Freefall: Book Three in the Defining Gravity Series, page 3
“Where’s your car, Marion? This looks like a mom-mobile.”
“Oh, that,” Marion laughed. “I sold it; this is just a lease for now, but it fits in with our new lifestyle better. Between your barn things and your father’s exercise gear, my poor little car couldn’t take it anymore. This vehicle is much more appropriate. Your father sold his vehicle as well.”
“Oh,” I said, glancing over at her quickly. My dad had loved his little sports car. Were they hurting so badly for money that they could only have one car? Would they still have money to pay Red’s board? Hilary was giving me a big discount already in exchange for me helping out, but what if we couldn’t even pay that?
I went from stall to stall one last time, peering in to make sure that the water buckets were full, and nobody would starve before Hilary got back from rehearsals. I’d already set out Red’s grain in his bucket and soaked his beet pulp so all Hilary had to do was mix it up and serve it to him. Still, it was hard to walk away. I’d gotten so used to taking care of a barn full of horses back at the ranch, it felt weird to hand over the responsibility to someone else.
Finally, sensing Marion’s impatience, I climbed reluctantly into the car.
“Hey, where’s Caprice?” I asked. Marion usually always had her little poodle sidekick with her.
“Oh.” She frowned. “She’s at the boarding kennel. She hurt her knee and she’s supposed to be resting. With all the chaos of the tournament this weekend, and you and the horse arriving, we felt that she’d heal better if she was kenneled.”
“Oh no, how did she get hurt?”
“Well.” Marion sighed. “Your father’s therapist said he needed to develop his empathy skills.”
I wonder whatever would give a therapist that impression, I thought, wisely keeping my mouth shut.
“It was felt that your father would benefit by spending time bonding with a pet. So, he started taking Caprice jogging every morning and actually, they had a great time for a while. The trainer had already told us that Caprice needed more exercise, so she’d stop being so anxious and reactive in the house.
“But then she started limping off and on. Even on her good days, she couldn’t keep up with your dad anymore. The vet said she had torn or stretched ligaments in one of her hind knees and she couldn’t be expected to jog that much in a day. She’s supposed to be resting to see if we can avoid having surgery. We had to cut way back on her activity.”
“Oh,” I said, “that’s awful. I hope she’s okay.”
“She’ll be fine. It’s the enforced bed rest that bothers her the most.”
The drive to the racquet club wasn’t long but I was so tired that I nearly fell asleep in the car about twenty times, only waking up enough to mumble vague answers to Marion’s questions about the trip to the Island and to half-listen to her lesson on the rules of squash. A lesson that was completely wasted on me.
I sat up and rubbed my eyes when we pulled up in front of a fancy glass and concrete building. It looked very modern and intimidating; more like an art gallery or a museum than a gym.
A black and gold banner hung above the doorway that read ‘Welcome to the International WorldCor Squash Tournament’. It was already dark outside, but huge floodlights lit up the brick-lined courtyard. It was a beautiful space, full of stone benches and a fountain, and to my surprise, it was also full of well-dressed, sporty-looking people milling around in small groups, talking animatedly to one another. I gulped and slid down in my seat.
When Marion had said, “squash tournament,” I’d assumed that it would be full of old people my dad’s age dressed in white pants and golf shirts. But all around me were ripped young guys in high-tech athletic wear plastered with sponsor ads, striding around confidently with Kool-Aid-coloured power drinks looking like they owned the place. There were lots of women, too, lithe figures dressed in those second-skin dresses that tennis players wear, their gazelle-like, bodies athletic and powerful in a way I couldn’t ever aspire to. Even in the semi-darkness, everyone glowed with good health and good spirits; tanned skin, perfect white teeth, and jovial laughter surrounded me on all sides. It was like being encircled by genetically-altered super-people or aliens.
Maybe I’m the alien, I thought darkly, I’m the one out of place here.
