She didn’t think another thing about it. Then, not long after her father’s death, after an early morning practice with Mikhail, her new coach, she took off her skates in the arena where she’d been skating and walked toward the exit where the chauffeured town car waited. A man she didn’t know and couldn’t remember ever seeing before stepped out of a dark hallway, grabbed her, put his hand over her mouth and ran down that dark hallway with her. She struggled and fought and he babbled that he was going to take care of her, rescue her from the people who were exploiting her.

He held her in a maintenance closet with a broken lock on the door. She huddled in the corner, sitting on the cold floor, while he paced and babbled about foreign countries using children to spy for them, that the beautiful children should be freed, on and on with nonsense that had no meaning. He hadn’t been armed that she could see, but he was a large man. His hair was thinning on top but long on the sides and back; she found out later that he was twenty-four. She tried to get up and run for the door of that small space but he smacked her right down and threatened her, told her he’d have to hurt her to protect her if she didn’t follow his rules.

It took a little over two hours for the police to open the unlocked door, wrestle him to the ground and remove her. It was much later that she learned he was delusional and had to be hospitalized.

After that incident there were a couple of other stalkers that were handled quickly, efficiently and with restraining orders. Those two later perpetrators were not delusional but appeared to be aficionados of the young female sporting scene and seemed to move on with little argument. Who knew who they bothered after her?

Once Grace understood exactly what had been going on she also understood there were predators out there, people who preyed on pretty young athletes, male and female. They usually began by giving small gifts or flowers and praising their talent, but too soon they’d be seen at every practice and competition, always trying to get closer, to chat it up with the coaches or athletes.

It was very likely a combination of her own close calls and the tearful words from that young skater, Shannon Fields, that caused Grace to fire such rash and destructive accusations at the coach, Hal Nordstrom, suggesting he’d been inappropriate. Poor little Shannon had said to Grace, “You don’t understand! I gave him everything he asked for. Everything, even if it was horrible!” Grace believed, in her gut, that Shannon had been talking about something other than, more than, practice. She had no evidence. But he did have a sleazy, lecherous look in his eye and he did way too much fondling and butt patting.

What did she know about it? She had Mikhail Petrov, that cold, angry, often silent little Russian who never touched her, not in anger, not in praise. Since his compliments came in the harsh, brittle Russian tongue, she had no way of knowing, for years, that he was sentimental on the inside. Looking back, she could see that Mikhail had almost become the man of her small family; both Winnie and Grace had depended on him. He was always present, completely devoted.

Mikhail also had strong opinions about Hal Nordstrom. He used one phrase whenever he referred to that particular coach. “He is piece of shit.”

Winnie had told her to keep her mouth shut and when she hadn’t, Nordstrom sued them for defamation and Winnie had settled with an undisclosed sum. When, a few years later, Nordstrom was arrested for molesting several young skaters, Grace felt vindicated. But did Winnie apologize? Just the opposite. “You could have saved me considerable money if you’d just kept your mouth shut. And he would’ve eventually been found guilty anyway.”

It was a long couple of hours before Mikhail called her back. “He is out, moya radost,” he said, his Russian for my happiness. “But he is with family in Florida. They swear on bibles he is safe and taking medicine. I’ll get this verified to my satisfaction.”

“Oh, Mikhail, what if they’re lying? Making excuses?”

“I have called police. I want they should answer me. We shall see. Are you safe?”

“I think so,” she said weakly, looking around again. “Why would he even want me now? I’m not on the ice or in the news! He shouldn’t even want me anymore!”

“Ach, I can’t know the head of a crazy man! If there is doubts, you must take steps. Call police. Or,” he said, hesitating briefly, “call Winnie. She will not abandon you.”

A nervous laugh that was almost a sob escaped her. The last thing she wanted was to be controlled by her mother again. She talked to Mikhail while she walked to the front door, put up the closed sign and locked it. They talked for just a few minutes. She learned he was in Chicago for some exhibition skating and then would be heading to Southern California, which had become his home base.

Mikhail was over sixty. He was once a competitive skater but gave that up in his early twenties, knowing he was not good enough to be great. But he had the potential to build champions and had been coaching ever since. He’d had only one brief marriage because, Is not the life for family man. Grace wasn’t quite sure how much or how little that influenced her decision to get out. What do I care? Mikhail would say. I make winners, that is what I do.

Grace wanted more. Or less, as the case may be.

“I would like to see you sometime,” she told him before hanging up.

“You have to find me,” he told her. “We would have good meal, laughs, old times. Maybe you skate for me once!”

“Maybe,” she said. “For old times only.”

“I was better making rules, telling you when you will skate and what you will do. I don’t follow so good.”

“I know this,” she said, laughing through nostalgic tears.

After they hung up, she dimmed the lights in the shop. When you’re closed, you’re closed. She didn’t have the courage to go upstairs to her loft. She had an irrational fear that he was waiting for her up there. He was really a kind of tragic, pathetic man who was completely out of reality, left in the care of an older sister who wasn’t married and promised to always guard him closely, a woman who really cared about him and was traumatized by the reality that he could possibly hurt someone.

She heard from Troy every day. If he didn’t call her after school, she called him. She’d give him till six or so, then she’d text him and ask him what he was doing after work.

In the meantime, she thought about Mikhail and she cried. The truth was, she missed skating for him. She even missed competition and the raw nerves of it. She had no regrets about leaving it—she’d accomplished everything she could and the strain was sometimes debilitating.