My heart is in my throat. I’m nervous. It’s been a long time since I’ve met any unbiased people. People who don’t know a thing about me. Although I know this woman has never seen me before, I can’t shake the unnerving feeling that she can read me.
Before ending up at the home for girls, I grew up in a trailer park outside of Minneapolis. It was a small place. Not a lot of people. Everyone knew everyone else. The kids knew who they were allowed to play with and who they were supposed to avoid. I was one of the latter. A trailer roach. That’s what they called us.
Blurry images flash before my mind’s eye. Parents dragging their kids past the fence around our community. Scratching my head with tiny fingers only to discover a louse under my nail a few seconds later. Mom on her knees in front of a guy I didn’t know, pants around his ankles, laughing that seven-year-old me had caught her.
And, finally, my skinny thighs, which I stared at when I sat down on the thin mattress at the home for the first time.
I’m torn out of my thoughts when the woman with the apron clucks, “Scrambled eggs? You can’t be from around here.”
A smile tugs at my lips. “How so?” I pull off my cap, sit down in one of the red booths, and hang my jacket and skates over the back. “What’s wrong with scrambled eggs?”
“Nothing. The folks in Aspen just don’t eat them here.”
“Why not?”
“Believe me, sweetheart.” She goes behind the counter and pours coffee into a big mug. “Once you get a taste of my chocolate pancakes, scrambled eggs will seem like nothing.”
“Inviting,” I grin. “Well, let’s have some of those famous pancakes, then.”
The woman puts the steaming mug down in front of me and shoots me a winning smile. “You won’t regret it.” She twirls around and disappears behind a door that must lead into the kitchen. In between the sounds from the radio, I can hear the rattle of pots and pans, and, a little bit later, the sizzle of hot oil.
I knead my fingers and wait. In the meantime, the pinkish wisps in the sky outside have vanished. But I see a lot more people on the streets of Aspen, packed tight into their coats, trudging through the snow. With a sigh, I pull my smartphone out of my bag and scroll through my photos.
The laughing faces of my girlfriends beam back at me. In almost every shot we’re on the ice, wearing our training outfits. We were hardly ever anywhere else. After high school, the ice rink defined my everyday life. From morning to night.
I swipe to the next picture and suddenly feel an invisible hand grab hold of my heart and squeeze. Kaya’s blue eyes sparkle back at me. Our heads are next to each other on the ice; individual strands have come loose from our buns. We’re laughing about something that belongs to a moment long since passed.
I remember that day. It was shortly after the regional championships. One of the few days I can think back to with happiness.
The image before my eyes grows blurry. I swallow. Kaya was my best friend.Ismy best friend. And she has no idea where I am. She has no idea what’s happened.
No one does.
A plate slides into my field of vision and lands in front of me on the table. I abruptly toss my smartphone back into my bag and sit up.
“Thanks a lot,” I say.
The woman smiles. Her eyes shoot across my face and stop just a moment too long at that place they shouldn’t. I lower my head and dwell on my pancakes.
It feels like an eternity before she starts moving again and disappears behind her counter. “I’m Kate, by the way,” she says.
I shove a forkful of pancake into my mouth and feel like crying with pleasure. “Paisley,” I manage, my mouth full.
Kate nods. She opens the lid of a can containing a batch of baked cookies and sprinkles them with powdered sugar. “Are you here visiting someone or just passing through?”
I’ve already polished off half of my pancakes, but it’s not nearly enough. My stomach cries out for more. “No, I…” I swallow and clear my throat. “I just moved here.”
Kate looks surprised. “Like that? That doesn’t happen all that often in Aspen.” She tilts her head and sizes up my jute bag. “And you’re an ice-skater?”
I choke on my pancake. “How…”
“Your skates.” Kate nods toward my bundle, tied together at the laces. “Wasn’t tough to guess.”
“Oh. Right.” I take a gulp of coffee before adding, “I was given a place at iSkate Aspen.”
“Well, now! Then you must be good. They only take the best.” Kate snatches a cookie before closing the can and placing it back next to the cupcakes. “My daughter skates there, too.”
The last forkful of pancake disappears in my mouth. I quickly swallow it down while Kate continues to observe me with big eyes. “Your daughter?”
