Cracks in the Ice

By Deanna K. Klingel

Cracks in the Ice received the Catholic Writers Guild Seal of Approval and is a Selah Book Award finalist. “We skate deliberately over the wide dangerous cracks, where lesser skaters might fall and never recover...” Gina Mangalli, niece of a mafia don, has dreams of Olympic gold as a figure skater. When tragedy strikes, her life spins out of control, and then a rash decision changes Gina's life forever. The burden of guilt causes a spiral that carries her further from the life she had always dreamed for herself. Have things gone too far? Can her hopes and dreams be restored or is it too late?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Progressive Rising Phoenix Press, LLC
• Release date: Apr 7, 2017
• ISBN: 9781946329301

Deanna K. Klingel

Deanna K. Klingel resides in Edenton, North Carolina, with her husband Dave where they enjoy being surrounded by history. They have seven grown children-all married-and twelve grandchildren. Much of the inspiration for her stories comes from the many places she's lived and the people she encountered. Deanna writes for young and young-at-heart readers, and. is the author of many books for young readers from Pre K to high school. She is a member of SCBWI-Carolinas, NCWNwest, Catholic Writers Guild, and other professional organizations. She frequently visits schools, museums, reenactments and events, and gives presentations at schools, conferences, and museums. Learn more at Booksbydeanna.com, @deannakklingel, fb: Deanna K. Klingel Author.

Book preview

Chapter One

Dear Diary,

All I want is to be in charge of my own life and ice skate. Is that so much to ask? I mean I am fourteen. I think I can be in charge of something. It just isn’t fair. All I want to do is ice skate. Sometimes things happen that have nothing to do with me, but they change things in my life. I don’t think that’s fair. Now, I have all these other things I have to deal with. It makes me mad.

Gina, 1954

I like to stand up here, look out my window, think about things, and watch the Dobermans running around in their yard. When I was little I was afraid of the Dobermans. Bugsy, their handler, told me they’d eat me alive and I was never allowed to go into their compound. That meant just about anywhere outside on the family compound.

From up here in my room I can see the play yard Uncle Giovanni’s business associates built for me when I was small. It’s made of stone and tile and it has a fountain with a spray and a big shade tree. They built a playhouse inside the tile enclosure to look like a miniature of the big house. I liked it okay, but I always wished it had grass. The Dobermans have the grass.

I spent a lot of time in that little playhouse when I was younger. I played with my Sonje Henie paper dolls and read Little Women and Nancy Drew. I sucked on frozen Kool-Aid squares in the summer and sipped hot Ovaltine from my red plaid thermos in the winter. My playhouse had a table and two red chairs. I never knew who was supposed to sit in the second chair.

I used to peep through a chipped hole in the tile wall and watch the Dobermans running in the grass. In winter they had the best snow. The sprawling lawns of the family compound stretched out from the big house like bleached linen tablecloths. But, in my play yard the snow piled against the walls. I could make snow angels, but I couldn’t run anywhere or roll around like the Dobermans.

If someone didn’t know better, they’d think they were just playful, happy, pets. They’re actually working. Their job is to keep people from coming into the Giovanni Family Compound. Whenever someone comes, the dogs go tearing to the gate barking viciously, hackles up, snarling through their bared teeth, and slobbering all over themselves. Now, that’s funny!

Then Bugsy picks up his gun that he nicknamed Chicago Piano, and he looks out the guard house window. If it’s someone who has an appointment, he blows his silent whistle, the dogs go back to the guard house, and the gate opens. If they don’t have an appointment, Bugsy tells them they have five seconds to turn around and get off the property in one piece. The Dobermans help them make up their minds. That’s their job.

Everyone has a job here. Everyone except me, that is. I just live here. I’m Gina, the niece of Don Salvatore Giovanni. I don’t play in my playhouse anymore. I mostly look out the window when I’m home, which I rarely am. Most of the time, now, I’m on the ice.

Three things happened when I was younger that changed everything for me. The first was the Dobermans. One winter day the dark Michigan sky was weighted down with a blizzard we all knew was coming. Once it got started, I’d be in for several boring days. The tutors wouldn’t come, there would be no school over the garage, and it would just be me and my Sonje Henie paper dolls. I thought the Dobermans would feel lonely too, with no one to keep out.

