Edge of the Past

by Jennifer Comeaux

  I sat at my small desk in the corner and unlatched the window next to it. The breeze helped return some of the air to my lungs. Slowly and methodically, I breathed in and out as visions of my future with Sergei played in my mind. Our time as newlyweds would be disrupted as we helped Elena and Liza get settled on the Cape, and Elena would always be at the rink, battling us over every issue with Liza. It would be like marrying three people instead of one.

  Needing a distraction, I woke my laptop with a tap of the mouse and found an email from Marley. It contained the address and phone number for a vacation house on Martha’s Vineyard recommended by her aunt. Under the information, Marley’s note read – It’s available the week of your honeymoon! I quickly grabbed my cell phone from my jacket. I needed all the good news I could get.

  A call to the owner revealed the house in Chilmark had its own private beach and spectacular views from the master bedroom. I wanted to inspect the place in person, so the owner and I planned to meet at the house the following weekend. I was ending the call when Sergei knocked on my half-open door.

  I jumped up and showed him the phone. “We might have a new place for the honeymoon.”

  “That’s great.” Sergei smiled and came over to me. “Do you have pictures?”

  “No, but you could go with me to see it next Saturday. We can stay at Aunt Deb’s and go to the cliffs in the morning.” Could he hear the hope in my voice? It had been so long since we’d had quality time together.

  Sergei’s face turned apologetic. “I promised Liza I’d take her whale-watching next Saturday.”

  His answer popped my balloon of hope with a loud bang. “Of course,” I said quietly.

  “It might be our last weekend together for a long time… depending on what happens…”

  “I’m not ready to discuss that right now.” I set the phone on the desk and went to the dresser.

  “You always do this, Em,” Sergei said with gentle frustration. “You hold everything inside instead of talking about it.”

  “Says the man who still barely speaks about his past.”

  “I’ve opened up more to you than I have to anyone.”

  I stared at my jewelry box before removing my earrings and inserting them into the velvet slats. Sergei moved beside me and rubbed my neck. “You can tell me whatever you’re feeling.”

  I felt like I was smothering again. I wanted to lock my door, take a long shower, listen to incredibly loud music, and think about why I’d ever suggested going to that rink in Moscow. I couldn’t have a thoughtful conversation at the moment, not with the frustration and disappointment currently choking me.

  “I just want to be alone.”

  I opened the middle drawer of the dresser, forcing Sergei to take a step back. Pulling out a T-shirt and a pair of gray sweats, I walked past Sergei to the window and opened it wider.

  “Em, we need to–“

  “I said not now, okay?”

  Sergei came slowly toward me and cradled my face in his hands, following with a kiss on my forehead. We stood with his head bent over mine and my arms locked around my pajamas, neither of us moving or saying a word. The warmth of his touch relaxed my body but not the jumble of thoughts buzzing inside me.

  Sergei finally lowered his hands to his sides and said softly, “I’ll call you later.”

  I shut the door behind him and trudged to the computer. I needed the loud music before the shower. Something in which I could lose myself and imagine I was skating to.

  The first song listed in my music folder was “The Crisis,” the piece I’d heard and downloaded the previous day. I clicked on it and turned up the volume, and a program came to life in my mind. I saw myself alone in the spotlight, gliding in a spiral on a deep inside edge then opening my arms to the sky. The melancholy music carried me along, creating the movements for me. It was the perfect piece for me to express my tangled emotions.

  You can do this. You can skate to this at the show.

  I pressed repeat on the player and swiveled the volume knob on the speakers even higher. With my eyes closed, I began to walk through choreography in the space between my bed and the dresser. The knocking on my door didn’t resonate with me until it turned into loud banging. That better be Aubrey.

  I paused the music and swung open the door. My nerves clenched. It wasn’t Aubrey.

  “Liza tell me something.” Elena entered my room, not bothering to wait for an invitation. “She say she go to your wedding.”

  I put my hands on my hips. “Sergei said he’d like to have her there, but he didn’t make any promises.”

