Girl in the Spotlight
Author
Virginia McCullough
Reads
17.5K
Chapters
21
Chapter One
WITH HIS PHONE next to him on the couch and out of his little girl’s sight, Miles Jenkins scrolled through the three new texts. The first was from the meeting planner organizing a management conference in Denver, where Miles was booked to present a seminar in late January. That fell into the category of important, but not urgent. Exactly like the second and third, both sent by a speakers bureau he regularly worked with. Nothing he needed to interrupt his Sunday afternoon to handle.
Brooke tugged on his sleeve. “Daddy, did you see that girl fall down? She won’t get a medal now.”
“Sure, honey, I saw it.” Sort of. Out of the corner of his eye he’d caught a glimpse of the skater on the TV screen. “So, one spill on the ice means she won’t get a medal?”
Brooke answered with a solemn nod. “Well, that’s not always true, but this time it knocked her right out of the competition.”
Miles smiled to himself. From the moment they’d begun watching, his eight-year-old had taken on the role of a professional commentator. Without skipping a beat Brooke predicted who among this group of young women would emerge as medal winners and who’d likely go home empty-handed.
“You know so much about the sport you could be one of those experts on TV.”
Brooke responded with an exaggerated roll of her brown eyes. When had she learned to do that?
“I mean it,” he said, feigning a defensive tone. “You’ve taught me more about skating in the last couple of hours than I’ve learned in my entire life, all thirty-nine years of it.” Or ever cared to know, but that was beside the point.
Andi had mentioned their daughter’s interest in skating had quickly moved from casual to intense, leaving Brooke completely enamored with these real-life princesses performing impossible feats in their glittery costumes. Andi encouraged the interest, too. These self-disciplined girls trained every day and worked hard to compete, she pointed out. They weren’t like the out-of-control young celebrities who ended up as headlines on too many glossy magazine covers for all the wrong reasons.
His former wife had also advised against making plans to see a movie with Brooke on Sunday afternoon. “It’s the Grand Circuit final,” she’d said. “The last event of this year’s figure-skating competitive season. Brooke’s been looking forward to it all week. It’s a big deal, a step on the way to determining who gets on the International Figure Skating Championship team.” She’d paused and then laughed. “Listen to me. You’d think I know what I’m talking about. But I don’t need to explain the ins and outs. Our skating enthusiast will fill you in. Every last detail.”
Andi was right. Brooke had talked about almost nothing else but her favorite figure skaters from the moment he’d picked her up on Saturday morning. It seemed that Mamie, his little girl’s babysitter, had created a fan.
“You could take skating lessons yourself,” he said. “Would you like that?”
Brooke shook her head. “I already told Mom I want to keep playing soccer. And basketball is fun, too.”
“Okay, honey. You let us know if you change your mind.”
Photographs on the wall on either side of the TV showed Brooke in her soccer uniform, her auburn hair in two pigtails. He agreed with Andi, who reminded him—often—about research showing that little girls who were involved in sports developed healthy self-esteem. They were less likely to fall in with a bad crowd and do all the risky things that left parents so terrified they could barely breathe.
“I will.” Brooke scooped up a handful of popcorn from the bowl on the coffee table. Before putting it in her mouth, she added, “But don’t forget about the horse, Daddy. I’ve already picked out her name.”
“Magic,” he said, nodding. “I remember.”
“Won’t be long now.”
“I know, less than four years.”
“Three years and five months...to be exact.”
He suppressed a laugh, not wanting her to think he’d ever make light of her longing for a horse. Not long ago, Andi had brought up the horse once again, as if warning him to be prepared. Andi also believed girls who loved horses would be less likely to spend time with boys who’d divert them from their goals. When she’d put it like that, was she subtly reminding him that he’d been a boy—or rather, a young man—who’d once been responsible for interrupting a girl’s goals?
As much as he agreed with his ex-wife on almost all their joint parenting issues, Miles thought she was overly concerned about Brooke being a child of divorce. Andi regularly mentioned the emotional risks of divorce and the frightening specter of teenage girls wandering aimlessly through adolescence.
Brooke bounced on the cushion next to him. “Only one more skater to go before Perrie Lynn, Daddy.”
