* * *

They made love again and again. Troy knew he was screwed, and not in the usual way. He had himself a beautiful young woman who thought he was pure magic, who would do anything he wanted to do, bring him greater satisfaction than he could remember having and...and he didn’t know anything about her. Added to that, he wasn’t sure what had caused it, but being the first man to ever get inside her like that really did something to his head. A kind of possessiveness consumed him; he couldn’t even think about letting her go. But who was this young beauty who hadn’t been properly loved until now? Who asked questions about whether it was difficult being a young male teacher surrounded by teenage girls with crushes? Who was this young woman who’d never been in a traditional classroom yet who seemed to be smarter and more worldly than other women her age? And did mothers and daughters really part ways over the choice to own a flower shop?

He was lying on his belly in her bed, thinking about how he was going to get the answers to these questions when he felt her small hand, slightly calloused from hard work, slide over his buttocks.

“You have the nicest guy booty I’ve ever seen.”

“Roll me over and see what else I’ve got that’s nice,” he said.

“I’m afraid to,” she said with a laugh. “I think you’ve had enough. And I’ve definitely had enough!”

“Feeling a little tender?”

She nodded and blushed.

He laughed. “After the gymnastics of last night, how can you blush?” he asked her.

“It’s daylight,” she said.

“Better yet,” he said, rolling over to show off his rather impressive morning erection.

“Oh, my,” she said. “Keep that thing away from me!”

He ignored her and pulled her into his arms. “Let’s talk about how to have fun when we’re feeling a little...delicate.” And he began kissing his way down her body, over her belly, between her thighs. Just a few minutes later he had to say again, “Gracie. Breathe.”

“Oh, God,” she said weakly.

His pleasure couldn’t have been greater.

“Is it my turn now?” she asked.

“Not this time, honey,” he said, hoisting himself out of the bed. “Much as I’d like to lie around in bed all day, I have things to do. I have to get ready for classes tomorrow and I’m working at Cooper’s all afternoon and evening. You should nap, rest up. If you want me to drop by later to make sure you’re okay, just say the word.”

“The word,” she said with a smile.

“Would you like me to take you to breakfast at the diner before I start my chores?” he asked.

“Would you?”

“I definitely would. You make a man hungry, but I have to go home first and, you know...freshen up.”

She laughed softly. “I guess it wouldn’t do to go out to breakfast in last night’s clothes. Not to mention...”

“Don’t mention it,” he suggested, knowing where that was going. The scent of sex was all over them. Even without that, anyone who saw her this morning was sure to know. She was wearing a very fetching whisker burn on her pink cheeks, her lips were bright and rosy from a night of kissing and that sleepy twinkle in her eye said everything. Here was a very happy, satisfied lady. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes.”

Six

An hour and a half later, breakfast done, Troy was back in his apartment, where he was not planning to do any school preparation. Instead, he got on the internet. He had a couple of hours before he had to be out at the beach bar. He didn’t expect to find anything, unless perhaps there had been some kind of molestation and charges were filed, but if Grace had been a minor, her name wouldn’t have been included. He typed her name into the search bar and the italicized question popped back:

Do you mean Isabella “Izzy” Grace Dillon Banks?

Just for grins, he clicked on the name, expecting to see the picture of a sixty-year-old opera singer.

“Are you shitting me?” he asked the empty room.

Figure Skating Gold Medalist walks out of the Vancouver arena and doesn’t look back.

It was her in the picture. Izzy Banks? Gold medalist? Retired at the age of twenty-three? It just didn’t compute. Was that something you didn’t think to mention? Although Izzy apparently issued a statement, she refused all interviews. He read her statement.

“The figure skating community and competition has been very good to me and I’m tremendously grateful to my family, my mother, the intrepid Winnie Dillon Banks, my coach Mikhail Petrov, U.S. Figure Skating, and every friend and competitor I’ve known over the past twenty years, but this is my time to exit. There are so many wonderful athletes prepared to have their chance and, believe me, I won’t be missed for long. I crave a quieter life.”

Troy was stunned. He almost couldn’t inhale. How was this possible?

There were a number of articles and much conjecture, comparing Izzy to other athletes who, exhausted and overloaded, perhaps depressed, crashed after a big win and retreated. She wasn’t the only story, for sure.

There were a few differences that stood out to him, maybe because of their conversation just the night before. A grievance was filed against her with U.S. Figure Skating by figure skating coach Hal Nordstrom, a world-famous coach whose students had won many medals. He alleged slander and defamation of character. The direct quote seemed to be well-known but wasn’t in the article. Apparently when a fifteen-year-old student of Nordstrom committed suicide Izzy Banks, then eighteen, commented that he mishandled his students and drove them to tragic ends with his sexual misconduct. No charges were filed against the coach, no corroborative complaints emerged, no other students stepped forward and there was no evidence against the man. The grievance was dismissed; Izzy had uttered an opinion in the presence of other skaters in training, their coaches and parents—it didn’t say how many. There were comments from Nordstrom’s other students that had nothing to do with sexual misconduct. They claimed he’d taken his student, Shannon Fields, out of his number-one slot and put another skater in it and some believed she was despondent with disappointment and jealousy after so many years of hard work. No one seemed sure why she took her own life.

But Troy knew. He knew Grace. If she said a younger skater had been molested, she thought she knew something. It didn’t mean she was wrong just because she had no evidence.

Nordstrom sued Izzy and her mother in a civil court. There was an undisclosed settlement.

He read other articles. Grace had been trailed by not one but three stalkers. She was hardly the only internationally known athlete with this burden, but she was one of only a few who had actually been kidnapped. It wasn’t for more than a few hours, but he couldn’t imagine how terrifying it must have been. That particular stalker was captured, arrested, prosecuted and hospitalized. His name was Bruno Feldman and he was schizophrenic and delusional, which made him ill but no less frightening or dangerous because of his illness.

He typed her name into the search box again. There were over five thousand hits. As far as he knew, no one in Thunder Point had any idea who she really was. His little flower girl had accomplished things most people never dared dream of and, apparently, the price had been high. He had an overwhelming urge to run to her, take her into his arms and tell her she was safe now. Instead, he took his laptop with him to work at Cooper’s, where he planned to read more on the sly when he wasn’t too busy.