“Very kind, miss. Sorry... do we know each other?”
Her face looks familiar, but my memory fails me.
“I don't know, I don't think so...”
“I do remember you!” she exclaims enthusiastically. “You used to skate years ago when my Blake was competing for the Olympics. I worked at the arena where they competed.”
My muscles tense. Her daughter. Blake. Her name again, the past returning without warning. It seems everything revolved around her back then, coming back strongly in the present.
“I'm really sorry about your accident and that you couldn't compete,” she adds with sincere compassion. “Forgive my oversight, I haven't introduced myself. I'm Maureen Sullivan, Blake's mother.”
She extends her hand, but I hesitate to shake it. Does she not know who I am? That I was Ryan's wife?
“I'm Miche