“Perrie who? One of your favorites?” He squeezed Brooke’s hand to show he was only teasing. Whatever Andi feared might happen in the future, their little girl was 100 percent safe and happy in this moment.
“Her whole name is Perrie Lynn Olson.”
He knew that, of course. Brooke had started his education about skating by extolling Perrie Lynn. Still, although he enjoyed these exchanges with his little girl, sometimes he found himself listening with only one ear and much of what she said didn’t settle into his memory bank. “And what makes her a special skater?”
Brooke gestured toward the TV with both hands for emphasis. “She’s sort of new. She got to go to the Grand Circuit final because she won two big competitions. Mamie said she surprised everyone in the skating world.”
Miles grinned at the lingo she’d picked up from Mamie and the commentators. The next skater was a young Canadian woman named Misty, who made a quick trip around the rink in her blue sequined costume. Even her short blond hair sparkled.
No wonder little girls thought these athletes were spinning, jumping princesses. For the next four minutes, the commentators, Katie and Allen, former champions themselves, counted triple jumps and what looked like impossible spins, explaining each move. Allen groaned over two jumps that went awry and caused Misty to, as he put it, lose the landing. Down she went. Misty recovered, though, and flashed a big smile for the audience when she thrust one arm high in the air for her dramatic finish. The smile disappeared almost immediately, replaced with a glum expression as she skated off the ice and into the open arms of her coach.
Miles picked up the remote and muted the sound when the commercials started.
“She was okay,” Brooke said, “but not as good as Perrie Lynn’s going to be.”
Miles hoped Perrie Lynn didn’t take a spill and break the spell Brooke had created around the young skater.
The ads over, he got the sound back on in time to listen to Katie and the other commentators discuss Misty’s scores, which they all agreed left plenty of room for Perrie Lynn to jump ahead.
“Pay attention, Daddy. Here she comes.” Brooke clapped her hands in anticipation.
The dark-haired girl skated onto the ice to rising applause and encouraging cheers. She took her time taking a turn around the periphery of the rink.
“Every detail is attended to,” Katie pointed out, “and wow, doesn’t she look elegant in her deep red costume?”
“Such a big moment for her,” Charlie, the network announcer, added. “It was unexpected, but so welcome.”
Katie, Allen and Charlie kept up their patter about the recent changes in Perrie Lynn’s life, and why she and her mother had moved from Minnesota to Michigan to train with a new coach.
Brooke lifted her shoulders in a happy shrug. “Look at how pretty she looks, Daddy. Her dress sparkles all over.”
“It sure does.” Even from the long camera angle, Miles could see the girl was lovely, with olive skin and black hair, much like his own, features he’d inherited from his Italian mother and grandmother.
Miles was impressed as the skater slowed down and glided on one skate to the center of the ice, then stopped abruptly. In one flowing move, she positioned her legs and arms, and finally lifted her chin to signal her readiness to begin. The girl knows how to work a crowd.
Bemused, Miles saw in the young skater the qualities of some of his best colleagues in the professional speaking business. They captured the audience before uttering the first word. Perrie Lynn would start her routine with the entire arena and TV audience already focused on her.
Miles glanced at Brooke, who was sitting cross-legged but had leaned forward, as she rested her arms on her knees, her gaze fixed on the screen. When Perrie Lynn began skating backward and picked up speed, Katie described the move and built anticipation for the first jump. The confident young skater’s lift off the ice appeared effortless.
“Wow,” Allen said, “she opened with a perfect triple flip.”
“She got so high in the air, Daddy.”
“She sure did,” he said, patting Brooke’s hand.
Another jump followed, and then another and another.
“A triple-triple combination, Daddy,” Brooke said sagely. “Those are hard.”
“I bet they are.”
More jumps and spins, and a long, graceful glide across the ice followed. To Miles’s unschooled eyes it was like watching ballet dancing.
“She has the whole package, all right, athleticism and artistry,” Katie remarked. “And now she’s finishing with her final set of spins. Fantastic!”
Brooke clapped her hands over her head. “Yay! I think she won a medal, Daddy. She was that good.”
Miles hoped Brooke wouldn’t be disappointed, although he’d heard one of the announcers predict at least a bronze and possibly a silver medal for the girl, who was so new on the international skating scene. In the grand scheme of expectations, a medal for Perrie Lynn would mean an upset and a huge surprise. Others had come to the competition with far more experience.
