Life on the Edge

by Jennifer Comeaux

  Sergei squeezed my hand before following Dad into the den. I picked up the recipe card from the counter and read aloud, “Pesto-Encrusted Trout.”

  “One of the ladies at church made it for us at a dinner party last week, and it was fabulous,” Mom said as she spread a thin layer of the sauce over the fish fillets.

  “I’m surprised you’re not serving gruel since Sergei’s here,” I muttered.

  The spoon froze in Mom’s hand, and the tight set of her mouth relayed her lack of amusement. “I would never serve anyone a bad meal.”

  I circled around her to where she’d lined up the salad ingredients. “I’ll work on this while you finish the fish.”

  From the den, Dad’s and Sergei’s voices mixed in with the familiar babble of the Red Sox play-by-play announcer. A loud rumble of thunder roared over the house, and Dad said, “Good thing they’re playing in New York tonight.”

  I took a large knife to the head of romaine lettuce, shredding it into tiny ribbons. After transferring the greens to a large glass bowl, I concentrated on the long cucumber and peeked up at Mom as I sliced and diced.

  “When you said you want to talk to Sergei, I hope you meant pleasant dinner conversation.”

  “I’d like to know more about the man my daughter is dating.” She slid the tray of fish into the oven. “Like why his skating career fell apart.”

  My hand jumped, and the knife missed my fingertips by a centimeter. “Please don’t bring that up.”

  “Don’t you want to know?”

  “I do know, and it’s a personal matter that’s frankly none of your business.” I used a tone as sharp as the blade in my hand.

  Mom grabbed the wedge of parmesan cheese next to the cutting board and grated furiously over the lettuce. “Anything that affects you is of concern to me, so you can either tell me or I’ll ask Sergei about it.”

  I pitched a handful of cubed cucumber into the bowl. “Why can’t you just let it go?”

  “It must be bad if you don’t want to tell me.”

  Knowing she wouldn’t relent, I reluctantly gave her a brief summary of Sergei and Elena’s situation. She regarded me with one arched eyebrow.

  “Surely you see the similarities in Sergei’s relationships with you and Elena.”

  “The only similarity I see is a parent with unreasonable objections.”

  “It doesn’t alarm you that Elena lost everything she’d worked for because of her involvement with Sergei? Don’t you see how you could end up in the same position?” She clanged the metal grater onto the counter.

  My face burned with anger. I gripped the edge of the island and swallowed the words I wanted to say but knew I’d regret. I replied calmly, “Elena didn’t have a choice. I do. And I choose to be with Sergei.”

  I fled to the den and let out a breath at the sound of Dad and Sergei’s laughter. The den and the kitchen were on different planets. Sergei held out his hand, and I grasped it as I sat next to him on the couch. We watched the Sox batter the Yankees until Mom alerted us dinner was ready.

  The four of us occupied only half of the large oak table in the dining room. Dad, Sergei, and I carried over our baseball chatter, and Mom said, “Sergei, it sounds like you know a lot about the game. You’ve become pretty Americanized. Have you applied for citizenship?”

  “Yes, a couple of years ago. The process takes a while.”

  Mom sat back and swirled the white wine in her glass. “Why did you want to leave Russia to coach? I’m sure you could’ve found opportunities there.”

  A piece of sautéed zucchini stuck in my throat, and I gulped my water to wash it down. I sensed where this line of questioning was headed.

  Sergei took a sip of wine. “I had a friend who offered me a position in Virginia, and I knew the facilities and opportunities here would be better.”

  “I’ve heard the skating programs in Russia aren’t as organized as they used to be,” Dad chimed in.

  Before Sergei could comment, Mom inserted, “I was wondering if maybe you left because of the fallout with Elena’s father.”

  Sergei looked at me. His eyes spelled confusion. I set down my fork and touched his thigh.

  Mom took care of responding for me. “I asked Emily what happened with you and Elena. I find it a little disconcerting you seem to follow a pattern in your relationships. Have you had any girlfriends you didn’t have to hide?”

