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.

He was at the bar by noon. There were ten people, all inside. Cooper and his young brother-in-law, Landon, were behind the bar. Troy was barely in the door when two patrons left. He hung up his coat and put his backpack under the bar.

“If the weatherman is right, it shouldn’t be too busy today. Just the occasional Sunday driver,” Cooper said.

Sunny Sundays were typically pretty busy. “What’s the weatherman saying?”

“Guess? Wind and rain. The baby’s trying to get a tooth so we’re going to look at a couple of cars for Landon,” Cooper said.

“Trucks,” Landon corrected.

“Maybe trucks,” Cooper clarified.

“I thought you had a truck,” Troy said.

“It pretty much bit the dust and has been retired,” Cooper said. “Landon needs some reliable wheels so I don’t have to drive to Eugene every time he feels like a weekend at home.”

“And this has what to do with a tooth?”

Both guys winced. “You have no idea how hard it is to get a tooth,” Cooper said. “Apparently she has to work on it twenty-four hours a day and it makes her very pissy.”

“She’s not happy about anything right now,” Landon said. “We’re getting out of there.”

Troy laughed. “Poor Sarah.”

“I did my shift last night,” Cooper said. “If it’s stormy and empty, close early. Six or so?”

“I’ll stay as long as you want me,” Troy said, but he knew if the weather was bad, the bar hardly ever saw business after sunset and sunset came early in February. In football season, there’d be people inside watching the game, but that was past.

“You decide,” Cooper said. “Let’s go, Landon. Have a good day. And thanks.”