Perrie Lynn completed what looked like a spectacular spin and came to a sudden stop, then dramatically bent backward, and swept her arms to the side before slowly lowering them and clasping her hands behind her. She held the pose, looking like a statue. Extending her moment, and exploiting the mood, Miles thought. He stared at the screen as the camera zoomed in for a close-up shot of her face.
A brilliant, triumphant smile. His stomach rolled over. A familiar prominent widow’s peak. A heart-shaped face.
“See, Daddy,” Brooke said, bouncing on the couch, “people are clapping and clapping because her skating makes everyone feel happy.”
Brooke was right. Perrie Lynn skated off the ice to thunderous applause and was immediately enveloped in her coach’s arms. Suddenly, the image disappeared, replaced by a commercial for potato chips. His mouth dry, Miles ran his tongue over his lips and cleared his throat. “So, what happens now, honey?” he asked, his voice barely a croak.
“She has to wait for the scores.” Brooke waved her crossed fingers high in the air. “But she was the next-to-the-last skater. Goody, goody, goody. I bet she gets a medal!”
“And I bet you’re right.” He curled his fingers into a tight fist, then used his knuckle to wipe away beads of sweat above his upper lip. His reaction was ridiculous. Olive skin, a widow’s peak. Countless young women would fit that description.
Miles exhaled, forcing himself to focus on Brooke’s happy chatter about Perrie Lynn and medals. The commercials over, the commentators picked up their conversation about the surprising turn in the competition.
“So much excitement for such a young woman,” Charlie observed, “and on her birthday, no less. She turns eighteen today.”
Adrenaline shot through him, putting every cell on alert. Today. The minute he’d opened his eyes that morning, he’d remembered this day. The December date sat more or less dormant in his mind the rest of the year, but memories came alive on what was usually a cold, often snowy day. He’d been glad this was his weekend with Brooke, relieved to have something to serve as the distraction he always needed when this day rolled around.
The camera focused on Perrie Lynn’s parents seated in the audience. More energy zipped through his body and sent his heart thumping hard. Who were those fair-haired people? They didn’t look much like Perrie Lynn.
He swallowed hard as he struggled to focus on Allen’s comments about the significance of Perrie Lynn’s coaching change. “She also chose a new choreographer,” Allen said. “These shifts can make a big difference, but they meant Perrie Lynn and her mother had to leave her dad in Minnesota so she could train with her new coach in Michigan.”
“But the decision appears to have paid off,” Charlie added.
“Mamie said the coach is really famous,” Brooke said.
Miles nodded. “So it seems.”
“She’s adopted,” Brooke said. “Mamie told me.”
“Who’s adopted, honey?” His voice cracked. “Perrie Lynn?”
Brooke nodded. “Mamie said her parents got her when she was really tiny. Maybe only a couple of days old.”
He swiped his knuckle across his upper lip again. “Really?”
“And it’s not like a secret or anything. Maybe ’cuz she doesn’t look like her mom and dad.”
“I see.” He rubbed his chest, as if sending a signal to his heart to slow down.
The camera zoomed closer to Perrie Lynn sitting on the bench next to her coach. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. The wide smile that took over her face, her olive skin and the large dark eyes. And the one-of-a-kind widow’s peak. Like Lark. The birthday. Minnesota. It all added up.
Suddenly the audience roared as the scores came up. Perrie Lynn got to her feet and thrust her arms over her head to wave to the crowd. He heard the commentators talk about her “personal best,” and “having a shot at the International Figure Skating Championship.” One warned she had to do well at the upcoming North American Figure Skating Competition.
“Did they just say Perrie Lynn could go to the Internationals?” he asked Brooke.
“I guess so. Looks like she won the bronze. That’s a big deal, because no one expected it. Woo-hoo!” Brooke laughed. “Mamie is probably jumping up and down right now.”
Wild speculation whirled through his head, spiraled down through his body and left him weak. Calm down. It’s a coincidence. Happenstance.
Brooke sighed. “I can’t wait for the NorAms.”
“And when does that happen?” He forced the question through his nearly closed throat.
Brooke frowned. “I’m not sure.”
“Want me to look it up?” Not waiting for an answer, he grabbed his phone.
