Training Ground

by Kate Christie

  “Thank you for dropping everything to fly up here,” she said, squeezing Jamie’s shoulder before releasing her. “It means so much.”

  Emma’s cheeks were a little pink as she elbowed Jamie. “Come on.”

  “Yes ma’am,” she said, figuring the response worked for both Blakeley women.

  “Hope you don’t mind staying in my room,” Emma said as they climbed a wide set of carpeted stairs.

  “Of course not.”

  “My uncle and cousins arrive tomorrow, and I think the boys are staying in the den. Which means,” Emma added as she reached the top of the stairs and headed down the hallway, “we’ll have to share my bed, if that’s okay with you. Or you could always sleep on the couch in the living room.”

  At the end of the hall, she led the way through a partially open door. Jamie paused in the doorway to take in the large bedroom with its attached bath and wide windows overlooking the Sound. They would be sharing a bed? As in, the narrow double bed in the middle of the room with the white lace ruffle and the pink and gray quilt?

  Emma set her bags on the floor near a white desk. “What do you think? Will this be okay?”

  “Sure,” Jamie said, hoping she sounded casual. In reality she was trying not to hyperventilate as she reminded herself that her train to Portland didn’t leave until Wednesday. That meant she’d be staying here five whole days and six whole nights. Crap. She walked to the wall of windows and pretended to gaze out across the dark water. What had she gotten herself into?

  Downstairs, Emma’s brother barely even looked at Jamie as they shared a pre-bedtime snack of granola and hot chocolate. Emma chatted with her mom and aunt about her new year’s trip to Berkeley, and occasionally Jamie stopped shoveling food into her mouth long enough to answer a question. She asked for seconds, which seemed to make both of the older women happy. Apparently Minnesotans liked to feed people.

  They stayed up for a little while comparing California, Washington, and Minnesota weather and politics. June still lived in their hometown, Rochester, where the Mayo Clinic had its headquarters. While Rochester had a population under a hundred thousand, June insisted it wasn’t a typical small city. Because of the world-class medical facilities, Rochester residents were used to visitors from all over the world and therefore were a more cosmopolitan bunch than you would find in the average comparably sized Midwestern city.

  “Is that why you became a nurse?” Jamie asked Emma’s mom. “Because of the Mayo Clinic?”

  “Probably.”

  “It definitely was,” June said. “Most of the women in our family are nurses, except for the occasional teacher.”

  “Some of the men are nurses, too,” Emma’s mom said, giving her sister a look.

  June pursed her lips disapprovingly.

  “One of their cousins is a male nurse,” Emma said, wiggling her eyebrows subtly at Jamie.

  So being gay did run in her family. Interesting.

  Jamie asked where Emma’s mom had done her training, and with a little more probing got her to open up about going to the U in the Twin Cities and then leaving the Midwest to intern at Boston Children’s Hospital.

  “That’s where she met Dad,” Emma told Jamie. “He was doing his residency at Children’s. It was love at first sight, wasn’t it, Mom?”

  “Maybe for him.” The older woman smiled, and for the first time, Jamie noticed that it appeared genuine. “I took a little more convincing.”

  “How long did you live in Boston?”

  “Six years. Emma was born there right before we moved to Seattle.”

  Jamie glanced at her, surprised. “I didn’t know that.”

  “There are plenty of things you still don’t know about me,” Emma said.

  “Doubtful. You are like the least mysterious person ever.”

  “Am not.”

  “Are too.”

  “What are you guys, like ten?” Tyler asked, his tone superior.

  “You should talk,” his sister said, “Mr. I-hate-showers.”

  “I don’t hate showers. I just don’t like taking them every day. I mean, I’m only going to get all dirty again anyway.”

  “Don’t let Jamie hear you say that,” Emma said. “If she could, she would take three a day. Wouldn’t you?”

  Jamie shrugged. One could never have too many showers, in her opinion. Her mom and sister were always getting after her for wasting water, but she couldn’t help it. The Bay Area frequently suffered from a damp chill, and a shower was the fastest way to warm up. For a few weeks the previous spring, though, her shower urge had taken on an obsessive quality. Fortunately Shoshanna had helped her curb most of the OCD tendencies that arose in the wake of the assault.