I slid out of the car as unobtrusively as possible, ducking my head and hurrying after Marion, not making eye contact with anyone.
“Come on, Astrid. His division is coming up now. We’re just in time.”
We had to thread our way through an ever-thickening crowd of people to reach the spot that had been reserved for us. A small card with Marion’s name on it sat in the middle of the front-row bleachers. I sat down and stared around with wide eyes.
It was like something out of a futuristic sci-fi movie; three large transparent glass cubes were set up side by side in front of the bleacher area, each big enough for the players, their rackets, and a wildly ricocheting ball. I’d never seen anything like it.
Only the middle cube, the one in front of us, had players in it. And I only had to watch for five seconds to realize that this was not a sport for the weak or timid. It was a like high-speed tennis without a net and the players could smash the ball off all four walls of the cube they were locked in at various crushing speeds.
I’d blocked out Marion’s earlier description of what the rules were, but from the outside it looked like the players took turns bashing the ball in all directions and narrowly avoiding hitting one another in the face with their rackets.
This was apparently the seniors’ division, but they didn’t look like any old people I’d ever seen.
“There’s your father,” Marion said excitedly, pointing to a man I hardly recognized. Despite his insistence that everyone around him should strive for perfection, my father had always carried a few extra pounds around his waist and had looked stressed and unhealthy most of the time. But he’d clearly thrown himself fully into his new sport and he looked the part.
Seeing my own father dressed in skin-tight lycra was not exactly thrilling, but even I had to admit that he looked pretty fit, for an old person, I mean. There was a spring in his step and a competitive glint in his eye; if confidence was any indicator then he was going to win his match hands down.
“His therapist insisted that he play doubles,” Marion whispered in my ear, “it was supposed to help him learn to be more of a team player and develop empathy.”
“Uh-huh,” I said, watching him smash a serve into the opposite corner of the glass cube he and three other players were stationed in, sending the ball ricocheting around so fast it nearly took out his opponent’s eye. “How’s that working?”
“Really well,” she said earnestly, and I wasn’t sure if she was kidding or not.
“Marion, does he actually have sponsors?” I asked in disbelief, noticing his shirt plastered with logos from about ten different businesses.
“Not personal ones, not yet. But the tournament itself has a number of sponsors, including WorldCor. It’s a very popular sport,” she said, sounding like she was reading straight from a squash publicity brochure. “It’s been a long haul, but we’re right on the cusp of pushing the sport into the Olympic arena.” She paused, her eyes lit up as she fixed her gaze on the game. “Oh, did you see that shot? Your father’s been working hard on his technique.”
The rest of the match lasted nearly forty-five minutes, and the whole time the players were leaping and falling and smashing into the glass. As someone who hated high-impact sports with a passion, the whole thing looked like a nightmare to me; the players gasped for air, covered in sweat, and one guy was bleeding from a gash in his elbow. Everyone else in the audience was riveted to their seats, cheering whenever anyone made a good shot.
In the end, my dad’s side won, as if there’d been any doubt in the outcome. He came out of the competition cube beaming and lifting his hands in the air victoriously, and a fit, blonde-haired woman ran up to him, her pony-tail bouncing up and down like it was a living thing.
To my shock, she practically threw herself up against him even though he was drenched with sweat, kissed his cheek, and then laughingly handed him a towel.
“Who is that?” I asked Marion, but she’d already stood up and was moving purposefully toward my father.
“Um, Marion?” I stood, undecided whether I should follow and was surprised when there was a light tap on my shoulder. I turned quickly to find a dark-eyed guy in his twenties or thirties standing behind me, a polite smile fixed on his face. He looked strangely familiar and I narrowed my eyes, studying his face intently, wondering where I’d seen him before.
“You must be Astrid,” he said, in a smooth, sultry accent that made me think he must be from Greece or some other Mediterranean country. He had dark curly hair and huge brown eyes that looked deep into mine. Again, I had that impression that I knew him from somewhere. He took my hand and held it in both of his. “I’m Darius.”