I waited in the hall outside Uncle G’s office for Bugsy to come out of a family meeting. I told him, in a nice way of course, very respectful, I thought the Dobermans might be feeling bored and lonely and maybe needed someone to play with.

Bugsy laughed real loud and slapped my head, playful like, accidentally shoving me into the wall. In his broken Sicilian-Italian-English he told me that his boys, Veloce and Capu, would eat me alive. He’d trained them to guard the Family Compound, not play tea party with a little girl.

But, I’m family, I whined. You could train them to like me. I was scared, but even scared is better than bored and lonely. Bugsy always gave in to me when I whined.

We started with Veloce. Bugsy said I’d be Veloce’s grocer. I learned to bring his groceries–his meat. It took a few weeks, and Bugsy said it had to be our secret. If anything went wrong he’d deny being a part of it. He said Uncle Giovanni would ice him. I giggled thinking that Uncle G would drop snowballs down Bugsy’s shirt.

Bugsy said, Ain’t funny, Gina.

Yes, it is, I giggled.

By the time my eighth birthday rolled around, Veloce, Capu, and I were pretty good friends. Their names mean Fast and Boss. I wasn’t ever allowed to enter their compound alone, but I learned to pet them, give them meat, and tell them to lie down. Bugsy taught me the tricks to training them. I wasn’t afraid of them anymore.

Bugsy said a Doberman’s like everything else in life. Once you look it in the eye, you have power over it. Once you confront it and see it for what it is, you can take charge of it. He says fear shows in our eyes.

Don’t ever let your fear show, is what Bugsy told me. You’ll always have the edge if they don’t see your fear. Just look the dog in the eye. Just look your fear in the eye. I’ll never forget that, no matter where I go. I just look it in the eye.

The second thing happened when I was ten. Uncle G, who is also my godfather, surprised me with a pair of ice skates on my birthday. Uncle G knew how much I liked Sonje Henie, the best ice skater in the world. She was my idol. I wanted to look like her, wear her costumes, skate like her–I wanted to be Sonje. Sonje Henie won more Olympic and World Titles than any other lady figure skater in the world. She was beautiful. I loved my Sonje Henie paper dolls. Mama and I designed beautiful paper costumes. Now I had real ice skates, and Mama and I design real costumes for me. I can be just like Sonje.

Two of Uncle Giovanni’s bodyguards–I call them The Bodies–are assigned to take me to ice skating lessons. I was really nervous and scared that I’d fail at being Sonja. But, Bugsy reminded me that I’d tamed the Dobermans so I could certainly tame the ice. He didn’t realize that part of my fear had nothing to do with the ice. It was fear of life outside the family compound, where I’d not often gone, and had never gone alone.

Just look it in the eye, Bugsy said and winked at me.

The third thing that changed my life was Sandy. I met Sandy at our first ice skating lesson. Sandy became my best friend. Well, actually, she was my first and only friend. We had our beginner lessons together twice a week, and private ice time three times a week. There were six girls in our class. Sandy and I came the earliest, stayed the latest, and we worked the hardest. We were both crazy about figure skating. I went to the rink every day to practice and meet Sandy. Now, we’re competing together. I can’t wait to see her today. She’ll be as excited as me.

The first time I learned to lace up my skates, Sandy was on the trainer’s bench beside me. I looked my fears in the eye, and everything about my life in Wyandotte, Michigan, changed. I was no longer just the niece of Don Salvatore Giovanni, the invisible girl in the big Giovanni Family Compound, playing in an empty playhouse. Now, I lived in a separate world with my friend Sandy and others like us who lived fearlessly on a slab of ice. I’ve learned that the Dobermans and cracks are just like all of life: loud, fast, and dangerous. I just look them all in the eye. I’m not afraid of the Dobermans, or cracks in the ice. I’m ready.

Chapter Two

Gina! Gina! Mama is calling me. You are packed, yes? The car is ready. You go now, Gina. Be good girl. Skate good, get prizes.

I run down the curved stairs with my suitcase and skate case dragging behind me bumping down the carpeted stairs.

Not on the marble, Gina, Mama screams at me to pick them up as I cross the marble foyer. My pink and silver metal skate case bangs against my leg where it’s made a permanent bruise on my calf. Mama kisses me on both cheeks, like she always does. I can see The Bodies waiting for me on the porch. They look all shimmery through the thick cut glass doors. With one Body in front of me and one behind me we move down the steps and into the black car waiting in the portico.