  They stayed up talking about Boston and Emma’s parents’ life there for another half hour. Then Jamie yawned one too many times and Emma’s mom sent them off to bed.

  “Are you tired from staying up to study?” Emma asked as they climbed the stairs.

  “That’s part of it. But mostly I’ve been up late worrying about you.”

  For a second Emma’s step faltered. Then she recovered and flashed Jamie a shy smile over her shoulder. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” Jamie smiled back at her. Emma in person in Seattle was different from Emma in California or even on the phone. Face to face at home she was quieter, less certain of herself. Maybe her reserve was related to the fact that she’d lost her dad less than a week earlier.

  They took turns getting ready for bed same as they’d done in Berkeley a few months earlier. Then they stood next to the bed, facing each other. Jamie was wearing a tank top and boxers while Emma had pulled on a worn, soft-looking UNC T-shirt and cotton pajama shorts. Jamie tried not to stare at her bare legs, tanned except where the soccer player’s nemesis, the shin guard strap, had left a semi-permanent mark.

  “Which side is yours?” she asked, hoping her nervousness didn’t show. She’d slept in hotel beds with teammates plenty of times before, but she hadn’t had massive crushes on any of those girls.

  “This one,” Emma said, pointing to the near side.

  “Cool.” Jamie dropped onto the bed and arranged herself on Emma’s side, pillowing her head on her upraised arms. “Comfy,” she added, grinning up at Emma.

  “My brother’s right, you are ten.”

  Quickly she flopped to the other side and crawled under the sheet. “Kidding. Geez, Blake.”

  “So was I. Geez, James.” Emma slid in beside her and reached for the bedside lamp. “Ready?”

  As I’ll ever be. Jamie nodded.

  The light went out, plunging the room into darkness. A digital clock sat on the bedside table, and as her eyes adjusted, Jamie could see Emma’s face partially lit by the green glow. Somehow it was easier in the dark to ask her the question she’d been holding in all evening: “So how are you really?”

  “Okay.”

  “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

  “I know. You’ve been through so much, though, I don’t want to burden you.”

  “It’s not a burden. I want to help.”

  Emma sighed. “You make it sound easy, but we weren’t all raised by California hippie types, you know.”

  Jamie laughed. “Believe me, before Shoshanna got her hands on me, I was at least as repressed as the next person.”

  “Huh.” In the dark, she felt Emma fidget beside her. Then: “I’ve been dreaming about my dad dying—or, at least, I think that’s what the dream is about.”

  She sounded so matter of fact, but Jamie reached out anyway and found her hand, squeezing her fingers. That was easier to do in the dark, too.

  “He used to have this recurring nightmare about his brother’s death, and in the last week it’s like my brain has adopted it. Sometimes it’s still in my mind when I wake up, replaying over and over—broken windshield, water rushing in, the airplane sinking—only I’m the one who can’t breathe, the one watching the light overhead fade away.”

  “It doesn’t help
to tell your mind to stop the movie either, does it?” Jamie smoothed her thumb over the back of Emma’s hand. “Once your brain grabs hold of a picture like that, it’s hard to redirect.”

  “Tell me about it. I’ve tried reading, listening to music, even watching TV. But you know the only thing that works?”

  “Kicking the crap out of a soccer ball?”

  She turned her palm up to meet Jamie’s. “Exactly. You said it was like that for you after France, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah. To be honest, sometimes it still is.”

  She held on to Emma’s hand, telling herself that it didn’t have to mean anything. Emma was the girl who had made her feel less alone during the worst year of her life, and she loved her as a friend. Or, you know, whatever.

  “It was sweet of you to ask my mom about how she became a nurse,” Emma said softly, turning on her side to face Jamie.

  Now all she could see was Emma’s light-colored hair silhouetting her darkened features. “Oh. Well, my dad said when he lost his father, the one thing that made him feel better was thinking about all the good times they’d had. I guess I thought talking about the beginning might help your mom forget about the end.”

  In the dark, Emma shook her head. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are.” Emma squeezed her hand.