  “You should not speak about it with her until you speak to me.”

  “We passed the church where the wedding’s going to be, so Sergei just happened to mention it. There was no premeditated discussion.”

  The big word prompted the stare from Elena that usually meant she couldn’t translate. She took a moment to reply, “Liza have summer training she cannot miss. She already miss time with her coach as she is here.”

  “I don’t think missing skating is the reason you don’t want her to attend the wedding.”

  “The more she is here, the more she want to stay, and she belong in Russia with me.” Elena patted her chest. “You do not need her here. You have everything. You have career, you have family, you have marriage soon. Liza is all I have.”

  Her emotional outburst blew around me like a windstorm. Before I could respond, she added, “You cannot turn her against me.”

  “I’m not doing that.” I placed my hand over my heart. “I would never do that.”

  “Sergei say he want to help me be closer to Liza, but I think what he want most is Liza to stay here.”

  “He wants you both to stay here,” I said.

  As soon I spoke, I clamped my lips together. Sergei wouldn’t have to slowly approach the idea with Elena now.

  “To live here?” Elena gaped at me.

  “I told Sergei you’d never agree to it.”

  Elena’s expression changed from surprised to one of consideration, and my stomach began a slow descent. Stop talking. Just stop talking.

  “I do not know how I leave Moscow. I know nothing here.” Elena sounded unsure yet contemplative at the same time.

  What was I supposed to say? I didn’t want to sound encouraging, but if I seemed too opposed to the idea, Elena might be more interested.

  “It could be difficult,” I said, trying to keep my tone casual.

  Elena’s gaze wandered to the photo of Sergei and me on the dresser – the one of us at the cliffs. She studied it intently, just as she had the first time she’d seen it. Turning to me, she said, “I speak with Sergei about this.”

  She left the room, and I stared at the door, numb and unable to move. Once Elena told Sergei I’d relayed his idea to her, he might think that was my way of endorsing it. Somehow, I kept getting in my own way, sabotaging my chance at a peaceful existence. First, I’d taken Sergei to the rink in Moscow, then I’d invited Elena and Liza into my house, and now I’d inadvertently invited them into the rest of my life.

  I made my feet move toward the desk, where I restarted the music. Sinking onto the bed, I curled into a ball and closed my eyes, letting “The Crisis” surround me.

  ****

  Two nights later, I traveled Highway Three to Boston again, that time alone as I headed to my wedding dress fitting. The CD player in my car blared U2’s “Ultraviolet,” and I found myself continually ramping up the volume to drown out the persistent worries in my head.

  When I’d told Sergei I spilled his idea to Elena, he asked me again how I felt about Elena and Liza moving to the Cape. I still didn’t give him an answer and I continued to evade him. If I avoided the problem, maybe it would miraculously go away.

  The deeper I ventured into Boston’s rush hour traffic, the tighter I gripped the steering wheel. The honking horns, the drivers weaving between lanes, the pedestrians straying outside the crosswalks – they all served to tense my body even mor
e. After circling Boylston Street three times, I jerked my sedan into a parking spot near the shop and ran up to the second floor.

  Mom was already in the workroom, chatting with Louann, the seamstress. Louann had sewn every skating costume I’d ever worn, so when I’d decided to design my wedding dress, she was the first person I called. We’d worked on the design together, as we did on my costumes, and she’d created my vision exactly.

  I pecked Mom’s cheek and hugged Louann. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “It’s okay,” Louann said. “Gave your mom and I a chance to catch up.”

  Her sympathetic smile told me Mom had shared the Liza news. It wasn’t a topic I wanted to discuss, so I quickly asked, “Is the dress in the changing room?”

  Louann pushed aside the green curtain that covered the doorway behind her. “It’s all ready for you.”

  I went inside the small room and pulled the curtain shut. The ivory satin dress hung on the wall. The first time I’d tried on the gown, we all ended up in a mess of tears – me, Mom, Aunt Debbie… even Aubrey, who was the least sentimental person I knew.

