7

Irina’s Truth

GEORGE AND JANE made it to the house. They could see shadows flitting behind the living room curtains. Jane pointed to the side path, and they crept around to the back. George stashed their hockey bags, the net, and the sleigh in the shed, then carried her figure skating bag to the side of the house. Jane huffed her way to the back stoop and managed to sit down. Pain seared through her. Her breath came short. George took off her skates, running back to the shed to retrieve her boots from her hockey bag. In the momentary pause, Jane looked again at the sky. The stars were unnaturally big and bright. She had forgotten to wish for a miracle on the last falling star, and prayed for another. George rejoined her, and they rested on the stoop for a moment, looking up, while Jane gathered the courage to take off Ivan’s coat, her jersey, and the equipment underneath.

“I just wish it could be different somehow,” she sighed. “Be what it was. Dad didn’t care what people said, he let me play, he coached me, he … he …”

“He what?”

“Loved me. No matter what I did.”

“So then, I don’t know, be like him. Stop caring what other people think and do what you want.”

“Easy to say. Is your dad gonna let you do what you want?”

“No. But my dad’s mental.”

“So’s my mom. When it comes to figure skating, she’s obsessed.”

“Can’t you tell her this stuff about your dad?”

“I’ve tried … She’s got her own stuff.”

“Yeah,” George said. “So does my dad. My mom … ran off screaming about two months ago, not to be heard from since,” he confessed. “My dad’s gone kinda berserk … like that scene tonight … Man, I’d like to think he didn’t mean any of that about you girls, but I’m pretty sure he actually believes that bit about girls polluting the game of hockey.”

“I heard about your mom through the grapevine. I’m sorry.”

“From who?” Jane didn’t answer. “Ah, it doesn’t matter,” George said. “We live in a small town, right? Everybody knows everybody’s business. Please … just … don’t tell anyone else. I’m just … telling you.”

“I won’t. Has she written you?”

“Not a word.”

Jane looked at him, her rib muscles going into spasms under the coat. “Now that really sucks.” They were silent for a moment.

“Let’s not get too morose,” George said. “I’m just thinkin’, you’ve played hockey now. It’s kinda like you’ve honoured your dad’s memory or something. Maybe that’s enough. I mean, it’s very cool. Already.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” Maybe he was right. But I need to keep playing, Jane thought, I can’t stop now. She shifted her weight, and her rib became spasmodic again. “Can we try to get me out of this equipment?” she begged.

“I’ll go get your bag. Why did we put it in that stupid shed in the first place?” The back porch light flicked on as George got up. He reacted and pulled Jane to standing. She stifled a yelp, and they moved as quickly as she could, fearful of discovery. She shuffled to the shed behind George. Their fresh footprints glistened. They watched Deb try to open the little-­used back door, but it was stuck by ice and snow. “Jane?” she called. Then they saw her turn back and speak to someone in the kitchen. Huddled in the small enclosure, Jane panicked. “Leonard’s there with her.”

“Could be my dad, come to tell.”

“Either way it’s not good. But I’ve got to face it. Get me out of this equipment, and let’s get inside. I don’t care if it hurts. I’m freezing. I’m barely hanging on.”

George seemed to swallow her panic and grew nervous himself. “What have you done to yourself? Man, it’s all my fault. If I hadn’t been standing in goal — ”

“Where else would you be? You’re the goalie!”

“Clearing the net for you,” George said gallantly. They were nose to nose as George removed Ivan’s coat for her and lifted her arms. He couldn’t look at her now. “OW, OW, OW, OW, OW, OW,” Jane intoned. The jersey was next. He slid it over her head, checking her face. “Okay so far?”

Jane grinned. “It actually feels kinda good.”

His fingers moved down to untie the laces of her shoulder padding. As he undid them and gently slid the pads off, she kissed him on the cheek. He flushed red and carried on. There was a dicey moment when he had to take off her boots, exposing her bare feet, to remove the socks covering her shin pads, but they got through it, and George continued his steady and careful work until she was free of equipment.

“Where are my coat and jeans?” Jane asked, shivering in long underwear and boots.

“I have no idea.”

“Well, she’s gonna notice that!”

“Maybe Mike picked them up.”

George threw Ivan’s coat back over her, retrieved the figure skating bag, and they walked to the front of the house, steeling themselves. Deb opened the door the moment their boots hit the stairs. Leonard stood behind, pinch-­faced and glaring.

“Al called — ” Deb began before they had entered the hall.