“Um, nice to meet you,” I said, my voice coming out an embarrassed squeak. Heat crowded up my neck and cheeks before I could stop it.
“I wanted to let you know how much your father has done for us here. He turned this club into a top-notch facility, and he’s been invaluable to our campaign to bid for inclusion at the Olympics.”
“Oh,” I said and carefully withdrew my hand from his grasp, hoping he had overlooked my sweaty palms. “It’s a beautiful building; did he help with renovations or something?”
“No.” Darius opened his eyes wide. “He built the whole thing. We tore down our old facility and made this a world-class building just for racket sports. Your dad found the funding and the architect, and was responsible for the majority of our sponsors. He’s a hero.”
“Wow, I had no idea.” And where did he come up with the money for it all? I thought his court case meant that we might be losing everything and that he was looking at jail time.
“Um, I guess I’d better go,” I said glancing over to where Marion was standing on the outskirts of the entourage surrounding my father. She couldn’t even get close to him what with all the people congratulating him and slapping him on the back. And that blonde woman was in the thick of it, hanging off my dad’s arm and looking up into his face as if he were her personal property. “Actually, wait, Darius, who is that blonde lady?”
He looked over to the group and frowned. “Who, Nancy? She’s one of the coaches here. She’s helping your dad.”
Uh-huh, I’ll bet, I thought.
“Okay, thanks, it was nice to meet you.”
“Make sure you stick around long enough to watch my match. It will be…intense.”
“Okay,” I said, hurrying away from him. Darius himself was a bit intense, but he’d given me lots to think about. Apparently, my dad and Marion had been quite busy while I’d been away.
“Astrid,” my dad said, looking out over the heads of his sea of admirers. He did look genuinely happy to see me. “I’m glad you’re here. Everyone, this is my daughter, Astrid.”
I said shy hellos to everyone and was glad when they made their excuses and melted back into the crowd. The blonde coach, Nancy, detached herself from my father and sent insincere toothy smiles to both me and Marion before drifting away to do whatever squash coaches did in their spare time.
As soon as she was gone my dad shifted closer to Marion and put his sweaty arm over her shoulder. She smiled up at him adoringly as if she hadn’t just two seconds ago been completely snubbed.
“I saw you met Darius. I thought you two might have something in common, since you both play with horses. Of course, he doesn’t have time for that now; our club helped sponsor him to come to Canada and he’s our star player. We’re using him to leverage our Olympic bid. What do you think of our building and our new courts?”
“It’s beautiful, Dad,” I said honestly. I didn’t have time to think about what he’d said about Darius and horses because he was already talking again.
“WorldCor needed some write-offs,” he confessed, dropping his voice a few notches, “and they needed some good publicity what with all that nonsense from last year, so they sponsored most of the building and the home team, and I pulled a few strings with the city to get our permits fast-tracked.”
“So, everything is okay then, with um, work?” I said lamely, not wanting to talk about the court case here.
“Sure, it’s fine, our lawyers did good work. It’s all settled; just water under the bridge. I’m on sabbatical for this year, but this will pass and soon everything will be back to normal. Now, what did you think of that game. We crushed them, didn’t we?”
“Definitely,” I said, although I hadn’t actually been able to tell by watching, who’d won and who had lost.
“Well, you two go have a seat and I’ll hit the showers and debrief with Nancy. You don’t want to miss Darius’s match.”
Debrief with Nancy, I thought, yuck.
I followed Marion back to our spot on the bleachers, yawning and rubbing my eyes. We’d started the drive from my aunt’s ranch before the sun had even come up and driven hard the whole way. And then there’d been the ferry and getting Red settled into his new home. I was ready to fall into bed and never wake up.
“Just a few more hours, honey, and then we can go home.”
I half-dozed my way through the rest of the seniors division, but woke up in time to see Darius play. He was in a singles match against another lithe, muscled athlete who looked like he’d been playing since birth.