  Jamie’s cheeks burned, and for the first time in her life, she realized she wanted to kiss someone. In a bed. With no one else around. Her heart started beating so fast she worried she might have an anxiety attack, but the sensation remained on the pleasurable side. Mostly.

  Out of the blue she felt a touch on her cheek and jumped a little.

  “I’m sorry,” Emma said quickly, pulling back.

  “No, I was surprised is all. It’s okay, really.” She stopped, willing herself not to sound too desperate. It wasn’t like anything could happen. Or should, for that matter.

  “Thanks for coming to visit me,” Emma said.

  “You don’t have to thank me. Whatever you need while I’m here, all you have to do is ask.”

  She hesitated. Then her voice dropped almost to a whisper. “Could you hold me? Or would that be too weird?”

  In response, Jamie opened her arms. Emma flipped onto her opposite side and backed into her. Soon they were spooning and Jamie’s arms were around Emma, her lips mere centimeters from her hair. Weird was so the wrong word. Amazing was good, fantastic even better, or maybe astonishingly perfect was the ticket. As was the girl in her arms. She thought of how Emma had held her on the beach in San Francisco, how she’d seemed more worried about her brother than herself the night their dad died, how she’d kissed her mother’s cheek on the way out of the kitchen earlier. Emma was so good, and Jamie was so lucky to have her in her life.

  “Is this okay?” Emma asked, her voice uncertain.

  “Of course,” Jamie said. “You don’t always have to be the one who takes care of everyone else, you know. Not with me.”

  And then she wondered if she’d said the wrong thing as Emma started to shake. She was crying again, quietly this time, breath rushing in and out in great, nearly silent gasps, and Jamie’s heart ached as much as it had the night Emma’s dad died and Jamie listened to her sob over the phone line.

  That night she hadn’t been able to do anything. Now she held Emma closer, murmuring soothingly, “You’re all right. I’ve got you. It’ll be okay.”

  But they both knew it wouldn’t. Emma’s dad wouldn’t be there to see her graduate this spring, he wouldn’t fly out with her to North Carolina to get her settled at college next fall, he wouldn’t see a single match she played at UNC or for the national team. He wouldn’t meet her future boyfriends or walk her down the aisle one day or hold his grandchildren in his arms. It wouldn’t be okay because his story had ended just as his daughter’s was getting started.

  Eventually Emma stopped trembling. “I told him I hated him,” she said, her voice thick with tears. “He asked me about my life and I refused to tell him anything. I let him think that I didn’t love him.”

  Jamie rubbed Emma’s arm. “I’m sorry. That must feel terrible.”

  “It does. It really does. There’s no way to take it back, either. I thought we would have more time. I didn’t know this would happen.”

  “Of course you didn’t. There was no way of knowing.” Jamie paused and tried to channel Shoshanna. “Do you think he knew you loved him?”

  Emma didn’t answer for a minute. Finally: “Yes.”

  “Did you know that he loved you?”

  The answer came more quickly this time. “Yes.”

  “Good. I’m glad.”

  They didn’t say anything else. Jamie just kept holding on, one arm gradually going numb as Emma’s breathing slowed and steadied. She knew Emma hadn’t slept much all week and wasn’t surprised that she would drop off so quickly after her crying jag. But damn, was it hard to hold her without feeling certain things. Her hair smelled of cucumber and strawberry, and her bare skin felt soft and smooth beneath Jamie’s fingertips. This was simultaneously the best and worst feeling she could ever remember, lying this close to Emma and not being able to do anything about the thoughts wending through her brain. Finally she gave in and pressed her face into Emma’s hair, kissing her softly. That wasn’t creepy at all, was it?

  Emma stirred and Jamie froze, praying the other girl was asleep. Soon enough Emma settled back against her, and Jamie closed her eyes in relief. She was here as a friend, she reminded herself, not to make a move of any kind. Then again, even if she hadn’t, Emma would be perfectly safe. Jamie wouldn’t know how to make a move if it hit her upside the head.

  When her fingers started to tingle painfully, she slowly, incrementally pulled her arm out from under Emma.

  “Wait,” Emma mumbled sleepily. She caught Jamie’s other hand and wove their fingers together, holding their intertwined hands against her chest. “Mm, better.”