  Stripping out of my clothes, I stepped into the dress and peeked around the curtain. “Mom, can you help me?”

  She maneuvered around the dress’s long train as her fingers carefully made their way up the long row of delicate buttons. When she finished, Mom held my skirt and we moved out into the shop and in front of the huge mirror on the far wall.

  My chest tightened as I stared at my reflection. Louann’s final alterations made the dress fit my petite curves perfectly. I ran my hand across the off-the-shoulder neckline and down the draped bodice to the A-line skirt, sliding my fingertips along the cool, silky material. I hadn’t wanted any frills on the dress, so the gown had a simple yet elegant look with only a touch of beading. It was everything I’d dreamed, just like I’d thought my life with Sergei would be. The tightness in my chest rose to my throat, creating a painful lump.

  “It’s so beautiful,” Mom said. “I know I say that every time I see it, but it’s true.”

  I nodded and attempted to speak, but no words came. Only tears. I tried to breathe them back with quick gasps, but I couldn’t stop them as they seeped from my eyes.

  Mom brushed my hair away from my face. “Sweetie, those don’t look like happy tears.”

  Through the mist, I watched Louann’s reflection quietly retreat to the other side of the room. I swiped at my tears before they could drip from my cheeks.

  “I don’t wanna mess up the dress,” I choked.

  Mom grabbed a tissue from the box on Louann’s worktable and blotted my face. I felt like I was ten years old again, crying after a horrible competition and letting Mom dry my eyes.

  “Is this about Liza?” Mom asked.

  I gently took the tissue from her and blew my nose. The teary image staring at me in the mirror wasn’t how I wanted to see myself in my wedding dress. I turned away and looked down at the flowing yards of ivory satin.

  “Sergei wants Elena and Liza to move here permanently,” I said quietly.

  Mom smoothed my hair again. “And that’s not what you want.”

  “I don’t know if I’m ready to share him,” I sniffled. “I thought it’d be years before we’d have a kid.”

  Mom lifted my chin, and I faced the deep concern in her brown eyes. “If you need more time, if you’re not sure this wedding is what you want, we can–“

  “I just want things to be normal again,” I cried.

  Mom clasped her hands around mine. “We’ll let Louann look at the dress, and then we’ll go home and talk, okay?”

  I gave her a shaky nod, and she beckoned Louann to rejoin us. Mom stepped aside but kept a close eye on me as Louann slipped on her reading glasses and examined every inch of the gown. When she was satisfied with the fit, I changed out of the dress with Mom’s assistance and Louann packed it into a large white garment bag.

  Mom rode to Brookline with me since she’d taken the T to the shop from the university. I pulled into the driveway of the house where I’d grown up and felt a warm, comforting feeling. A night at home might be the perfect tonic for me.

  We entered the kitchen through the side door, and a peppy Big Band tune greeted us from the front of the house.

  “Dad must be hard at work,” I said. Whenever my father prepared lectures for his Twentieth Century History class, he listened to music from the applicable decade.

  “I have to put the lasagna in the oven.” Mom aimed for the refrigerator. “Can you tell Dad he has about an hour until dinner?”

  I started through the living room to Dad’s office but stopped when I saw the boxes of wedding invitations stacked next to the bookshelves. Two hundred blank envelopes waited to be addressed and stamped. Sitting beside the invitations were thank you cards embossed with Emily and Sergei in silver script. The cards were so white, so clean. So deceivingly perfect.

  I made a swift turn toward the small office off the foyer and poked my head around the doorway. “Hey, Dad.”

  He looked up from the fat textbook he was reading, and his pale blue eyes lit up. “Hey, I was hoping you’d come to dinner.”

  I met him behind his large mahogany desk and soaked in his extra-long hug. When we broke apart, I leaned against the desk. “Mom said dinner’s in an hour.”

  “How’s the dress looking?” he asked.

  “It’s done. Louann did an amazing job.”