“I had to,” Jane said, cutting her off. “Just know I had to be there.” Jane stepped into the house and bent to remove a boot, but stopped halfway down. Even the adrenalin of the moment could not dull the pain. She stood as naturally as she could in the freezing doorway.

“Jane, I’m trying hard to understand where your head is at. I’m trying — but this is insane. You are going to undo all we’ve worked for, all these years — ” Deb said.

“Do we have to talk about this with Leonard here?” Jane interrupted again.

“Leonard’s got a lot to lose, too. He’s put in years of work with you, and you are throwing it all away. You are not being fair, to either of us.”

“You’ve got that right,” Leonard rumbled.

“Now, Gerald Finch feels confident that you are the next best representative for the senior division, even though you’re only fifteen. But you’ve got to prove that you are, Jane. Running around and playing hockey whenever you feel like it proves you are not committed. You’ve got to commit — ”

“Mom, please, can we just talk about this tomorrow? I’m — ”

“No! We need to have this out right now!”

“I think Jane is just a little — ” George began.

“Be quiet, George. You should go home. This isn’t your business.”

Instead, George stepped in, closed the screen door, and set the skating bag inside the closet.

Jane’s breath was shallow. She was so cold. George stepped closer to her and held her arm. “Look,” Jane said, “it’s … it’s impossible. That new choreography’s going to take some time … there’s too much pressure — ”

“You can’t get nervous, Jane,” her mother pressed. “That’s death. You’ll just have to take it, moment by moment.”

“You think it’s so easy to just change an ending? I’m not nervous. I’m panicking!” Jane stopped herself. She couldn’t let herself lose it. She was hurting too much.

“How long has this hockey playing been going on?” her mother continued. “How long have you been lying? Bud’s godforsaken special place …”

It was the second time Deb had said it. Jane couldn’t take it. “Well, at least there, I feel calm, Mom. At least there, when I skate, I’m calm!”

“We’ll help you through the pressure of the competition, Jane,” Deb soothed. “We both will.”

Jane felt a sigh swimming from deep, deep within, stroking past her injury, preparing to surface. She couldn’t drown it or dunk it back under.

“I’m sorry, Mom … I’m just so tired of …”

“Of what?” Jane couldn’t speak. “Of what, Jane?”

Jane wavered in the doorway, George standing resolutely beside her.

“Of living your dream,” she said.

Deb looked stunned. “You’re not.”

“I am, Mom. I am. Yours and Leonard’s.”

Jane watched her mother sway. She knows it’s the truth, she thought miserably. “I don’t think I can do it for you. Anymore. And even if I wanted to … I don’t think I could win it for you. I … I love you, Mom, but it’s too much …”

“Please. Let’s not argue,” Deb said hoarsely. “Please, listen a second.” She sat down on the couch. Jane could no longer stand. She left George, and eased herself to sitting beside her mother, boots dripping slush on the carpet, rib seizing her. Deb grabbed her hand, gripping her fingers.

“I know it’s easy to get distracted from a dream, especially at your age,” Deb said. “I know. I’m a fine example of that. I was eighteen, on top of the world. I thought I knew what I was doing … Then I got pregnant.”

Jane stopped breathing.

“What?” she asked into the silence.

“I met your father and that was it.”

“That was why you didn’t compete at Canadians?”

“I fell madly in love. It was great, I’m glad I had you guys, but there were consequences … I always wished … at least you are a solo skater. I let Leonard down, too.”

Deb was staring down at Jane’s dripping boots, avoiding Leonard’s eyes. “Sorry,” Jane said. Deb reached down and took them off herself. She tossed them to George, who set them upright.

Jane sat dully for a moment. “Did you move here because you were pregnant?”

“Not right away. But eventually … we came here from Kelowna after your father played in Russia for the Packers. Your father got a forestry job. And Leonard followed me to Ontario, too, still hoping, maybe, after you two babies were born …”

“You never told me or Mike, right? Mike doesn’t know this.”

Deb didn’t answer. She pressed on. “Trust me, Jane, if you let go of your dream, and want it back again later, you’re not likely to find it.”

“I’m sorry, Mom, but it’s your dream. Always has been.”

“That’s true. I can admit that. But somewhere along the way it became yours, too.”

“You just want that to be true.”

“I can see it in your face when you are skating, darling. You are joy itself.”

Jane tried to breathe normally. She was sinking dangerously low into the couch. “Do you think a person can only have one dream?” she asked.

“Something always has to give way.”