  Thunder clapped and lightning flashed through the two tall windows. The chandelier above the table blinked twice then plunged us into darkness. Could that be God’s way of telling my mother to back off?

  “Let’s get some candles,” Dad said.

  Both his and Mom’s chairs scraped over the wood floor. My eyes adjusted to the loss of light, and I saw Sergei’s stone face.

  “I’m sorry.” I rubbed his leg. “She said she was going to ask you about Elena, so I thought I could stop her by telling her myself. I should’ve known she wouldn’t let it rest.”

  “Maybe we should go. I don’t feel like defending everything I’ve ever done.” The edge in his voice reached me through the darkness.

  I glanced at the windows, which were being pelted with rain. “It sounds bad outside.”

  My parents returned with a flashlight and two thick vanilla-scented candles. The glow warmed the room but not the chill between Mom and Sergei.

  Mom tilted her chin upward. “I believe I asked a question before we were interrupted.”

  “Why don’t we give all the questions a break?” Dad suggested as he refilled his wine glass.

  “Emily needs to know if Sergei can be trusted to–”

  “Mom, stop!” I threw my napkin on the table.

  Sergei stood. “Jim, thank you for making me feel welcome. Laura, I don’t think anything I say is going to change your mind about me, so it’s probably best if I leave.”

  My legs trembled, but I jumped up alongside Sergei. In the shadows, Mom’s face held a look of disapproval that made my skin prickle.

  “Everyone take a breath.” Dad held up one hand, his palm facing Sergei and me. “No one should be on the road right now. Please, let’s finish dinner.”

  “Mom’s never going to let up. Sergei doesn’t deserve to be badgered like this,” I cried.

  Dad faced Mom, and his normally gentle blue eyes were steely. “I think we can all be civil for the rest of the evening.”

  Mom fingered the short strands of hair against the nape of her neck. The old clock on the wall tick-tocked each second of her deliberation.

  “There’s no need for anyone to leave,” she clipped.

  Sergei moistened his lips as if to speak, but instead he sat down. I took my seat and refolded my napkin in my lap. Silence hung over the table like a black veil.

  Dad cleared his throat. “Em, are you and Chris skating in any summer competitions?”

  I breathed easier at the change in subject. “We might show our short program at the Cranberry Open, but we’re not sure we’ll be ready by the end of August.”

  While Dad, Sergei, and I talked, Mom said a maximum of ten words during the remainder of dinner. The torrential rain and howling wind subsided, but the power remained off, adding to the ominous mood of the meal.

  Mom cleared the dishes, and I trailed behind her and the beam of the flashlight to the kitchen. “Why can’t you be like Dad and accept Sergei as part of my life?”

  She set the light on the counter and piled the plates beside the sink. “I love your father dearly, but like you, he trusts people too easily.”

  “While you always assume the worst about everyone.” I squeezed my arms across my chest. “If you’re going to keep treating Sergei like a criminal on trial, don’t expect to see me very often. Because if he’s not welcome here, then I don’t want to be here either.”

  “Think about what you’re saying. Are you willing to put him before your family?”

  I couldn’t see Mom’s face clearly, but I could hear the distress in her high pitch. My chest ached with
a pang of regret. All I wanted was for everyone to get along, but I was driving us farther apart.

  “I don’t know how else to make you understand what he means to me.”

  She swiped at the counter with a dishrag. “I’m sorry, but I can’t just blindly support this. I still have a lot of questions–”

  “No! No more.” I shook my head and backed toward the door. “Until you can stop with the questions and accusations, I can’t deal with you.”

  Dad and Sergei still sat in the dining room. I touched Sergei’s arm with a shaky hand. “I’m ready to go.”

  We bid farewell to my father, whose disappointment showed in the creases around his mouth. He said in my ear, “I’ll keep talking to her.”

  If Dad found a way to get Mom to back down, he’d be even closer to sainthood. Mom didn’t come out of the kitchen to tell us goodbye, and Sergei didn’t seem interested in seeing her, so he and I slipped out the front door.