  Dad patted my hand. “I don’t know how I’m going to walk you down the aisle without getting emotional.”

  The upbeat tune on the stereo faded away, and “I’ll Be Seeing You” began. The slow romantic song was one of my favorites from the era, but as I listened to the lyrics now, they reminded me of Sergei and Elena, seeing each other in those familiar places in Moscow. Tears welled in my eyes, and I dipped my head.

  “I, umm, I’ll let you get back to work,” I croaked, scooting away from the desk.

  “Shoot, I didn’t mean to make you cry,” Dad said.

  “It’s just been one of those nights. Emotional bride-to-be, you know?” I pretended to laugh it off and then snuck out before Dad could question me.

  In the kitchen, Mom was crushing cloves of garlic on her butcher block chopping board. I climbed onto the stool next to the island and watched her rub the garlic over slices of ciabatta bread. So many times I’d sat in that seat while Mom cooked and dished out advice. But this might be one time my problems were beyond solving.

  “Have you told Sergei your concerns about Liza and Elena moving here?” Mom asked.

  I traced my finger between the squares of the tile counter. “No.”

  “You need to talk about this with him.”

  “I know, but when I think about my concerns, they just sound so selfish. Is being afraid of all the changes or wanting Sergei all to myself really a valid reason to keep Liza away from him?”

  Mom wiped her hands on a dishrag “Any hesitation, any doubts you might have, you can’t ignore them. You have to be honest with him.”

  “I don’t know what to tell him. I mean, if Sergei didn’t want his daughter in his life, he wouldn’t be a man I’d want to marry. But he’s so consumed with being a father to Liza that sometimes I wonder…” I stopped tracing and rested my head on my hand. “He says he still wants a future with me, but he has other priorities now, and I can’t shake the feeling that I’m not one of his top ones.”

  “How does Elena play into this?” Mom asked. “Do you think there’s anything unresolved between her and Sergei?”

  “I think he still feels the need to take care of her. Old habits die hard,” I muttered.

  “He probably feels guilty that he couldn’t take care of her when she needed him the most,” Mom said.

  I raised my head to look at Mom as a sobering thought accosted me. What if this was about more than Sergei making up for lost time with Liza? What if it was also Sergei’s chance to have the life with Elena that was denied by her father? I’d thought I was Sergei�
�s destiny and his mistakes had served a purpose – to lead him to me. But maybe fate had a different plan all along.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The ice lay before me like a blank canvas, ready for me to create the program I’d been imagining the past few days. Skating around my training mates, I stopped at the center of the rink and waited for my CD to begin playing. I’d finished my usual routine for the day but had stayed on the ice to work on the show program. Liza was also still practicing, and Sergei watched us both from behind the boards.

  Every time I listened to the music, I found more nuances to explore. I flew across the ice, putting together the steps I’d envisioned and adding small movements to accentuate the highs and lows of the piece. Everything was so natural and easy, and I felt an overwhelming sense of freedom, like I was opening up and letting go of every emotion inside me.

  As the music ended, I released a long breath and stayed in my final pose. My skin tingled with invigoration. I hadn’t expected to be so energized, so inspired. The only question was if I’d feel the same once the spotlight came on.

  I cooled down and skated over to Sergei, whose eyes followed me with an admiring glow.

  “That was beautiful. What’s the music?”

  “’The Crisis,’” I stated in a clear voice.

  He turned pensive as he appeared to recognize the meaning behind my song choice. Sliding back into a slow smile, he said, “You’re going to be the highlight of the show.”

  “If I don’t have a panic attack before I skate.”

  “You won’t.” Sergei leaned forward on the boards and gave me one of his pep-talk stares that always grabbed my attention. “You’ll be strong and confident and ready to show everyone this amazing program.”

  I smiled, feeling more excited about debuting my creation. Not wanting to leave the ice just yet, I set off on another round of easy stroking. Liza crossed over from the opposite side of the rink and fell in step with me.