Leonard broke the tenuous connection between Jane and her mother. “We need a commitment from you right now, Jane, or I’m going to drop you,” he threatened.

Deb glared at Leonard and stood up. “Leonard.”

“Pardon me?” Jane asked.

He dramatically strode to the closet and got out his mink coat. “Just decide, Jane,” he hissed. “Figure skating or hockey — it’s very simple.”

“Leonard.”

“Just decide,” he repeated, throwing on his fur. “I’m sick of this. Why are you even catering to her, Deb? I want an answer right now.”

Jane felt sick to her stomach; she couldn’t think straight. With her mother’s imploring face before her, her resolve crumbled. “All right. I’m sorry I’ve … disappointed you, Mom. I’ll … I’ll drop the hockey.” She pushed herself up, a huge effort. George stepped forward to help, but she shook her head at him.

“That’s settled, then,” Leonard said, then paused. “You look awful, Jane. Are you all right?”

“Just tired.”

“You still have the morning off. It’s late. I’ll have an even better new half-­minute figured out by the after-­school practice.”

“Okay, Leonard,” Jane agreed. “But can you be nice now?”

Leonard seemed to soften. For a moment he looked as though he was going to touch her cheek — a peace offering. “We’ll see,” he allowed, then breezed past her. George opened the screen door for him. “Good night,” George said. Leonard nodded at him, strode out, and was swallowed by the crisp night.

“George …”

“Yes, Mrs. Matagov?”

“You’d best get home. Your dad was in quite a state when he called.”

“Yeah. Okay. Sorry about that. See ya, Jane.”

Jane couldn’t look at him. “Tell your dad there won’t be any more girls’ hockey to worry about. Maybe that’ll help Ivan.”

“Okay.”

George left and Deb shut the door behind him. She walked to her daughter and tried to embrace her, but Jane shrank back. Deb reached for a newspaper and busied herself cleaning the melted slush on the carpet. “What was that about Ivan?” she asked, glancing up at her swaying girl.

“Nothing.”

“My goodness, Jane, you look dead-­tired. Go up to bed.”

Jane lay still in her bed, listening to the rhythm of her injured body. Sleep eluded her. She heard Mike return and go into the kitchen. The sound of ice cubes, breaking their molds, tinkled in her ears. In a moment, he crept into her room, a tea towel in hand.

“You awake?”

“Yeah.”

“George put ice on your ribs?”

“He didn’t have the chance.”

“Here, then. Ivan said to put ice on your ribs. I would’ve said heat, but he insisted on ice. Guess he knows more than me. Is it swollen?”

“It’s spasming every thirty seconds.”

“Show me where.” He helped her lift the blankets and her undershirt. “Man. What have you done?” he exclaimed softly, awed by the spreading colours.

“Who knows.”

He positioned the ice-­filled tea towel and said, “Ivan said to go over there, first light. I’ll take you. Did Mom notice?”

“I don’t think so. She was too busy making sure I remain a figure skater for the rest of my days. Do you have my coat?”

“No.”

“Great.”

“Listen, Jane,” Mike began, tentatively sitting on her bed. “I think I may have figured out something about Ivan and Irina. She kinda let somethin’ slip. I mean, she said something really strange, and then she dropped her hockey bag, and ran ahead and wouldn’t let me come in. Neither would Ivan. Irina was crying and kind of hysterical. I couldn’t understand her. They shut the door on me. I had to leave her equipment on the stoop.”

“What did you figure out?”

But there was a tapping at the window. George swung suspended in front of it, Romeo-­style, high up on a ladder. Mike unbolted the window and fought to slide it up. Through the frosty screen, he snapped, “What are you? Nuts? Get down from there.”

“Just checkin’ on her. Go to your own room, Mike, I need to talk to her. Jane, Jane, can you hear me?”

“Yeah. You’d better be quiet,” she said, trying to lift her head.

“Where’d you get that ladder?” Mike demanded to know.

“None of your business. Get lost, Mike.” Mike reluctantly left, but Jane could sense him hovering in the hall.

“Jane,” called George, “you okay?”

“Very average at the moment. But thanks for the visit.”

“There’s something I forgot to ask you.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

“Will you go out with me?”

“Why don’t you beat around the bush a little, George?”

“I figure we don’t have much time. My position is a little unstable here. I need to get it out and go.”

“Can I think about it?”

“No — whoops.”

“What do you mean, ‘whoops’?”

“The ladder just sunk into the snow.”

“Get off that thing right now! I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

When the ladder had scratched and scraped, tapped and fallen from the window, Mike came back into Jane’s room. She closed her eyes as he sat on the bed.