  I stopped before the top step and stared at the wooden swing near the edge of the porch. Mom and I would sit on that swing every summer evening when I was young. She’d drink a glass of iced tea, while I’d slurp on a popsicle. We could talk about anything–my skating dreams, catty girls at the rink, my favorite books. I never imagined a time would come when we’d barely be speaking.

  My hand went to my stomach, where my dinner sat like a rock. I leaned back against Sergei’s chest and let his arms close around me. “I don’t think that could’ve gone any worse.”

  He kissed the top of my head. “Look on the bright side. Your dad could hate me, too.”

  I laughed, but the sound was hollow. “I don’t know what it’s going to take for my mom to see what we have is real.”

  I led Sergei down the steps into the drizzling rain. The drops of water refreshed my skin and washed away some of the unpleasantness of the night. Sergei opened the passenger door, and I planted a slow, rainy kiss on his lips.

  He smiled. “What was that for?”

  “For keeping me sane through all this.”

  He placed his hands gently on my neck and repaid my kiss with a tender one of his own. The longer it lasted, the more I knew being with Sergei was the right choice.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Good practice, guys.” I handed Courtney and Mark their skate guards.

  They maneuvered around the three other novice pairs leaving the ice. As host of the Cranberry Open summer competition, our rink had been overtaken by skaters of all levels from across New England.

  Sergei took Mark aside for another minute of instruction, while Courtney asked, “Em, what time do we skate tomorrow morning?”

  I pulled the event schedule from my purse, and another sheet of paper slipped out and floated to the ground. Courtney picked it up and saw the flight itinerary I’d printed earlier.

  “You’re going on a trip?”

  “To Dallas for a coaches’ seminar. You know, one of those classes we have to attend to keep our certification. Sergei’s going, too, so you and Mark will be on your own a couple of days next month.”

  “Are you and Sergei the only coaches from our rink going?” Hope twinkled in Courtney’s emerald green eyes.

  “I think so.” I shifted my eyes to the paper in my hand.

  I couldn’t tell her Sergei and I had made sure of that when we’d signed up for the class. We’d had our choice of seminars, and we’d deliberately picked the one to which we could travel alone.

  “That should be a lot of fun.” She giggled and gave me the smile she always wore whenever she hinted Sergei and I should date–something she’d done quite a few times since she’d seen us together at the symphony.

  Guilt carved a deeper hole in my gut. I longed for the day when I could tell her the truth, and I hoped she’d be so excited by the news she wouldn’t be angry with me for lying to her.

  I was about to check the event schedule for the time of the short program when a heavy Russian accent exclaimed Sergei’s name. Looking behind me, I saw the man attached to the voice. He hugged Sergei, and the two of them exchanged a flurry of words in Russian.

  “This is Evgeny Bobrov,” Sergei said, appearing a bit startled. “We skated at the same club growing up.”

  A ripple of excitement rolled through me. I’d never met anyone who’d known Sergei when he was younger. From my quick appraisal, Evgeny appeared to be in his early thirties, and his slight stature led me to believe he’d been a singles skater. We all exchanged introductions, and I asked, “Are you coaching now, too?”

  “Yes, I just move to Connecticut,” he said, his English slightly broken. “I have two students competing here.”

  My cell phone rang, interrupting my chance to find out how well Evgeny had known Sergei in Moscow. I excused myself, and my stomach knotted when I saw the number.

  “Hey, Dad.”

  “Hey, sweetie, I was calling to check in. I haven’t heard from you in a few days.”

  “It’s been a crazy week. Chris and I have been doing a lot of pre-season interviews, and the kids are competing this week . . .”

  “I thought maybe you were avoiding my suggestion that you come home to visit soon.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I’m really busy right now.”

  His audible sigh carried through the phone line. “I don’t know who’s more stubborn–you or your mother. How much longer are you going to keep up this standoff? I thought after months of not speaking, one of you would give in.”