  Or worse? Jamie was pretty sure she could feel the soft swell of Emma’s breast rising and falling beneath her palm. Yep, no doubt about it: definitely the best and worst feeling ever. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on anything and everything else as her heart thrummed seemingly in time to a distant rhythmic rush that sounded like—and probably was—the ocean.

  #

  In the morning, as light leaked into the room around the wooden slats of the window shades, Emma awoke to find that Jamie had slipped away sometime during the night and was now sleeping on the other pillow facing her, short hair standing up all over, face relaxed and even younger looking than usual. Emma watched her sleep, moved by a depth of feeling that soon had her backing out of bed to put some space between them. Jamie had flinched at her touch the night before. That as much as thinking about her father had triggered Emma’s crying jag, because that involuntary reaction had reminded her how badly Jamie had been hurt, how untouchable she still was. And all at once, that knowledge combined with the pain of losing her dad had felt like too much to bear.

  Somehow, though, with Jamie’s arms around her, the hurt had melted away with her tears. She didn’t even remember falling asleep. All she knew was that with Jamie beside her, she had slept better than she had all week. For once, she couldn’t remember any of her dreams.

  In the bathroom she peed and brushed her teeth and stared at herself in the mirror. The UNC T-shirt, which she had snagged from Tori at the last camp, was supposed to remind her to stay away from Jamie. Obviously that plan had worked really well. At least she hadn’t kissed her—and after the way Jamie had reacted to her merely touching her cheek, she probably never would. Her head might not be in the best place right now, but there was no way she was going to risk hurting the one person who had, as her mom pointed out, dropped everything to make sure she was okay.

  At the airport, Jamie had repeated back to her one of the first things Emma had ever said to her: “Clearly you need someone to look after you.” And it was true. As much as
she hated to admit it, she did need someone. But it was okay somehow to need Jamie because they had already shared so much. That was also precisely the reason she needed to be careful around Jamie. The younger girl was still recovering from what had happened to her, and Emma wasn’t about to cause her any more pain if she could help it.

  You can help it, she told her reflection. Hormones weren’t remotely worth risking their friendship over even if they were an excellent distraction from everything else currently transpiring.

  When she left the bathroom, the first thing she noticed was the empty bed. Then she saw Jamie standing at the picture window with the shades drawn up, hands on her slim hips, face lifted to the sunlight leaking into the room. Her eyes were closed, and despite her crazy bedhead, she was easily one of the most beautiful people Emma had ever seen.

  She cleared her throat. “Good morning.”

  Jamie’s eyes flew open and she turned away from the window. “Oh, hi.”

  She looked worried, and Emma was tempted to tell her not to be. She had no intention of bringing up anything that had happened after they’d turned out the lights. She came from a long line of Minnesotans whose motto, according to her mother, was, “Why talk about something if you could just ignore it?” That, and, “Could be worse.” Because, usually, it could be.

  From downstairs she heard a chorus of voices rising and falling. “Great,” she said, crossing to the dresser to pull a baseball cap from the stack on top. “More people with sad eyes and hushed voices. I need a break from all the effing sorrow. Do you think we could run away?”

  Jamie’s head tilted. “Probably not. But we might be able to get away with going for a run. What do you think?”

  “I think you’re a genius.”

  “Well, duh.” Jamie smirked at her, the effect ruined only a little by the patch of hair sticking up on one side of her head.

  Fifteen minutes later they were guzzling Gatorade and munching Power bars in the hand-me-down Volvo Emma’s parents had given her for her sixteenth birthday—not a new car, Emma had pointed out when Jamie alluded to her perhaps being a tad spoiled—on their way to Carkeek Park, her favorite local running spot. They parked in the lot and warmed up with a jog, pausing to stretch at a viewpoint overlooking the Sound before ratcheting up their pace. From her New Year’s visit, Emma knew they made good running partners, with similar strides and paces. They chatted about favorite trails and personal records as they ran, then compared the U-16 and U-19 national team training regimens. Every coach seemed to think he or she had The Answer to maximizing fitness and improving technical skills when in fact, they agreed, most of the programs were so similar it was difficult to see much difference between them. What mattered more was fitting the right people into the right spots. That, and team cohesion. The team that gets along wins.