Making up a plate for herself, she plopped down on the love seat across from her dad. They ate in silence for several minutes, listening to the extended weather forecast for the weekend.
“Do you want another? I bought six.”
“Yes, please.”
She got up and reheated a second taco for each of them.
“Frankie, I know you weren’t exactly keen on ever becoming a figure skating coach, but is there any chance you might reconsider? I think it might be the perfect solution for you. I remember you telling me how much you loved interacting with kids during the meet-and-greets before each show.”
Her teenage self had found kids annoying. She didn’t have any patience for young children who couldn’t pay attention or pick up on a skill right away. But as an adult, she found them endearing and a breath of fresh air. She supposed she was technically still a kid herself back then. As usual, her dad was right.
Frankie pushed a stray piece of lettuce around her plate. “I’ll add it to my list. It’s too bad the Grizzly Springs Community Rink closed. Off the top of my head, I think the next closest one is in Fresno.”
It would be a two-hour drive each way, plus gas. She’d hate to leave her dad alone for so many hours. On the other hand, if she became a coach, it would mean free or discounted ice time.
“Fresno? No, dear, there’s a rink that’s closer. I thought you would’ve heard about it. It’s been all over the news.” He placed his plate on the table and reached for the newspaper, flipping through to the third page, and folding back the bottom half. “Here’s the article. The old Sequoia Valley rink was bought by new owners three years ago. It was gutted and completely remodeled. It just celebrated its two-year anniversary.”
Frankie wiped her hand on a napkin and took the paper from her dad. Her eyes scanned the article. “Sequoia Valley,” she muttered under her breath. “Right in our backyard.” She glanced at him. “I can’t believe I didn’t know about this. Have you heard anything about what offerings they have?”
“That’s up to you to find out.” He smirked.
Frankie sank into the soft back of the sofa.I should’ve known better than to try and escape the skating world. It’s a part of my DNA.
“Thanks for dinner, sweetie.” Her father scooted forward and gingerly got to his feet. “I’ll take care of loading the dishwasher.”
“Dad, I’ll do it.”
“No. I can do it.” He placed a hand on her shoulder as he passed by her. His cane tapped against the linoleum floor. “I may still be feeling like crap, but I’m well enough to load the dishwasher.”
She knew the battle was lost. “Yes, sir.” She collected the plates and put them on the kitchen counter.
He pecked her on the cheek. “That’s a good girl.”
While her dad worked in the kitchen, Frankie sat back down. She pulled out her phone from the pocket of her jeans and typed in the web address listed in the article. The website loaded and showed photos of a gym, café, two rinks, and a ballet studio.
“The California foothills’ premier ice sport destination . . .” Well, at least it looked like they catered to more than just the hockey clientele.
Frankie clicked on the staff page. A red stop sign said, “Under construction.” She encountered the same red roadblock on the skating academy, hockey academy, and birthday party pages.
“Find anything interesting?” her dad asked, glancing over her shoulder.
“A little bit. They have waivers and some photos of their facilities, but a lot of the website is still under construction. I’ll have to give them a call tomorrow and see if I can get some info.”
“Sounds like a plan.” He dried his hands on a dish towel. “I’m going to pop into the bath before we start the wash cycle. I’ll let you know when I’m done.”
She opened her mouth.
“I’ll call you if I need help. I promise.”
* * *
Frankie wiped her clammy palms on the slippery fabric of her black fleece pants. The large hand of the clock behind the manager’s desk at the Sequoia Valley Ice Sport Center reached the twelve and let out a softclickat the exact moment a heavy-set balding man in his mid-fifties entered the office. He wore a navy-blue and white hockey jersey and jeans. She jumped to her feet.
“Francesca, thanks for coming in on such short notice.” The man extended his hand to her. “I’m Jack. Please, have a seat.”
“Please call me Frankie.” She took his hand and shook it. “Thanks for having me. It just worked out that today happens to be my day off.” She mentally crossed her fingers at the small fib.
Jack sat down. His chair let out an audible squeak. “In that case, I won’t keep you long. I’m sure you have a lot of errands to run today. I had the chance to skim over the resume you submitted. It’s impressive. You have so many accolades on there. A bronze medal in the junior pairs division at US Nationals and a top-ten finish at the Junior Figure World Championships.”