  “I can’t talk to her unless she’s going to be fair to Sergei. I know you’ve tried to reason with her, and if she won’t listen to you, then she’s not going to listen to me.”

  “If you would just come over and give it a try, you might be able to reach an understanding.”

  I glanced over at Sergei. His handsome face broke into a smile as he patted Courtney’s head. “I’m sorry, Dad, I can’t. Mom has to make the first move.”

  ****

  The next afternoon, I made my daily stop at the coffee shop but sat alone since Sergei had business at the rink. I opened the copy of Anna Karenina he’d loaned me and flipped to my bookmarker. With my head buried in the novel, I didn’t notice a figure approach my table until I heard, “Hello, Emily.”

  I popped my head up to see Evgeny next to my chair with a cup of coffee in his hand. His friendly smile plus my curiosity spurred me to an issue an invitation.

  “Hi! Would you like to sit?” I pointed to the chair across from mine.

  “Thank you.” He sat and took a sip of his drink. “I see you skate at Worlds this year. Very beautiful. You have great talent.”

  “Thank you, that’s nice of you to say.”

  “And you skate pairs only two years? Sergei must be very good coach.”

  “He’s amazing. I wouldn’t be where I am without him.”

  He thumped his index finger on the table. “I always knew he would become coach. He help young skaters at our club many time.”

  “Really? He doesn’t talk much about those days.” Evgeny seemed like a talkative guy, so I decided to throw him some bait. “It was so unfortunate what happened with Elena.”

  “You know about Elena?” He put his elbows on the table and angled forward.

  “I heard what her father did.”

  “Yes, it was bad . . .” He appeared to search for the right word. “Situation . . . with baby.”

  A cold chill blanketed my skin. “Baby?” I croaked.

  “Yes. You know about Elena and the baby,” he said as a statement rather than a question.

  The chill took hold of my hands, causing them to quiver. I gripped my warm coffee cup to try to steady them.

  “I know Elena’s father sent her away because he didn’t want her and Sergei to be together.”

  “Right, but also he sent her away to have baby.”

  My skinny latte crept up into my throat. Surely, there was some misunderstanding. Something lost in translation. My mind overflowed with questions; the most important one escape
d my lips. “Did Sergei know she was pregnant?”

  “Yes, he want to marry her, so they can be family together.”

  A sharp pain stabbed between my ribs, as though someone had pierced my heart with a dagger and continued to grind it in deeper and deeper. I pressed my jaws together in a desperate attempt to keep my swirling emotions from my face. If I didn’t get out of there soon, I feared I could no longer hold in the anguish crushing my chest.

  “Yes, that was, um, very sad how things turned out.” I shut my book and picked up my coffee. “I just remembered I need to run a few errands. I’ll see you at the rink.”

  He stood up along with me. “You seem upset by what I say.”

  “No, I just . . . Sergei probably wouldn’t want us talking about this, so . . . I’ll see you.”

  I stumbled against two chairs and bumped into the newspaper rack as I hurried toward the door. When I reached my car, I shoved the key into the ignition and paused a minute to figure out my destination. My head was so foggy I had to close my eyes to bring some clarity. Sergei had said he was going home after he finished at the rink. If he wasn’t there yet, I could wait outside.

  I credited God with guiding me from South Dennis to Hyannis because my attention was not on the road. After nearly side-swiping a truck in one of the Cape’s many rotaries, I shook myself and concentrated on the last stretch of highway before Sergei’s apartment.

  His usual parking spot sat empty. I pulled in next to it and kept the engine running. The vents blasted cold air on my face, but I still felt like I was suffocating.

  He sent her away to have the baby.

  Over and over, Evgeny’s words pummeled my brain. I rested my arms and head on the steering wheel but jolted upright when “Every Breath You Take” came on the radio, filling the car with Sting’s voice. The pain in my chest tightened. I punched the button to change the channel and jumped again at the sight of Sergei’s car turning into the lot.

  We climbed from our cars at the same time, and Sergei smiled. “This is a nice surprise.”

  “We need to talk.” I marched ahead of him to the stairs.