job, you can begin now by drawing up a tentative schedule. The hockey teams have been notified and relocated to other rinks. It’s up to you whether we have public skating or not. I know you get a lot of your young skaters through learn-to-skate group lessons. You might want to keep a few public skating sessions so those kids and their parents can hack around together.”

  Chris made an effort to subdue the excitement that was gurgling in her chest. If she understood correctly, he was turning the rink into a training facility for competitive skaters. She could finally get her skaters enough ice time to keep them here! The joy was lessened by the suspicion that this was all for her, that he was just being nice, again. She stuffed her hands into her jacket pockets. “You’re doing this for me, aren’t you?”

  His reaction was angry and abrupt. “I’m doing this for myself. It’s a tax break. It’s a toy. Sign the contract if you want the job. I’ll be here for the rest of the day to get things started. Tomorrow, I leave for Chicago and my foreman will complete the renovation. If you have any questions, I’ll be out by the ice. We’re installing a new ceiling that eventually should cut down on the electric bill.”

  Chris turned away, blinking back tears. She was relieved to hear the office door close and his long strides disappear in the direction of the rink. She clenched her fists and shut her eyes tight. Well, he was following her directions. He had moved out of her house, and he had disengaged himself emotionally from her life. It was what she’d wanted then—and still wanted now—but she couldn’t help feeling a terrible sense of loss. She looked at the closed door and knew that this was her doing. She’d sent him away. But the speed and the extent of his disentanglement was shocking. What really hurt the most was the undeniable fact that she’d been right. Knight had squashed Callahan like a bug—just as she’d known he eventually would. Knight was cold and selfish and ruthlessly strong. Chris looked at the contract she held in her fist. She narrowed her eyes at the jumble of printed words. “Okay,” she breathed, “I can do this. I can deal with Kenneth Knight.” Unclenching her fists, she smoothed the wrinkles from the pieces of paper and threw the office door open, almost knocking a painter off his ladder. “Excuse me.”

  The man clung to the doorjamb. “You must be the redhead that breaks people’s bones. I’ve been warned about you.”

  Chris gnashed her teeth and growled, “Where is he?”

  The painter smiled and pointed to the rink. “I think he’s hanging ceiling.”

  Chris marched to the ice surface. Several men wer
e on scaffolding, struggling to place slabs of aluminum-covered styrofoam on a gridwork of metal girders. Chris stomped to the scaffold holding Ken and gave it a kick.

  He grabbed a metal handrail and looked down at her in annoyed surprise.

  “I’m not paying fifteen percent to the rink,” she told him. “I’ll only pay ten.”

  “You’re paying ten now, and you’re not getting any benefits. It’s costing you a fortune to buy your own medical and life insurance. If you sit down and figure it out, you’ll see that you’re better off under my management.”

  “Ten percent.”

  “Fifteen.”

  “Take it and stick it—”

  He glared down at her. His voice was lethally calm. “You have some very talented, very nice young people depending on you to be here when this rink opens. And you have an obligation to help Patti through Nationals. It may not have occurred to you, yet, but I’ve got you by the short hairs. This is the only show in town. You train your skaters at this rink or not at all. These kids aren’t going to travel to Baltimore to train every day, and they can’t be accommodated at the other Virginia rinks.”

  “You’re disgusting.”

  “So I’ve been told…and don’t forget ruthless. Even Newsweek said I was ruthless.” A muscle worked in his jaw. “Is there anything else?”

  “Have you been telling people I break bones?” she hissed.

  “Most of these men are my friends. I felt they needed to be warned.”

  “What else did you tell them about me?”