Chapter Twenty-Six Ana
Chapter Twenty-Six
Ana
Before—One Year at The Palace
The story unfolded as Emile walked Ana back inside, through the snack bar, around the boards to the ice, where the session was about to end—the session Ana was supposed to be on—and finally into the girls’ locker room, where Jolene was still hugging the toilet.
Emile said Hugo was going to start college and get married to a girl named Isabella—the girl he’d left behind in Spain.
They’d been together for eight years, having met when she was a mediocre skater at his rink, and he was the almighty Hugo who’d placed third at Europeans one year.
His claim to fame that meant nothing outside the skating world.
At twenty-one, and without a World medal, he decided to move on—from skating, and from Jolene. Another skater from Spain was coming to The Palace in the spring, taking Hugo’s room and the government sponsorship money. Emile had scouted him, and Dawn was thrilled.
“What did you expect?” Emile asked that day when it was snowing and Ana had fallen outside The Palace. “That they would live happily ever after?”
Still, it was Emile, once again, who came to the rescue.
Just as he’d done with Kayla. Like he was one of them.
Still a skater. A friend. He protected Jolene’s secret.
Told the school she was sick with the flu, and convinced Edie of the same.
“It’s going around, very contagious”—so it was best if she left her alone.
Ana stayed with her whenever she could. Sneaking ginger ale and crackers from the kitchen, cleaning puke from the trash can, wet towels, dry towels. Stroking Jolene’s hair while she cried. “He said he loved me.” And Ana’s reply, the only thing she could think of. “I know.”
Emile came to check on them every day at four o’clock.
And every day, she found herself watching the time, checking it every half hour, every fifteen minutes, until she heard his footsteps on the hard floor outside their room.
She came to know them because they were uneven from his limp, like the distinct rhythm of a song.
Boom-boom, boom-boom. And sometimes they made her think of her mother’s feet on that floor just over a year ago.
Down the hall. Down the stairs. And away. Clip-clop, clip-clop.
Emile made an appointment for Jolene at a clinic in Colorado Springs. The same place he’d brought Kayla after she was raped in the woods.
On Friday, Ana got behind the wheel of Jolene’s car and drove to the clinic, where they met with a woman named Marta who made Jolene listen to the heartbeat of Hugo’s baby growing inside her.
“It’s our policy,” Marta said. There were also several pages of information Marta said she had to read, word for word, as Jolene pleaded with her.
“You don’t understand! My father will kill me.”
Marta’s voice began to tremble with discomfort.
“There are other options, such as adoption . . .”
“You don’t understand! He left me alone!”
She whispered, “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” But then, “The baby might feel pain.”
“Ana! Make her stop!”
Marta told them they could come back “with proper ID, or a signed parental consent form. Or they could notify her parents and wait forty-eight hours . . .”
Her eyes glanced at the Palace logo on Jolene’s sweatshirt.
“We helped your friend, but that was different. We have to follow the law and notify your parents,” she said. “And don’t wait longer than a week—you’re too far along.”
They rushed out of the clinic, back to the car. Ana was already spinning solutions, about getting another ID or going to a clinic somewhere else. But Jolene was shaking her head, like she knew it was useless.
Finally, she looked at Ana.
“Stop, okay. It’s over.”
Jolene cried while Ana drove, eyes fixed on the road, hands gripping the wheel.
In between her giant sobs, Jolene said these words—“He’s going to kill me.” Until she finally fell asleep with her head against the window.
Now Ana was alone with her thoughts, and they weren’t good ones.
One whole year, and where was she in this dream that had brought her to The Palace?
One whole year she could have spent with her mother, and maybe she should have.
But that was not what Connie wanted. What Connie wanted for her was this, the dream Ana had come here for.
The one she could no longer help her daughter achieve.
Eyes on the road. Hands on the wheel. Listening to tires on the asphalt, the wind wisping past the windows. Jolene’s soft exhales, fogging up the glass.
Thoughts turning to Emile.
Emile. Emile. Emile.
Carrying Kayla up those steps, and into his house, and into his bed.
Emile.
His hand reaching for Ana as she lay in the snow.
Ana blinked, hard. Because what the hell were these thoughts? And why was all this happening? Why couldn’t she stay focused? On the skating and just the skating. Fight the fear. Land the triple flip, and then the Lutz and the loop?
Eyes on the road. Hands on the wheel. Ana started breathing like Dr. Westin had taught her to. She examined the fear and talked to it, telling it how strong she was. How smart and capable. But most of all, how angry it made her feel. Being afraid.
And for the first time since she’d been having her sessions in the room next to Dawn’s office, she felt it talk back.
She felt her mind asking her questions. Asking for proof about this strength and knowledge she was claiming to have.
Proof that she could keep herself—or any of them—safe, in this place.
Eyes on the road. Hands on the wheel. She searched for something soothing.
One anecdote. One story that would convince the fear to loosen its grip around her throat.
She thought about Indy’s fantasy, where her hands became blades that made Dawn run away.
This brought a smile and one quick burst of laughter.
But her brain was left unconvinced. Indy’s story wasn’t real, of course, and Dawn had shown her that. How quickly she would yield to her longing for that monster. The giant weed.