Brooke leaned over his shoulder and watched him search for North American Figure Skating Competition.
“See, it came right up. It’s in January. Let’s see when the Internationals start.”
“Mamie said February,” Brooke said.
“Right you are.” He focused on the screen, fighting the urge to search for Lark online. He’d wait until he was alone, but once he found her, he’d contact her immediately. She’d either take him seriously or brush off the whole thing. He wouldn’t know until he tried. Or maybe this was crazy. These little details could add up to exactly zero.
With the skating program coming to a close, the network had reporters backstage for interviews. When the camera focused on Perrie Lynn, she waved with both hands, her face still showing the thrill of a winner. The curve of her mouth set in a smile sent a pleasant shiver through him. In that moment of happiness, she might have been Lark.
His phone chimed, alerting him to a new text. He glanced at the screen. “It’s your mom. She just turned into the complex.”
With Brooke following, he got up and crossed the room, then lifted her coat off the hook next to the front door. “Here, put your jacket on and go out to the car. I’ll get the rest of your things.”
He hurried to Brooke’s room and stuffed her clothes into her pack. The hairbrush and pajamas stayed at his house. Only the clothes and her favorite doll-of-the-moment went back and forth, along with the library books he grabbed off the nightstand. With his arms full, he headed down the hall and out the front door to the driveway.
“Sorry,” he said to Andi when she buzzed down the passenger window. “We got involved in figure skating.” Brooke pulled her backpack through the open window and put it between her knees, then rested the pile of books in her lap.
“No problem,” Andi said pleasantly. “We have plenty of time to get to the dinner.”
“You give your parents my best.”
When he had Brooke for a weekend, which wasn’t as often as he’d like because of his work schedule, Miles usually kept her until Monday morning, when he dropped her off at school. But this was a special occasion, a retirement dinner for Andi’s dad. Miles was okay with letting Brooke go back to her mother early because he harbored no negativity toward his former in-laws. They’d been nothing but kind, had welcomed him into the family and then expressed sadness when he left it four years later, shortly after Brooke’s second birthday.
Six months after that, Andi had impulsively married some guy named Roger, a less than blissful union lasting only a few months. That fiasco caused Miles’s stock to rise in his ex-in-laws’ eyes. They gave him credit for staying close to Brooke, especially during what turned out to be Andi’s tumultuous second divorce.
He squeezed Brooke’s arm through the window before giving the roof of the car a quick pat. After Andi raised the window and pulled away, he watched until the car disappeared around the next corner onto the winding road that led out of the complex. When he turned to go back up the walk to his town house, he waved to Edie and Christopher, his elderly neighbors two units down. They were sitting by their patio doors, as they did most days, acting like unpaid security guards as they chronicled the comings and goings of the residents of Bay Trails, the multiunit condo development he’d moved into when he and Andi separated.
As for Edie and Christopher, he’d long harbored the feeling they didn’t wholeheartedly approve of him, or maybe they found all single dads suspicious. On the other hand, they assured him they kept an eye on his unit during his frequent absences and were unfailingly pleasant to Brooke. That’s all that mattered.
Back inside, he wandered into Brooke’s room, straightening up the stuffed animals and making the bed, but all the while images of Perrie Lynn spinning like a magical top raced through his mind. He had a hunch, a strong one. But what to do? Squash it, forget it? Not a chance.
Lark McGee passed through his mind whenever he wondered about the baby—that’s what he used to say, the baby. But as the years passed, he’d rephrased that. Whoever the baby had become, wherever she lived and whatever she was doing that very minute, she was their girl, their child. He always thought about Lark herself on their child’s birthday. Today.
Unless she’d moved, Lark likely wasn’t far away. He knew a few of the basics. He and Lark had both eventually come home from college and settled in northeast Wisconsin. They’d each married and started their own families. He didn’t know the state of her marriage. Maybe she’d had better luck with love than he had. Miles knew she’d married because he’d run into her once about five years back, an awkward encounter consisting of three minutes of superficial small talk. She’d been coming out of a mall in Green Bay as he was heading into it. She’d introduced the boy with her as her son. Miles remembered little about him, other than noting he was older than his Brooke and had inherited Lark’s light brown hair. Miles had greeted the boy, who returned a shy smile. He’d then explained he was on the hunt for a present for Brooke’s third birthday.