“Holy cow!” I sat up and paid attention, amazed at the acrobatics these guys were going through to smash that ball. It was like watching two people caught in an intense whirl-wind, or lightning-quick martial arts like in the movies. They never let up the pressure until it was finally over, and Darius held up his hands in victory.
I wiped my palms on my jeans and sagged back on my bench, surprised at how caught up I’d been. It was exhausting just watching them and I felt like I’d run a marathon. I yawned, hoping against hope that it was over and I could go to bed.
“Marion,” I said, remembering something, “what was that about Darius and horses?”
“Oh, his family bred horses back in his own country, I think. He doesn’t talk about it much, though. Come on, sweetheart. Time for the reception; you must be starving.”
“Okay.” My last real meal had been lunch on the ferry and my stomach grumbled at the prospect of food.
I fell asleep again a few times on the way to the reception. My dad had ridden with the rest of the team and Marion had been content to let me nap.
The same smartly-dressed people buzzed around the hotel lobby, carrying glasses of alcohol and chattering loudly in bright, high-pitched voices. As soon as Marion went to mingle, I found the table with the appetizers and cheese and made myself at home.
“Are you finding everything to your liking?” Darius stood beside me, smiling politely, his wide brown eyes staring directly into mine.
“Sure,” I said, blushing under his gaze. He sure was intense; did the man never blink? “Um….” I searched desperately for something, anything, to say. “Where are you from, Darius? My dad said you rode horses?”
All the warmth drained from his eyes and he pulled himself upright. “This is my home now,” he said almost fiercely. “I do not talk about my past.”
Wow, I took a step back in alarm and instantly, that smooth smile was back on his face, although dimmer than before.
“Forgive me for being rude,” he said quietly, “I do not like to talk about my life before I moved to this beautiful country. This is my home now and that’s all that matters. Besides, it is not a nice story.”
“Sorry,” I said in a small voice and turned back to the cheese.
He cleared his throat as if he were about to say something further. The silence stretched out, and when I finally looked up, he had disappeared into the crowd without another word.
What on earth was that? I took a deep breath wondering what I’d said to offend him. That strange sense of having seen him somewhere before was back stronger than ever, too. Had he been a famous rider or something? I would have to Google him later and see what I could find out.
Finally, it was over, and when we made it back to the condo, I didn’t even bother to look around and see if things had changed in the year I’d been away. I just mumbled a quick goodnight and stumbled to my room where I thankfully, blissfully fell into dreamless sleep.
Chapter Two
The morning came far too soon. I’d accidentally left my phone alarm set to wake me up to do early morning feed at the ranch, so it went off just around the same time the sun came up. I groaned and burrowed my hand under the pillow where I’d stuffed my phone, swiping randomly at the screen with one eye open until it shut up and allowed me to drift peacefully back into oblivion.
“Astrid,” Marion called softly from the doorway just as I was nice and cozy, “I heard your alarm. Are you up? Come on, breakfast is ready. We have a big day ahead of us.”
No, I ducked my head into my pillow to shut out the daylight now streaming in from the hallway through the open door.
“Come on, sleepyhead,” she said, laughing, “your father’s already out jogging. I want to talk to you privately before he gets back.”
That got my attention. I yawned, dragged myself wearily out of bed and shuffled out into the hallway and then down to the kitchen. Marion was standing by the counter, dressed in her designer yoga gear, looking rail-thin and radiant as usual.
“Good morning, darling,” she said, pushing a bowl of yogurt and granola toward me. “Here, I made your favourite. I even added a few blueberries as a treat.”
“Um, thanks,” I said, thinking longingly of the heaping plate of bacon, eggs, and hash browns I’d eaten only yesterday morning with Aunt Lillian. That already seemed like a lifetime ago.
“So, sweetheart, you know your father always has your best interests at heart, right?”