“He’s crazy for you.”

“Oh, yeah? Kinda like you for Irina?”

“Yeah, anyway, so I was sayin’ about Irina — ”

“Can you just tell me in the morning, Mike?” Jane sighed. “I can’t really take in anymore right now. I really need to sleep …”

“Oh. Yeah. Okay. No problem. Want me to wait ’til you fall asleep?”

“That’d be nice.”

Mike stayed, his elbows on his knees, and, as she drifted off, whispered the only thing she really wanted to hear.

“You were great out there tonight … inspired, really, until the end.”

Sleep didn’t last. Just before dawn, Mike tucked an exhausted Jane into her sleigh. They set out. Mike pulled her to Ivan’s cottage, struggling over the streets, then the field. Finally he asked, “Do you know anything about Irina and Ivan being Russian?” as his legs plowed through the snow. “What?” Jane exhaled. “No. You’ve got that wrong. They’re Yugoslavian.” She tried to save her breath. Talking was hard. “I don’t think so,” Mike said, and carried on.

The wind was slight in the early morning darkness, and the snow was turning a deep indigo in anticipation of the coming light. From a long way off they could see Ivan standing on his small stoop, watching them approach. When they arrived, Irina came outside, and she and Mike helped Jane out of the sleigh and indoors.

A kitchen table, sink, ancient hot plate, small refrigerator, and some crooked cupboards occupied one half of the open living space. A few chairs were scattered haphazardly around a fireplace, which crackled with flames. Jane noted doors leading to two bedrooms and a bathroom. The cold linoleum floor was cracked and yellowing with age; the walls were weeping with water stains. Ivan ordered Mike and Irina to move the chairs from around the fireplace and put the kitchen table in front of it. They did so, then lifted Jane with care and laid her upon it.

Once Jane was in place, Ivan brought Mike over to the wall where the table had been. Irina stood beside him. Plastered on it was a myriad of newspaper articles. Jane craned her neck to see. Mike stood before the articles reading for a long time. No one spoke. Mike returned to Jane, wordless. Ivan stayed by the hot plate, and boiled water in a banged-­up kettle.

“What’s going on, Mike?” Jane asked.

“I … I can’t believe I didn’t clue into this,” Mike marvelled, stammering. “He’s Ivan Stepanov.”

“What!” Jane exclaimed.

“Yes,” Ivan said.

“Ivan Stepanov. The next great coaching hope of the Soviet Red Army team.”

“Well,” Ivan said, “… something like that.”

Jane was flabbergasted. “Of course,” she said from her prone position. “Now it all makes sense. Your amazing coaching, the girls’ team you talked about … they’re in Russia.”

“Dah,” said Ivan. “But girls’ team there is like here. Very few know it is something I do.”

Jane tried to sit up so she could see Ivan. “I thought when we first met, you two were speaking Russian, but I wasn’t sure. I never really understood it, but … Mike, we’re idiots. We, of all people, should have known.”

“No kidding. Stay still, Jane! You’re gonna reinjure yourself.”

“We were totally into your defection story,” Jane continued, lying back down, craning her neck again. “But there were never any pictures of Irina printed, right?”

“Is true,” Ivan said.

“And you’ve grown out your hair a little, grown a mustache … no wonder we didn’t recognize you.”

“I did not want anyone to recognize me,” he said, placing tea bags in a teapot.

“I was so glad when you defected,” Mike said to Ivan. “All the sports writers, they wrote about how fair you were to your players … you and Coach Bobrov and Coach Kulagin … we weren’t expecting it … we were all supposed to hate you Soviets, but … all we could do was admire you.”

“That is kind.”

“Not really. I just figured we needed you here.”

Ivan laughed mirthlessly. “And here I am, a fired Zamboni driver.”

They went silent at that. The tea kettle whistled. Ivan poured the water into the teapot and brought it to Jane at the fireplace, Irina and Mike following with chipped teacups. As he poured the black tea, even that sound was mournful. Jane said, “They wrote that when you escaped, the heart went out of your team.”

“Maybe so,” Ivan said sadly.

Into the brief silence, Ivan gestured for Mike and Irina to sit Jane up, and he passed each of them a teacup. As they sipped the soothing, bitter liquid, Jane said, “It must be hard to talk about it. Leaving your people …”

“Dah,” said Ivan, staring into the diminishing fire.

“And you’ve kept your secret for so long …”

“… So … you read about Irina, then?” Ivan asked, bending to put another log on the flame.