Her eyes had darkened, but just for a second. “How nice,” she said, pleasantly. “I’m happy for you.”
Miles had almost blurted that he was divorced, but he’d stopped himself in time. Lark wouldn’t have taken the slightest interest in his marriage, a sad tale of a mismatch that had revealed itself all too quickly and hadn’t changed with Brooke’s arrival.
He and Lark had limited their conversation to an exchange of basics, including the fact that she lived with her husband in Two Moon Bay, a lakeside town not too far from his town house in Green Bay. He in turn said he had a condo out near the airport and the botanical garden. When they’d run out of trivial details to exchange, their conversation had come to an excruciating halt. They’d both laughed nervously, wished each other well and gone on about their business.
Miles winced as he remembered that encounter. He wandered into the kitchen, where his laptop sat open on the table. He typed Lark McGee into the search box. It was the only name he had for her. If she’d changed it when she married, he’d have to find some other way to reach her.
He breathed deeply to calm the shaky waves of emotion that had been crashing over him from the instant he’d seen a close-up of Perrie Lynn. Her coloring and nearly black hair. His skin, his hair. Not particularly unique, he reminded himself. But the wide smile, the widow’s peak? Lark’s distinctive features.
Okay, he’d concede the chances were good the skater’s physical resemblance and the fact of her adoption were coincidences. But on national TV he’d heard three commentators wish Perrie Lynn a happy birthday. Her eighteenth birthday.
For the first time in his memory, he was glad Brooke wasn’t with him on Sunday night. He usually hated to see her leave even one minute early. He especially enjoyed a companionable ride to her school on Monday morning. That was true, even if Brooke’s accusations that he wasn’t paying attention to some of her meandering conversations were justified. He had to watch it. His little girl was getting old enough to notice that in these days of texting and emails, he was at least half-distracted more often than he cared to admit.
His search yielded pages of citations for Lark, including her website as the first item. She used her own name, professionally, anyway. He clicked on the link and a second later, there she was. He grinned at the small photo on her home page. He’d always thought of her as pretty in a distinctive way, defined by the prominent widow’s peak at the top of a heart-shaped face. Her smile appealed, too, maybe because it looked like the prelude to a hearty laugh. Lark’s hair hadn’t changed and, of course, neither had her clear blue eyes.
Miles drew in a breath. Wow. If Perrie Lynn really was their daughter, the mix of their features had made her an unusual beauty, like Lark.
The website filled in a few impressive facts about what Lark had done with her life. Like him, she worked for herself. He hadn’t known Lark for very long, but she’d talked of becoming a writer, and she’d accomplished that goal. She was a health and parenting journalist, and an impressive list of her latest published articles appeared on the right side of the screen.
The short bio told him she still lived in Two Moon Bay. He knew that town, if only because it was usually noted as one of northeast Wisconsin’s most charming among the collection of quaint small towns on Lake Michigan. It was about an hour away from where he lived on the far west side of Green Bay. But that was enough distance to explain why he and Lark hadn’t crossed paths more than once in all these years. Since Brooke spent so much time with Andi’s family at their cottage on a small lake up in northern Wisconsin, Miles rarely took his daughter to the Lake Michigan shore.
Miles clicked on the “About” page, quickly scanning the longer bio that reinforced his first impression that Lark had done herself proud. She’d even coauthored three books with doctors. He’d fulfilled his dream when he’d found his niche as a consultant and speaker specializing in collaboration and team building, and now he took satisfaction in knowing Lark had also made her dream come true. She deserved her success. He was certain of that.
He mulled over his options. He could forget the whole thing and simply write off the afternoon as a string of coincidences. He scoffed out loud. Out of the question. Not when he couldn’t get his mind off the dazzling girl who had turned eighteen that very day. Was there any possibility Lark would have forgotten their daughter’s birthday? Somehow, he didn’t think so.
He scanned the bio again. It said nothing about a husband, but he’d need to tread carefully. She could be married and have chosen not to put that detail in her bio. He noted she’d written many articles about kids’ health issues and tied them to parenting, so mentioning a son in her bio made sense.
Deciding to keep it simple, Miles used the email address on the website and typed in his cell number and a message: Need to talk, please call tonight.
