What isshedoing here?
I thought she was dead.
“Kat!”
I turned to see Garrett Lin walking across the well-manicured grass, hand raised in a friendly wave. So at least one person was pleased to see me.
The second he was close enough, Garrett wrapped me in a hug. The first time anyone had touched me since…I didn’t want to think about it. He’d put on weight, enough to soften the planes of his face; it looked good on him.
“This is Andre,” Garrett said, gesturing to the man beside him. “My boyfriend.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Kat.” Andre looked to be a few years our senior, handsome with dark skin, dorky glasses, and a deep, soothing voice. He shook my hand, then took Garrett’s.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said. “I had no idea she was sick.”
“None of us did,” Garrett said.
Cancer, I’d read in the news, though the reports didn’t specify whatkind. Apparently Sheila had been battling the disease for years, in secret. So Vancouver really had been her last chance at the Olympics—and the last words I’d ever spoken to her were in anger.
The ceremony was scheduled to start in a few minutes, and people had begun to migrate toward the white chairs lined up on either side of a rectangular reflecting pool. I drew more than a few curious looks—including from Frannie Gaskell, now all grown up and going by her full name, Francesca. She and her partner had wasted no time taking over the spot Heath and I once occupied as the top American ice dance team.
Ellis Dean lurked around the perimeter, soliciting comments from passersby with a microphone bedazzled to match the rhinestones on his bowtie. When he tried to wave us over, both Garrett and I pretended not to see him.
“I hope it’s all right that I’m here,” I said.
“Of course it is!” Garrett said. “I meant to call you, but everything’s been so hectic and—wait, howdidyou find out about the service?”
“Heath told me.”
Garrett’s eyes widened, and he exchanged a look with Andre.
My less-than-glamorous lifestyle over the past several years had bored the media into leaving me alone for the most part; it was rare I received a call not from a telemarketer. When the phone rang on the night Sheila passed away, I hadn’t even bothered to glance at the screen. It wasn’t until the next day, when I went to select a playlist for my morning run, that I noticed the voicemail.
I know I’m the last person you want to hear from. But I thought you should know.
I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me, and I couldn’t tell whether it was from hearing Heath’s voice again or from the shocking news he broke.
I didn’t cry. I didn’t think. I swept the dust off my old carry-on suitcase and started packing. A couple of hours later, I was at O’Hare, boarding the first available flight to LA.
“So Kat,” Andre said, changing the subject, “do you still skate?”
Garrett stiffened. “Babe, let’s not—”
“It’s okay.” I smiled. “I do, but it’s just for fun now. What about you, Garrett?”
“Not for years,” he said. “After Vancouver, I had…well, there was an accident.”
“A fall?” I asked. I thought I’d noticed a new hitch in his step when he approached.
“I’d stayed super late at the Academy, trying to—” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Anyway, I fell asleep at the wheel and flipped my car over a median on the freeway.”
I gasped. Andre gave Garrett’s hand a supportive squeeze.
“Holy shit,” I said. “Are you—I mean, are you okay? I’m so sorry, I didn’t know, or I—”
“I’m fine,” Garrett said. “At least I am now. But yeah, I figured that was as good a sign as any that my skating days were done.”
Perhaps it was a strange thought to have at a funeral, but I’d never seen Garrett look happier or healthier—which forced me to realize just how tense and miserable he’d been before.
