Grace came back with the final floral arrangement. Tears were running down her cheeks. She put it down on the coffee table beside the last one. Then she looked at her mother. “I know what you’ve done, you know.” Winnie stiffened as if slapped. She was clearly stunned by this statement, or maybe by the tears. “You placed an order for flowers that you knew I wouldn’t be able to resist and asked for them to be delivered on Sunday, when the shop was closed, when I had no delivery help so I would be forced to come to you. Why, Mother? Why couldn’t you just love me for myself? Why did you only love me for the gold medals?”

“Izzy, why do you act like it was a curse? We conquered the world!” Winnie said. Her expression was pleading. No, it was yearning. “Because of your skill, the training the other athletes couldn’t afford, because of the dedication, the commitment I made to training, travel, everything you needed to get to the top, we had the dream. My parents didn’t care. They paid the bills but never believed in me the way I believed in you. But together, we did it! We were the most powerful mother and daughter in women’s figure skating in the world! It meant everything to me. I couldn’t do it, but with my help you could.”

Grace shook her head sadly. “I’m so sorry for you, Mama,” she said quietly. “I love you, but I’m never going to change my mind.”

“All right, then!” Winnie shouted. “Stay. Send him away, stay awhile and let’s just talk.”

Grace shook her head. “Maybe some other time. Sometime when you haven’t tried to trick me or back me into a corner.”

Grace turned and went back to the van. Troy followed, slowly closing the door as he left the cottage. My God, he thought. No wonder Grace couldn’t trust anyone. The people who should be most protective and devoted, like her mother, used her. He caught up with her just as she was getting in the driver’s side.

“Let me drive for you, babe,” he said, reaching for the keys.

She wiped at her eyes. “No. Thank you, but no. I’m fine.”

He hurried around to his side, buckling in. “Well, that was pretty terrifying,” he said. “I think I understand now.”

She gave a little hiccup and had to wipe her eyes again. She started slowly driving away from the cottage. “Poor little rich girl?” she asked.

“I think Winnie is the impoverished one. She has no idea all she lost.”

“If you win gold medals in the end, you’re not allowed to complain about how hard life is. It’s self-pitying. Winning is hard and the cost is high. Even if you throw in a bad reputation, a lawsuit, constant pressure, a couple of stalkers, a kidnapping and—” She stopped talking. Then she slammed on the brakes. Troy braced a hand on the dash just before hitting his head. She turned wild eyes toward him. “Shit!” she said. Then she threw the car into Park, unbuckled, got out and ran down the street, back to the cottage.

Troy was too shocked to move for a moment. Then he jumped out and followed her, leaving the van abandoned in the middle of the road, still running. He chased her right to the cottage. Grace barged in without knocking. Her mother sat in the chair.

“My God,” Grace said. “How could you do that to me? Are you really that selfish?”

“Grace, what’s going on?” Troy asked.

“The note,” she said, but she looked at Winnie, not Troy. “She sent it. To scare me so I’d come home.”

Winnie didn’t respond. She raised her chin defiantly.

“Are you really crazy? As in, need-medication crazy? Or have you absolutely no shame? Your only child? The child who gave you what you wanted, you would do this to me? I was terrified!”

“Nothing happened, did it?” Winnie said.

Grace shook her head. “I think it might take me a lifetime to recover from you.”

“I gave you everything! I gave you my whole life!”

“Well, I’m giving it back to you. Leave me alone.”

Grace turned and marched back to the van. Troy had to jog to catch up.

“Okay, I am driving,” he said, pushing her around to the passenger side of the van. “You’re really in no shape.”

She didn’t argue with him. She silently stared through her window while he navigated the winding road out of the resort, past woods, oceanfront, golf courses and three large clubhouses. He didn’t say anything and heard the occasional sniff coming from her side of the van.

“All right, look, lots of people have crazy families,” he finally said. She didn’t respond. “Most, I think,” he added. “In fact, as dysfunctional goes, most families have bigger and tougher issues than a rich mother who pushed you to win gold medals. So, your heart is a little broken, but you’re an adult and can decide for yourself how you want to live your life. Think about what some people deal with—death, divorce, abuse, addiction, all kinds of dark secrets. Your mother pushed you and had her own agenda but she never physically hurt you, right? It’s emotional abuse, I get that, but, Gracie, honey, you’re okay. You’re better than okay. You have your head on straight, you’re a good, kind person, you know what’s really important in life. So she’s a pain in the ass. You don’t have to deal with her if you don’t want to. And if you do want to, demand your boundaries. You know?”

She turned to look at him. “Do you?” she asked. “Do you have dysfunction in your family?”

He laughed. “My immediate family seems reasonably sane. Or maybe we’re just used to each other. We lived on a shoestring. Paycheck to paycheck. We got by. It turned my mom into a really good money manager. But in the extended family we have some real interesting characters. My dad’s dad was married five times. If you knew him, you’d find that hard to believe—there’s nothing all that special about him. My dad has twelve siblings, none of them full siblings, all halfs and steps. Some of them are real losers—money issues, chronically unemployed. One’s a scam man—we give him a wide berth. They’re always looking for handouts—makes my dad crazy. One of my mother’s aunts is a hoarder and the other one keeps cats. Like twenty or thirty cats. We visited them both exactly once. I think there are some serious mental health issues at work there. There’s one of those ‘funny uncles’ somewhere in the family tree—he was not allowed to visit. I’m told my maternal grandfather smacked around my grandmother—my mother said it could get pretty nightmarish when she was a kid. She said if my dad ever raised a hand to her she’d just shoot him. I take it he never did. My dad is kind of a big, handsome, sweetheart of a guy—I guess he inherited the side of my grandfather women fell in love with, but he’s managed to be married only once. My mom, though, was married for a very short time when she was real young. Married for a year or something. She divorced her first husband. She never liked to talk about it. I don’t think I even knew until my sister, Jess, got married at nineteen and my mother lost her mind, terrified that Jess was headed down the same path. Jess is fine. My mom didn’t marry my dad until she was thirty.”

“But you had a normal childhood,” she said.

“Well, I guess. I don’t appear to be scarred. I don’t have any medals, either. And I’ve never been to Russia or China.”