“Something about an operation they couldn’t do over there?” Jane asked. “Your kidney, wasn’t it? You came with the team, right, Irina? On the plane? And then you got here and you … disappeared …”

“Dah, shoved into taxi in Montreal. Papers thrown at driver. I try to tell him to take me to hospital, and finally, he figure it out, dah, Papa?” Irina said.

“Dah. We trusted Canadians, you see,” Ivan said, poking at the fire, his back to them. Then he stood and fixed his blue eyes upon the Matagov children. “And we still wish to trust them.”

“You can trust us,” Mike blurted.

Jane looked from Ivan to Irina. “You can,” Jane agreed. Then she pressed on, asking, “But what are you doing here? In Parry Sound?”

“We wait here for news of my wife,” Ivan choked out. Irina put her arm around his shoulder. She poured him some of the remaining tea. Jane watched as he lifted the shaking cup to his lips and spilled liquid onto his shirt. Irina brushed it off. The Russians tried to compose themselves. In a moment, Irina was able to continue.

“I come in a disguise, as hockey player,” she said. “The final night we stay home, Mama cut my hair. And because I am so tall, Papa sneak me onto plane.”

“Miracle, you think?” Ivan said. “Nyet. I had friend, a female friend, Olya, who arranges seat on plane for one more player. She is my friend from childhood, dah, but she is KGB now. But because she know me, and I am a bit famous there, she help. Very foolish of her. When we go through Canadian customs, other KGB officials raise alarm. We are one too many, dah?”

“Yeah. I get it,” Mike said.

“So … in the confusion, Olya steal Irina outside of Montreal airport. Push her into cab. And they cannot find my daughter. They still know nothing,” Ivan said triumphantly. “My daughter is well now, and they know nothing.”

“But I see them surround Olya as we drive away,” Irina murmured. “I see that she is scared …” Mike put his hand on Irina’s shoulder and she did not shake it off. “They send her home, dah, Papa … and now she is disappeared, too. Just like Mama.”

“You had to take the chance,” Mike said.

“Yes. We had to take chance!” Ivan said with vehemence. Irina flinched. “Not even me, coach of Moscow Dynamos, could get Irina operation she need. And so, we take chance.”

“And we leave Mama behind,” Irina said, low. “And now she is taken.”

“For a sick child, you will do anything!” Ivan whispered. Irina looked at the floor. Jane had the sense that though they had barely revisited their traumatic decision, they were disturbed by it still.

Ivan suddenly seemed to remember the purpose for Jane’s visit. “Enough,” he said. “You must lay down.” Mike and Irina helped her lay back again. Ivan put his teacup down and lifted her shirt, but he continued to talk while he probed her injury.

“Now,” Ivan said, “Soviet team has lost and I and my defection are blamed. I was here in Canada with them; they won two, tied one, and only lost one. I defect, they go home without me, and they lose wind in their sails. Karmalov’s broken ankle … Bobby Clarke … that had nothing to do with it … loss was all because of me. It is all on me. This, from Seva Bobrov, I know, Russians believe …”

“No, Papa …”

“Dah. Is true. And so, now KGB have Ekaterina … we don’t know where … They would get to me somehow. If you are Russian, they never leave you alone …”

“Papa — ”

“I am sorry, Jane. I concentrate now.” He closed his eyes, and Jane felt his fingers searching for the source of the injury. She groaned when he found it.

“They didn’t lose because of you,” Mike said. “They won because of you. We were good, of course. But your team was amazing. We had no idea.”

“Dah,” Ivan said. “I was fair, as you say. Seva was fair. Boris was fair. Too fair for Soviet Union. They got home without me, and it all fell apart. Seva and Boris had no support … and Canadians had their Espositos and their Cournoyers and their Hendersons … such heart … But we had heart, too. They just … ripped them out of my boys … grilled them about my defection … I must make diagnosis.” Ivan stopped talking and seemed to listen to Jane’s body with his hands. “Is serious bruise, but is not broken,” he decided. “This is good.” He went to a cabinet and handed Irina a salve. “Irina, please put this on her. Gentle. It will work itself in.” As Irina began her task, Ivan examined the serious faces of Mike and Jane. “I am sorry for our secrets,” he apologized.

“I also,” Irina said.

“You’ve been such a mystery to me, Irina,” Jane said, looking up at her. “Now I know why you always seem so sad.”

Irina’s eyes were hollow, their colour faded. “Yes,” she said.

