Chapter 18
ELIDA
Tara finds me after the women’s session on Friday.
She has two coffees - proper ones from the place on Main, not the institutional horror from the building - and she hands me one and falls into step beside me. We walk the corridor in comfortable silence for a moment.
“So… dinner with Jake Skelly?”
“News travels fast.”
“Small town.” She sips her coffee. “He seems good.”
“He is.”
She nods. “And?”
“And it’s good.”
“I think you’ve made the right choice professionally.” She sips her coffee and there’s a long pause. “He talked to the team, you know. Mateo.”
I wasn’t sure he would really follow through.
“I want you to be happy,” Tara says. “That’s all.”
She’s the closest thing I’ve had to a friend since I’ve been here. I feel a rush of gratitude for her.
“I’m getting there.”
She bumps her shoulder against mine.
“Good,” she says. “Now drink your coffee before it gets cold.”
ELIDA
I call that afternoon.
I sit at my little desk in work and I dial before I can talk myself out of it.
It rings three times.
“Brita Fiske.”
Her voice is warm and direct. I like her immediately, which I wasn’t expecting.
“This is Elida Eriksson.”
“I was hoping you’d call.”
We talk for forty minutes.
She asks good questions - nothing about Erik or about what happened, just about my skating.
Where I am technically. What I’ve been doing to maintain it.
Whether I’ve been on the ice much. I tell her about the coaching sessions and about the routine I’ve been running alone in the early mornings when the rink is empty.
“Good,” she says. “That’s good. The body remembers.”
“It does.”
“I’ve seen your competition footage. From your last season. You’re extraordinary.”
“That was a while ago,” I say.
“Elida, half a year is nothing. Not for a skater your age.”
“It feels longer.”
“I know it does, but trust me, the foundation is still there.”
I press my hand flat on the desk.
“I’d like to do some video sessions,” I say. “To start with, before anything else.”
“Yes. Absolutely. We can begin this week if you’re ready.”
“I’m ready,” I say. And I mean it, which surprises me.
“Good. There’s also something I want to mention. There’s a regional qualifier in four months - nothing enormous, not the highest level, but a legitimate competition. A way back in. I think you should enter.”
A qualifier.
In four months.
“Just to start easing back in. No pressure on the result. It’s just about being back on that ice, in that context. Reminding yourself what it feels like.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yes,” I say. “Okay.”
She makes a small, satisfied sound. “Good. Now-” And I can hear the smile in it. “How soon can you make your way back over?”
I look around the office.
“I’m not sure yet. There are things to sort out here first.”
“Of course. But Elida… Don’t wait too long. You’ve waited long enough already.”
I close my eyes.
“I know. I know I have.”
We arrange the first video session for the day after tomorrow and say goodbye.
Then I call Iris.
She picks up on the first ring.
“Well?”
“I’m entering a qualifier.”
Iris makes a sound that is pure, unfiltered delight.
“Yes,” she says. “YES. I’m just-” She stops. “I’m really proud of you.”
“And I’m coming back to Sweden. Soon.”
Iris shrieks.
Actually shrieks, loud enough that I have to hold the phone away from my ear.
“Oh my GOD. Oh my god, Elida. Okay. Okay, I’m being calm.”
“You’re really not.”
“Well, I’m excited! I was trying to be patient. I was giving you space, I was letting you get there in your own time, I was being a very good sister-”
“You were,” I say, smiling.
“But Elida.” Her voice drops, sudden and fierce and certain. “That bastard took more than enough from you. He took your career for gods’ sake. Your confidence. He’s had enough.”
“I know.”
“I’m just very happy.”
“I know that too. Iris?”
“Yes?”
“Tell me it’s going to be okay.”
“It’s going to be okay,” she says. Without hesitation. “It’s going to be so much more than okay.”