Cathryn Parry - Christmas At Prescott Inn

“I got it from a passenger,” she admitted. “And no, they’re not supposed to tape our shows. But when the guy showed it to me, I wheedled a copy from him.”

Dr. David laughed. “You’re always the charmer where the passengers are concerned,” he teased. He knew she had a large email list of former audience members who followed her upbeat online blog postings.

Unfortunately, that would have to be curtailed, at least until she got another laptop. Hers was currently underwater, along with all her other things.

Clothes, photos, memorabilia...and a certain gold necklace.

Emilie blinked away the moisture in her eyes. Stay positive , she chided herself. She brought up the video on her phone—thankfully that had been collected by one of her quick-thinking skaters—and settled beside Dr. David to view the scene once again.

The recording was shaky and also dark because the house lights were down. Taken by an audience member, it showed the tops of people’s heads mostly. They’d had a full show last night—every seat on three sides of the rectangular ice stage had been filled. The ice surface, just one third the size of the indoor rink Emilie had skated on during her childhood in Florida, was lit with colorful spotlights, moving fast over the ice. A theatrical fog machine gave the appearance that the skaters were stepping from a festive holiday dream.

Emilie fast-forwarded the video to the end of the second number of the troupe’s new Christmas spectacular. It was a high-energy number involving all the members of her company—five males and five females. The troupe consisted of two pairs teams, an ice dance team, two mixed singles skaters who sometimes paired off for dance numbers, plus two more spotlight soloists.

Watching them perform the familiar choreography, Emilie felt a quick burst of pride. They’d been hitting all their marks in the new show. The transitions had been moving smoothly, and up to that point, the performance had been going off without a hitch.

Gasps of awe went up from the audience as the show segued to a solo from Katya and her partner, Sergei—the star pairs team originally from Russia. They entered the ice with a majestic lift and throw.

At that moment, Emilie had been helping Julie, her champion singles skater, change from her snowflake headdress and into the costume for her next number. But she couldn’t help pausing to watch the pairs team, peeking through the curtains to check that all was well with the new number, the first time Katya and Sergei had ever performed it live.

Emilie was the group’s ice captain. At twenty-eight, she was the ancient member of the troupe, affectionately nicknamed the “Ice Mom,” because she took care of the others. She considered the role a privilege. Along with skating in the shows, she was also the liaison with the ship’s production manager and the skaters’ production company, who employed them. But Emilie took her duties even further than that. She considered the troupe her own little family, and did whatever she could to make them happy.

Last night, all the skaters had been nervous because it was their first time performing the show in front of an audience. They were the only troupe in the fleet performing this particular number, and Emilie was on the line for its success.

She’d been eager for the opportunity to prove herself. Performers on cruise ships were usually required to retire by their early thirties, so Emilie had to think about her next steps. She hoped to be hired as a choreographer by the production company that put together the shows for the cruise line. And if her troupe succeeded, so would she. If they didn’t...well, the business was cutthroat. There were extremely few openings for choreographers.

And until the accident, the audience had been loving the show. There’d been lots of kids present, which was always great. Their enthusiasm fed Emilie. If not for the pleasure she gave to the audience, she probably would never have picked skating as her career. The audience had to be happy.

Squinting at the screen, Emilie focused on Katya. The petite pairs skater with the intricate blond braids looked the part of the ice princess she was playing. Delicately, Katya stepped into a spin.

“There! Stop the video!” Emilie said. She jabbed her finger at the screen of her phone, but she wasn’t quick enough—Dr. David moved the phone away from her.

“Not yet, I want to see this,” he said.

On the video, the ship shuddered and gasps rang out from the audience.

Katya tumbled from her spin, and before Sergei could catch her, she slammed sideways into the boards.

Dr. David paused the video and then backed it up, moving it forward in slow motion. “Katya doesn’t hit her head,” he murmured. “See? No part of her head ever touches a hard surface. Maybe she experienced some whiplash, though. Are her pupils dilated?”

“No,” Emilie answered, thinking back to her own examination of Katya. Dr. David had taught Emilie the basics of checking for concussions. “She just says she has a headache. I want to be sure it isn’t anything serious.”

“Once my replacement shows up—hopefully in the next twenty minutes—I’ll head over to the gym to take another look at her.”

“Thank you,” Emilie said quietly.

“I’m sure she’s fine, but until I get there, I’ll send you back with more ice. First, though, do you mind if I watch the rest of this video?”

Emilie winced. She’d only been able to watch the rest of the video once. It was far too painful for her to see again. “It’s just chaos,” she murmured. But it was more than that. It was the end of her troupe.

“You guys should be proud,” Dr. David remarked. “I heard from the security officer that your team evacuated the ice studio much faster than anyone expected.”

Yes, the troupe had done an exceptional job under horrible circumstances.

Dr. David touched her phone to start the video again.

Katya lay on the ice for only a moment. As her troupe had often practiced, Gary, their other male pairs skater, dashed forward and escorted Katya behind the curtain.

At the time, Emilie had checked her natural instinct to run over and check on Katya herself—that was a nasty fall—but she was too well-trained to actually do so. There were other professionals on hand for that. They handled such falls fairly often, unfortunately, due to the rocking of the ship at sea. The show must go on.

But she’d known this wasn’t just choppy seas. The ship had shuddered again, and Emilie had grabbed the railing. The overhead lights started flashing. Not a good sign.

“Hey, Emilie,” Gary, the big ice dancer, had said in her ear. “Which emergency signal is this one?”

“I don’t remember,” she’d answered. There were so many to keep track of. She’d had to think for a minute. Different blasts and codes meant different things. There were signals for cardiac arrests and “man overboard” crises and general security warnings. They’d even turned back to port once or twice during her years at sea, but this...

Seven short drones on the ship’s horn sounded, followed by one long blast.

“Crew and guests assemble at muster stations,” Bill, their cruise ship director spoke over the ship-wide intercom.

“It’s the evacuate ship signal!” Emilie realized.

“No way!” Gary said. “That’s only for drills!”

“Trust me, this is no drill.” Emilie slammed on her plastic skate guards so she could run off to assist passengers.

“Everyone to the muster station!” she shouted to the audience as loud as she could. She leaped over the rink’s railing, still in her glittery elf costume, and began to usher the audience out of the auditorium.

Incredibly, the startled passengers paid heed to her.