Chapter Forty-Six
The Greater Woodspring Skating Arena looked like a high school gym at prom time. There were twinkly lights strung up on the
plexiglass surrounding the rink, and crepe paper and balloons hanging in the common areas. The lights were dimmer than usual,
like the rink was putting on a showcase, but the ice was crowded with skaters of all ages and abilities, inching and gliding
along to overloud pop music.
The big handmade sign in the lobby said, “Farewell Quinn!” and was covered in so many signatures that the lettering was almost
obscured.
Zoey skated to the edge of the ice, where I was watching everyone. “You having fun?”
“Is it possible to have fun and be sad at the same time?” I mused. “Because I miss you guys already.”
“Yeah, same. I hate this for me, but I love it for you,” she agreed.
We both went silent as we scanned the crowd.
“Nate’s been hogging your boyfriend the whole night.” She pointed at the two of them in the far corner of the rink. “Poor
Ben.”
Speedskating and free skate were dicey rinkmates but they were making it work. Nate had committed to the change in sport months ago, and the chance to pick Ben’s brain had Nate shadowing him since we’d arrived.
“Please, he loves it. He claims that he could never be a coach but he’s really good at it.”
“That means he’s got a backup plan if his next gig doesn’t work out.”
“Check out Justin and Sarah.” I jutted my chin toward the center of the ice. “The man can do everything.”
It looked like my former dance instructor was getting a private lesson from my former choreographer. Somehow, even though
he’d only been on skates a handful of times, Justin was managing a decent two-foot spin.
But that was the power of a good coach and a committed student.
“How’s your new program coming along?” I asked Zoey. “I feel like I’ve missed so much.”
She pursed her lips and glared at me. “That’s because you have.”
I reached over and put my hand on top of hers. “Sorry. I’m with you in spirit. I hope you know that.”
“I do, I was totally kidding. The new program is going great, actually. My parents are having a hard time with the music,
but they’ll get over it. No more classical!”
I smiled. I liked to think that my win was influencing other skaters to branch out and skate to what they loved, not what tradition demanded of them. I was also noticing way more black skates and blades than ever. Even Sarah was
sporting them now.
“Are your parents still here?” I asked, craning my neck to look over my shoulder to the common area. “I need to say bye to
them.”
“Oh trust me, they won’t leave without giving you a squeeze,” she said. “Are you going to . . .” she trailed off and pointed at the ice.
I shook my head. “I didn’t even bring my skates tonight. I just want to soak everything in and say my goodbyes, you know?
If I skate it’ll turn into the Quinn show.”
I realized after I said it that I was echoing what Ben had told me in this very rink. I understood the sentiment now. I wanted
to participate in the celebration in a different way. I still loved being Figure Skater Quinn—I’d spent a few hours on the
ice by myself this morning, skating an emotional goodbye to the place that had helped me win gold—but tonight I was a just
a Woodspring resident saying farewell to my beloved community.
“So, tomorrow?” Zoey asked.
I nodded and swallowed the lump in my throat. “Bright and early. The truck is packed.”
She stomped her skate petulantly. “I can’t believe this is real, Quinn. I miss you already.”
“Don’t,” I cautioned. “Not yet, at least. Let’s have fun until we have no choice but to say goodbye. And you know you’re welcome
to visit any time. We have an extra bedroom.”
“If I ever get a break in my schedule I will. Count on it.”
We turned to watch everyone out on the ice.
“Look at Mel and Josh,” Zoey said. She leaned closer to me. “Does she realize that her firstborn is not a skater?”
I laughed. “She does. She claims he got his lack of coordination from Danny. I think she’s happy she didn’t give birth to
a prodigy. Although little Caleb might surprise us.”
I watched Mel chasing Josh around the ice. It was skating in its purest form, just a family enjoying the freedom of zipping
around the rink, or in Josh’s case, falling but not caring.
We still hadn’t said goodbye. In fact, it almost felt like Mel was avoiding me.
I spotted Frank hovering just inside the Zam doors, watching the action with a big grin on his face.
“I need to go say bye to Mr. Zamboni. I’ll be back,” I said to Zoey.
The dim lighting around the edge of the ice allowed me to head over without being spotted. I’d spent the better part of the
night answering and reanswering the same questions, which all included some variation about what I was going to do next (parents),
if Ben and I were going to get married (young girls), if I brought my gold medal with me (young boys), how much money I made
at the Games (tween boys), and if I knew that companies were now knocking off my costumes and selling them online (tween girls).