They got home after dark, and Jolene felt sick the moment she opened her eyes. Ana followed her down the hall, away from the skaters who had gathered to watch the Nationals on TV, even the transplants and locals—the room was packed. Shannon Finch called after them.
“Hey—where have you been? You missed Indy’s skate.”
Indy! Her free skate had been that night.
Florida chimed in, her voice gleeful. “She crashed on the triple Axel and fell apart. She popped her second triple Lutz. She dropped to ninth place! Don’t you want to see?”
No. Ana didn’t want to see. Not any of it.
When they got to the top of the stairs, Jolene puked in the bathroom, then sat on the floor next to the toilet, just like she’d done at The Palace.
She looked at Ana, her face no longer despairing. It was something else—determined, maybe.
“I’ll never get a better ID in time,” Jolene said.
Ana’s heart was pounding. “Will you go home?” she asked, the thought already breaking her heart.
But Jolene shook her head.
“I have a credit card and a passport. I can go to Spain, Ana.”
“What?” Jolene had lost her mind. Hugo was gone—she didn’t even know where he lived.
“I’ll find him, and he’ll help me. I know he will. I know he loves me.”
Ana didn’t know what to say. Hugo had left without a word. And what was she supposed to do now? Jolene was smiling, the life returning to her eyes. Ana couldn’t take that away.
“I have to try,” Jolene said.
She stood up, the smile growing wider. Ana followed her to the Orphans’ room, where Jolene pulled a duffel bag from her closet and started to pack.
Going on and on about how Ana could drive her to the airport in Denver and she could take the next flight to Madrid.
She knew where Hugo skated. They would know where to find him.
She would use her credit card and get a cash advance.
She would be long gone before her father saw what she’d done.
And then, even if he came after her, Hugo would be there.
“I know he loves me,” she said again. “He never even mentioned that girl from Madrid.”
Ana stood, speechless, listening to the plan. It was absurd. Jolene was sixteen. What would she do if Hugo turned her away? And why was she so afraid to go home?
It was then that they heard footsteps coming down the hall.
The familiar boom-boom, boom-boom. They stopped.
Listened as a second set trailed behind them.
And then the knock at the door, the door opening, and the shadowy figure of Emile standing in the darkness.
Not alone, but with another man. An older man.
Jolene whispered, but it sounded like a scream. “Daddy!”
As the man charged toward them, his face bright red, his belly heaving, Ana felt a rush inside her like never before. She stepped in front of Jolene and spread her arms wide.
“Get out of the way!” he commanded, and Ana struggled to make sense of what she was seeing. In those mere seconds, the picture forming.
Mr. M., the jovial globe-trotter Jolene had described, was a lie. The fear in her voice at the clinic. The words she’d said, pleading with the woman. “My father will kill me.”
Ana didn’t move away, though she couldn’t speak. Part of her frozen. The other part knowing what to do, her arm bracing over her face as Jolene’s father reached them.
Then a blow to the side of her head. Her body on the ground. Jolene’s scream, louder now, a piercing shrill. “Daddy, stop!”
She heard his palm smack Jolene’s face, and now they were both on the ground. Ana started to move, to stand. Jolene held her back with both arms.
“Don’t,” she said to Ana, then braced herself as Mr. M. grabbed her by the hair and pulled her back toward the closet.
“Pack!” he screamed. But Jolene curled herself into a little ball.
“Do it!” Mr. M. ordered, louder this time, and then he lifted his foot and swung it back. He was about to kick Jolene.
But then another voice was inside the room. It was a woman.
“I’ll help her. Go back to the car.”
And then:
“There’s a baby in there.”
And with that, Mr. M. drew a giant breath into his giant belly. He turned from both of them, Ana standing now, her face beginning to swell. Jolene on the floor holding the duffel bag.
Her mother took his place as he stormed out of the room. She reached for clothes hanging in the closet, pulled them down and shoved them into the bag.
“Get up,” she ordered. And Jolene obeyed, walking meekly to her dresser, opening drawers. Taking out her skating dresses.
When Mrs. M. saw what was in her hands, she grabbed the dresses and tossed them to the floor.
“You don’t need these anymore. Stupid girl. You’ve just ruined everything I did for you.”
Ana stared at the woman, new pieces to Jolene’s story falling into place. The reason she was here. Her mother had sent her away, but not so they could travel.
Mrs. M. walked to the door. “I’ll get more bags from the car,” she said. And then she, too, was gone.
Ana rushed to Jolene, wrapped her in her arms.
“I’m sorry, Ana. I’m so sorry,” Jolene whispered.
Chest to chest, cheek to cheek. They stayed there for a long time, sorrow pulsing between them.
Ana had never seen violence like this. She’d never felt it, never been hit by anyone.
Jolene, she imagined, had lived with it her whole life, until she came to The Palace.
And now she was facing her return to the place where that violence lived.
Jolene let go. Wiped her eyes.
“I have to finish packing,” she said. “It’ll be worse if I don’t.”
Ana sat back, resigned to helping her friend leave. And just then, it occurred to her—where was Emile? Her eyes scanned every corner of the room, confirming what she already knew.
Emile—the traitor, the coward—had vanished.