The Favorites: A Novel(44)
At the 2005 Worlds post-event press conference, the medal-winning teams sit at a long table with name placards and microphones in front of them, taking questions from reporters.
“Why did you take off so abruptly during the medal ceremony, Katarina?”
Katarina turns to the reporter with a stiff, too-wide smile.
“It’s always been my dream to win Worlds,” she says. “Standing up there, listening to the anthem, I suppose I was…overcome with emotion.”
The answer sounds overly rehearsed, as fake as her smile. Garrett puts his arm around her shoulders and shines a disarming grin over the whole room.
“She didn’t want anyone to see her cry,” he says. “Even though I was already up there blubbering like a baby!”
He laughs, and so do the reporters. Katarina relaxes a bit, leaning into Garrett’s side.
Ellis Dean: Yeah, no one believed that sad attempt at spin. Not Sheila’s best work.
Jane Currer: Ms. Shaw’s behavior was poor sportsmanship, plain and simple.
Veronika Volkova: Extremely disrespectful. My Yelena would never dream of doing such a thing.
Garrett Lin: It never feels like you imagine it will, when you achieve a milestone like that. I wasn’t in a celebratory mood either, because of how upset my sister was.
Bella Lin and Zack Branwell watch from the back of the stands during the 2005 Worlds free dance. Bella holds an American flag crumpled in her lap and wears a sullen expression. When she realizes the camera is focused on her, though, she brightens up and starts waving the flag, elbowing Zack until he does the same.
Garrett Lin: Bella wanted to go to the Olympics more than anything in the world. It was unfortunate, what happened with Zack, but I knew she’d still find a way to make it to Torino. My sister always got what she wanted. No matter what.
Chapter 28
On our last day in Russia, Sheila took us all out for brunch at a restaurant with starched white tablecloths and stunning views of Red Square. Bella showed up late—and alone.
She hadn’t spoken to me since Worlds ended, beyond a perfunctory Congratulations far less convincing than the one I’d mustered for her bronze medal back in 2002. After teaming up with Garrett, I’d moved in with the Lins, staying in a spare bedroom down the hall from the twins’ side-by-side suites, and at first it had felt like a never-ending slumber party with the sister I never had. The more Bella and Zack struggled, though, the more she withdrew.
I waited patiently through several courses of savory breakfast pastries and caviar served on ornate silver dishes before asking about her partner’s absence.
“Zack’s fine,” Bella said. “He flew home early.”
“To Los Angeles?”
“To Minnesota. He’s going to stay with his parents for a while.”
Which meant staying with his ex-partner—and supposed ex-girlfriend—Paige. Their kid was a toddler by then, and Paige had been living with the Branwells since she gave birth. Zack went home to visit them any chance he got—one of the many points of contention between him and Bella, since it cut into their training time.
Bella had been so certain she and Zack would become the golden team, with Garrett and me safely in their shadow. Now she was facing the possibility of an Olympic season without a partner, while her brother and I had established ourselves as the ones to beat.
“What are you going to do?” I asked.
She took a sip of her Russian Caravan tea, skimming her nails over the gilded holder enclosing the glass. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll figure it out.”
I was relieved to see her so calm, given the circumstances.
I should have asked myself why.
* * *
—
After our almost thirteen-hour flight from Moscow back to LA, Sheila told us we could sleep in—but only for an hour. No days off, even for world champions.
My room at the Lin house was luxurious but plain: white walls, white bedding, white enameled furniture straight out of an appointment-only showroom. We traveled so much, I hadn’t bothered to decorate, or even fully unpack. The space felt about as much like home as the endless string of hotels we stayed in during the competition season.
The bed was like a cloud, though—layers of memory foam, bedding laundered every other day by Sheila’s housekeeper. Even so, I couldn’t sleep. I’d stayed wide awake on the plane too, despite the lie-flat seats, lavender-scented silk eye masks, and other comforts of first class.
I hadn’t had such bad insomnia since the months right after Heath left. I used to toss and turn and try to imagine where he was, what he was doing. Was he in bed too, or was he in some faraway time zone where the day was just beginning? Was he alone? I hated to think of him alone, but I hated even more to think of him with someone else.
Had that been him in Moscow, or was I losing my mind?
A little after five, I gave up on getting any rest and decided to head to the rink early. Garrett had given me standing permission to borrow his Audi SUV, and I sped down the blissfully clear Pacific Coast Highway with the windows lowered, savoring the cool ocean breeze on my face as the sun rose over the fan palms.
Maybe some time alone, just me and the ice, was exactly what I needed. No spectators, no competition, no pressure.
Though I didn’t expect to encounter anyone until closer to the seven a.m. training session, I’d taken the time to do my hair and makeup. Sheila impressed upon us the importance of always looking put together; you never knew who might be watching and judging.