Brooke lifted her shoulders in a happy shrug. “Look at how pretty she looks, Daddy. Her dress sparkles all over.”
“It sure does.” Even from the long camera angle, Miles could see the girl was lovely, with olive skin and black hair, much like his own, features he’d inherited from his Italian mother and grandmother.
Miles was impressed as the skater slowed down and glided on one skate to the center of the ice, then stopped abruptly. In one flowing move, she positioned her legs and arms, and finally lifted her chin to signal her readiness to begin. The girl knows how to work a crowd.
Bemused, Miles saw in the young skater the qualities of some of his best colleagues in the professional speaking business. They captured the audience before uttering the first word. Perrie Lynn would start her routine with the entire arena and TV audience already focused on her.
Miles glanced at Brooke, who was sitting cross-legged but had leaned forward, as she rested her arms on her knees, her gaze fixed on the screen. When Perrie Lynn began skating backward and picked up speed, Katie described the move and built anticipation for the first jump. The confident young skater’s lift off the ice appeared effortless.
“Wow,” Allen said, “she opened with a perfect triple flip.”
“She got so high in the air, Daddy.”
“She sure did,” he said, patting Brooke’s hand.
Another jump followed, and then another and another.
“A triple-triple combination, Daddy,” Brooke said sagely. “Those are hard.”
“I bet they are.”
More jumps and spins, and a long, graceful glide across the ice followed. To Miles’s unschooled eyes it was like watching ballet dancing.
“She has the whole package, all right, athleticism and artistry,” Katie remarked. “And now she’s finishing with her final set of spins. Fantastic!”
Brooke clapped her hands over her head. “Yay! I think she won a medal, Daddy. She was that good.”
Miles hoped Brooke wouldn’t be disappointed, although he’d heard one of the announcers predict at least a bronze and possibly a silver medal for the girl, who was so new on the international skating scene. In the grand scheme of expectations, a medal for Perrie Lynn would mean an upset and a huge surprise. Others had come to the competition with far more experience.
Perrie Lynn completed what looked like a spectacular spin and came to a sudden stop, then dramatically bent backward, and swept her arms to the side before slowly lowering them and clasping her hands behind her. She held the pose, looking like a statue. Extending her moment, and exploiting the mood, Miles thought. He stared at the screen as the camera zoomed in for a close-up shot of her face.
A brilliant, triumphant smile. His stomach rolled over. A familiar prominent widow’s peak. A heart-shaped face.
“See, Daddy,” Brooke said, bouncing on the couch, “people are clapping and clapping because her skating makes everyone feel happy.”
Brooke was right. Perrie Lynn skated off the ice to thunderous applause and was immediately enveloped in her coach’s arms. Suddenly, the image disappeared, replaced by a commercial for potato chips. His mouth dry, Miles ran his tongue over his lips and cleared his throat. “So, what happens now, honey?” he asked, his voice barely a croak.
“She has to wait for the scores.” Brooke waved her crossed fingers high in the air. “But she was the next-to-the-last skater. Goody, goody, goody. I bet she gets a medal!”
“And I bet you’re right.” He curled his fingers into a tight fist, then used his knuckle to wipe away beads of sweat above his upper lip. His reaction was ridiculous. Olive skin, a widow’s peak. Countless young women would fit that description.
Miles exhaled, forcing himself to focus on Brooke’s happy chatter about Perrie Lynn and medals. The commercials over, the commentators picked up their conversation about the surprising turn in the competition.
“So much excitement for such a young woman,” Charlie observed, “and on her birthday, no less. She turns eighteen today.”
Adrenaline shot through him, putting every cell on alert. Today. The minute he’d opened his eyes that morning, he’d remembered this day. The December date sat more or less dormant in his mind the rest of the year, but memories came alive on what was usually a cold, often snowy day. He’d been glad this was his weekend with Brooke, relieved to have something to serve as the distraction he always needed when this day rolled around.
The camera focused on Perrie Lynn’s parents seated in the audience. More energy zipped through his body and sent his heart thumping hard. Who were those fair-haired people? They didn’t look much like Perrie Lynn.
He swallowed hard as he struggled to focus on Allen’s comments about the significance of Perrie Lynn’s coaching change. “She also chose a new choreographer,” Allen said. “These shifts can make a big difference, but they meant Perrie Lynn and her mother had to leave her dad in Minnesota so she could train with her new coach in Michigan.”
“But the decision appears to have paid off,” Charlie added.
“Mamie said the coach is really famous,” Brooke said.
Miles nodded. “So it seems.”
“She’s adopted,” Brooke said. “Mamie told me.”
“Who’s adopted, honey?” His voice cracked. “Perrie Lynn?”
Brooke nodded. “Mamie said her parents got her when she was really tiny. Maybe only a couple of days old.”
He swiped his knuckle across his upper lip again. “Really?”
“And it’s not like a secret or anything. Maybe ’cuz she doesn’t look like her mom and dad.”
“I see.” He rubbed his chest, as if sending a signal to his heart to slow down.
The camera zoomed closer to Perrie Lynn sitting on the bench next to her coach. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. The wide smile that took over her face, her olive skin and the large dark eyes. And the one-of-a-kind widow’s peak. Like Lark. The birthday. Minnesota. It all added up.
Suddenly the audience roared as the scores came up. Perrie Lynn got to her feet and thrust her arms over her head to wave to the crowd. He heard the commentators talk about her “personal best,” and “having a shot at the International Figure Skating Championship.” One warned she had to do well at the upcoming North American Figure Skating Competition.
“Did they just say Perrie Lynn could go to the Internationals?” he asked Brooke.
“I guess so. Looks like she won the bronze. That’s a big deal, because no one expected it. Woo-hoo!” Brooke laughed. “Mamie is probably jumping up and down right now.”
Wild speculation whirled through his head, spiraled down through his body and left him weak. Calm down. It’s a coincidence. Happenstance.
Brooke sighed. “I can’t wait for the NorAms.”
“And when does that happen?” He forced the question through his nearly closed throat.
Brooke frowned. “I’m not sure.”
“Want me to look it up?” Not waiting for an answer, he grabbed his phone.
Brooke leaned over his shoulder and watched him search for North American Figure Skating Competition.
“See, it came right up. It’s in January. Let’s see when the Internationals start.”
“Mamie said February,” Brooke said.
“Right you are.” He focused on the screen, fighting the urge to search for Lark online. He’d wait until he was alone, but once he found her, he’d contact