“… When you had that paper at the pond … when you and your dad were fighting … was that news of your mother?”

“A letter from her … but KGB read it and cover writing with black line and black line all through and there is nothing left to read but her name.”

Where’s your soul, Irina? Jane thought. Trapped in the letter.

“How did you escape, Ivan?” Mike asked. “The papers said nothing about it.”

“How could they write that? Then, so many people are in trouble. We are found for sure. No. No press …” Ivan said.

“How then …?”

“They hid me under some dirty towels in large bin in basement of hotel in Vancouver. Tretiak. Evgeny Zimin. He did most. They got to him, too, I guess. Tretiak was too valuable and was forgiven, but not Evgeny. They got to him like they got to my Ekaterina … took him to military prison.”

“Papa! Is enough!” Irina stopped what she was doing, and grabbed hold of her father, hugging him tight. “We do not know where Mama is. Maybe she is well!”

Mike reached out and stroked her hair. She let him.

“But I still don’t understand why you came here. To Parry Sound,” Mike said. “Why are we so lucky?”

Ivan answered, disentangling from the embrace, cheering a little. “I always dream to see Parry Sound, home of Bobby Orr and Bud Matagov.”

“Right! Of course,” Mike said. “Jane told me you played against him and the Kelowna Packers. Unbelievable.” Irina returned to Jane and her fingers continued their painful magic.

“Ivan, can you tell us more about that?” Jane whispered, a plea for distraction. “I guess you didn’t play for Yugoslavia after all …”

“Is true. Only Soviet teams compete against Kelowna Packers in 1958 in Moscow.”

As the bright sun rose over the field releasing the night’s blueness from the snow, Ivan recounted his tale.

“Your papa and I play against one another at that tournament. We are both captains: he of Packers, I of one of the Soviet teams, the Moscow Selects. But authorities do not let teams talk together. So, after Kelowna Packers beat us, I wait. There is a dinner for Canadians. I wait in my car while a boy go inside to find your father. He come out and he get in my car. I pour him vodka and we drink. We toast the other. He speak some Russian, your father, I speak some English. I hear something about your country, your freedom, but then we get scared. His family come from Ukrayina, dah? They could catch him, and he be made to stay. This is our fear. So he leave car, and put into my hand all rubles in his pocket. He make me rich for one month. And he give me something to dream about.”

“Cool,” said Mike evenly, but Jane knew he was as much in awe as she.

“I can’t believe you talked to him,” Jane said. “It sounds like it was so dangerous.”

“Yes. And still. Nothing is changed there.” Ivan grew quiet, and Jane and Mike respected his silence.

“Bud Matagov was amazing skater. But I think Mike is better,” Ivan continued after a moment. Mike blushed at the unexpected compliment. “And Jane has his … how you say … potential.” Ivan watched Irina working on Jane and asked, “What happen at home last night? Did your mother see you are hurt?”

“I don’t think so.”

“She was too angry at your defection.”

Jane smiled weakly. “Yeah.”

“What did you tell her?”

Jane swallowed and tried to look Ivan in the eye. “I told her I would quit hockey. Then I told George to tell his father the girls’ team is done. Done, before it even started.”

“I see.”

“Maybe that will make Al Leblanc give you your job back.” Irina’s fingers paused.

“So,” Ivan said, “did George tell his father this?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Listen now. You must tell George not to say anything. Already team is more important to me than job. You understand this? And also, Jane, is not for you to end.”

“But I can’t play,” she protested. “That’s it for me.”

“But we can,” Ivan countered. “You are not solo on a team, Jane. You do not decide for everyone.” Jane blushed, chastised.

“Okay, Irina, that is good,” Ivan said. “Stop massage.” Irina went to the kitchen and washed her hands. Jane gazed out the dirty window. The sun was above the horizon now, glaring into the room, the magic light of dawn vanquished.

Ivan handed Jane the salve. “Put this on every three hours. Mike. You help her. No figure skating today, Jane. You do not skate before you go to this far-­away competition.”

Jane blanched. “That’s impossible. I just promised them I’d concentrate. I’ve got new choreography to learn.” She told them of the significance of the change in levels, the added pressure.

“Pretend to have a cold. Is very bad for a skater’s balance. Leonard knows this,” Ivan said.

“I’ll … I’ll try,” she promised, thinking how painful it would be to cough or blow her nose.

“But really, is better if you do not go to Canadians at all,” Ivan stated. “The rib is not well.”

“I have to.”

Ivan sighed and looked to his daughter. She nodded.

“Then, we will go, too.”