Page 55 of Shining Through

She’d endured cutting comments from the other skaters, and tried not to resent the doctors’ daughters who had new skates every season, and whose mothers didn’t have to serve snack bar hot dogs to afford them. But even the best equipment didn’t guarantee results. Ten years later, none of those girls were still skating, and it was Tabitha who was poised to become the next Winter Games gold medalist.

Provided she kept her head in the game.

Since the main room served as their living room, dining room, and Fiona’s bedroom, it was always a mess. Tabitha carried their morning coffee mugs and cereal bowls to the kitchen, filled the sink with hot water, and a generous squirt of dollar-store dish liquid. Once the dishes were clean, she went into the bedroom she shared with Samara, and gathered up the clothes she wanted to wash for her trip. Thank goodness the building had a basement laundry room.

How many places had her family lived? Tabitha recalled ten. The nicest was the house with the pool in Benedict Canyon where they’d lived with Jason Hart. The worst? That was a toss-up between the dumpy Sunset Boulevard motel where they stayed after Fiona left Ray, a hard-drinking bass player, and this place. But at least it had laundry.

Returning to the living room, she tossed a faded Motley Crue t-shirt into the laundry basket, and picked up the CDs scattered across the coffee table. Quiet Riot, Warrant, Guns N’ Roses. Bands Fiona had known and hung out with back when she first came to LA. She returned the discs to the shelf, beside Samara’s movie collection.

Just as skating had been Tabitha’s favorite escape, animated fairy tales had been Samara’s. After everything that had happened to them, it was hard to believe her sister still loved princess stories and happy endings. Again, she thought of Jason Hart.

A crate of dusty record albums sat beside the stereo. In the middle, she found the first album by Noyzz, Jason’s band before he became a big-shot producer. The band he’d played with when Fiona met him in Florida and followed him to LA. She turned the record over to the band photo. Jason, in pleather pants and a mullet, posed with a red flying V guitar.

Asshole.

When they lived together as a family, Tabitha never felt close to him. Jason always considered her Fiona’s kid, and Fiona’s problem. Not that she was ever a problem. She’d been Polly Perfect even at six. But Jason had doted on Samara, his real daughter. At least until he learned otherwise and everything fell apart.

They might have left LA after that if not for Tabitha’s burgeoning skating talent. But Fiona had moved them into a cheap apartment, found a job and another rock-and-roll boyfriend. The Turner’s low-rent high-drama life went on.

It was a life Tabitha had grown up determined not to repeat. Untrustworthy bad boys equaled broken hearts and crushed dreams. She shoved Noyzz into the back of the crate.

She folded up the sofa bed where Fiona slept. A stray sock and a pair of pink leggings were on the floor beneath it, so she tossed them into the basket. If she didn’t get the clothes into the wash soon, she’d be up half the night waiting for everything to finish. She hoisted the basket against her hip and grabbed the jug of detergent from beneath the sink. Quarters. Crap. Did she have any? She set down the basket to dig through her purse when the doorbell buzzed.

Outside, two women huddled beneath the small awning, trying to stay out of the rain. Both wore laminated badges around their necks. One carried a clipboard, the other a caddy of medical supplies. The woman with the clipboard flashed her ID. “Good afternoon, Miss Turner. We’re from the International Anti-Doping Commission.”

Wonderful. A visit from IADC. Just the thing to make this perfect day complete.

“May we come in?”

“Sure.” Tabitha stepped aside to let them enter. It wasn’t like she could say no to a random drug test. Not if she wanted to compete. For an elite athlete, these tests—always at the most inconvenient times—-went with the territory. She signed the consent form and gestured toward the laundry basket. “Listen, I’m leaving early tomorrow for a competition and still have to pack, so I need to get this done.”

The woman with the case set out three shrink-wrapped plastic specimen jars and offered a sweet smile. She looked like someone’s grandmother. A grandmother with a strange job. “Well, if you think you’re ready to give us a little tinkle, we’ll have everything done in a jiffy. Susan here will go with you to the bathroom, along with your adult chaperone.”

The other woman glanced at her clipboard. “Actually, she’s an adult.”

“Silly me. So many of the figure skaters are young girls I’m just used to Mom doing the honors. Is there anyone you would like to come with you?”

“I’m fine.” As fine as she could be under the circumstances. Few things were more awful than being monitored on the toilet by a stranger. She chose a jar, then went into the bathroom. Susan with the clipboard followed. Because the room was so small, she left the door open. Tabitha could only hope Samara and Danté didn’t happen to walk in right now.

“Top up, bottom down.”

Tabitha raised her t-shirt and lowered her tights. Her face burning, she averted her gaze as the woman looked her over. Satisfied Tabitha didn’t have a vial of contraband urine strapped to her inner thigh, Susan gave a brisk nod.

Awful as it was, at least Susan was professional about it.

Tabitha washed her hands, then sat down, with the cup positioned to catch the stream. If it came. Peeing on command and being watched while she did it, made her bladder freeze. She breathed out, and closed her eyes, willing herself to relax.Come on, come on, just get this over with.

Nothing.

Susan leaned against the vanity and peered down at Tabitha. “I can turn on the water, if you like.”

“That rarely helps.”

“Oh. Well, we could just chat? That might help you relax.”

Any port in a storm. “Sure.”

“I don’t follow skating much,” Susan said, “but my niece is a big fan. She just loves Mia Lang. Do you know her?”

---