Frank didn’t hear me approaching so I studied him as I got closer. I hated that the “play through the pain” mentality of his
hockey years had taken a toll on his body that he was paying for now.
“Hey, you,” I said as I got closer, so I didn’t startle him.
“Sweetheart!” Frank’s face lit up. “Get over here and give an old man a hug.”
I stepped into his embrace and was hit by a million sense memories from the scent of pipe lingering in his clothing. When
we moved apart he was beaming at me, but his eyes looked watery.
“I’m going to miss you, lady,” he said as he wagged a finger at me.
“Same,” I said. I couldn’t offer much more, because I was dangerously close to crying as well. “Thanks for giving me perfect
ice every day.”
“Oh, go on,” he pshawed at me. “Just doin’ my job!”
We caught up a little bit before I finally gave him one last hug, and I tried not to think about the fact that there was a chance it was the final hug I’d ever have with my favorite senior citizen.
I walked away wondering why the hell I was being so maudlin. I was moving to New York, not the moon.
“Quinn!”
I had to fight back tears yet again as I turned to find Mel staring at me.
“Hi.”
The worst goodbye. The one I’d been dreading.
We walked toward each other slowly.
“Now you listen to me.” She was already scolding me, something she never did about my performances but always did when I mentioned
my perceived shortcomings. “We are not going to cry, got it? What’s happening is a good thing. It’s growth. And it’s not like we won’t see each other. I’m going
to be in your underwear more than ever as you get everything off the ground. And once you’re up and running, well, we both
know what happens then. You’re going to regret asking me to be a part of it.”
“Never,” I replied, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from crying, because I’d spent the past four years in this rink
listening to her instructions, and it had worked out pretty damn amazing for me. “You’re a pivotal part of what’s to come.”
“Good,” she bobbed her head once.
“Thank you,” I began, my chin quivering. “You are—”
“Stop.” She threw her hand in the air in front of me. “I suck at goodbyes, and anyway, this is a farewell. I’ll see you soon enough.”
I opened my arms to her, frowning and sniffling. When we finally connected, the floodgates opened.
“I told you not to cry,” she scolded through her own tears.
“Guess it’s a good thing you’re not coaching me anymore. I suck at listening now.”
We laugh-cried and finally broke apart.
This woman had stepped up and opened my eyes to my true potential. She’d seen through my damage because somehow she could
sense that there was more to me. Mel believed I was a winner before anyone else did, even me. She’d shown me that victory
could be nurtured with the delicate touch of a bonsai keeper instead of the brute force of a lumberjack.
I owed her so much.
“I love you, Mel,” I said.
“I know,” she replied with a wink.
“Hold on, did you just quote Han Solo to me?” I asked.
“I have to keep it light,” she shot back. “Otherwise I’ll be in a corner rocking and drooling, and my kids will wonder what
you did to their mommy.”
We laughed and embraced one more time, then Danny walked over with a screaming Caleb and we both were relieved to have a distraction.
The night wore on. I hugged a few million people and cried with a bunch more, until it was time to head out.
Ben took my hand when he saw me lingering in front of the trophy case that was filled with dusty medals and trophies and photos
with curled edges.
“You okay?”
“No.” I shook my head. “This was my home. It’s really hard leaving.”
“I know,” he said and squeezed my hand. “I get it. But you know what you’re about to do could potentially help a little girl
just like . . .” He scanned the photos. “Just like that one.”
He pushed his finger on the glass on top of a photo of ten-year-old me. I remembered smiling for the picture because I’d won a junior title but feeling worried because I’d come in second.
Only I could see that worry, just behind my tight smile.
My chest swirled with conflicting emotions, so many that I wasn’t sure what I was feeling.
“If you need more time I can wait,” Ben said. “We’re not in a rush. And you can sleep in the truck if you’re tired tomorrow
morning.”
Gratitude consumed me as I watched him study me, because I knew what he was doing. It was a skill we’d both mastered, the
gut-check scan that went deeper than the surface-level stuff we showed the world.
Ben knew how to see me, and I could see him.
I looked away from the ancient memories in the case to the new banner they’d hung up at the beginning of the night. It was
a photo of me from the awards ceremony, holding up my gold medal and beaming, with the words “Home of Olympic Gold Medal Winner
Quinn Albright” below.
Yeah, I’d won. More than I ever dreamed was possible.