You’re a vision of loverness today, Gina. I don’t know where Nick ever heard that, but it’s nice of him to say it.

Here, Gina. Don’t say I never did nothin’ for ya’. Weasel hands me a good luck Hershey Bar for the car ride.

Thanks, Weasel.

We drive slowly around the curved driveway of the family compound passing the play yard and stopping at the guard gate.

Hi Capu, hi Veloce. The dogs drop in response to my hand signal, and wait to be petted.

Good luck, Gina, Bugsy calls. Knock ‘em dead, girl; arrivederci.

Bye, Bugsy!

Just look ‘em in the eye, Bugsy says and winks at me.

Bye, Mama, I yell to her and wave as she stands on the portico watching us, and crossing herself. Mama always prays for everybody to be safe and come back alive.

Bye you guys, I say to the Dobermans. Wish me luck! The Bodies slam the car doors shut. I’m so excited I’m wiggling already. Weasel turns and looks at me over his dark glasses. The look says, Sit still. It’s his job.

Nick and Weasel, today I want you to meet Sandy. Nick pulls onto the highway and I open my Hershey Bar. Sandy’s my best friend. She’ll probably be a famous skater someday.

Yeah, we know which one she is. We don’t hafta’ meetcher friend. Not parta our job.

Yeah, we don’ socialize none when we’s workin’. Boss don’ like it. Their boss is my Uncle Giovanni. Everybody wants to please the Boss. Nick has told me to sit still twice already, but I just can’t.

Only a few more miles, Gina. You ready?

Yep.

Scared?

Nope.

I’ve competed in many shows at our rink and around Detroit, in the last three years. Once I went with Sandy to Flint for the Regional Competition. I’ve won lots of ribbons, trophies, and awards. I’ve already decided I want to be a professional ice skater after I win the Olympics. My coach thinks I’m going to be good enough. He says I have work ethic, too, and that’s important for a champion, he told me. But, today’s competition is different from the others. This is a huge show in Detroit. It’s the State Competition, which is why I’m so excited. It feels different.

From the waiting area I can see all the people in the stands. It’s more people than I’ve ever seen in one place in all my life; more than in the cathedral in Little Sicily where I go to church. My stomach is tracing a 180 figure. The music is playing on an organ that’s so loud it tickles my insides. Not like the organ at church. It’s a wonder it doesn’t crack the ice. It plays all the time; I think I might get a headache. The ice in this big arena has colored designs on it that mark out the field for ice hockey games. We have to ignore those and concentrate on our own figures. This will be hard. I forget to swallow and choke on my spit.

It’s different in another way, too. I’m skating on a more advanced level today. Of course, more is expected at this level, so I probably won’t win anything this time. That’s okay. My coach says I’m just here for the experience. ‘Don’t be afraid,’ he says to me. I won’t be. I’ve been competing since I was eleven, and I’ve never yet been afraid. I just look my new competition level right in the eye. I take charge, just like Bugsy says.

The locker room is chaos. Locker rooms are always like this at competitions, but this is worse. It’s bigger and louder. Girls screech with excitement and help each other with shoulder straps and hair dos. Bobbie pins fly all over the place. Some of the girls cry over disappointing hair dos and complain about costumes that don’t fit right. Others run in and out the toilets and at least one is throwing up. Another, having toe spasms, rubs her feet and cries. Mama had pulled my curly black hair into a tight chignon this morning and Mrs. Scarlo put some sparkly jewelry on it. I think it looks good. I have a lot of hair, like Mama. One of the host officials with a wide ribbon dangling from her nametag comes into the locker room.

Ladies, we welcome you to the competition today. If you need anything at all find someone wearing a ribbon like this and we’ll be happy to help you. I have an announcement! The prizes today include a month at Summer Training Camp in Chicago with world class skaters, coaches, and trainers. May I be the first to wish you all good luck?

World class skaters, coaches and trainers? I’d love to win a trip to Chicago. Everyone knows that the selections for the National Team usually come out of the summer camps, even though no one officially mentions that. So, of course, we all really want to win a place at camp. The locker room fills up with nervous energy. I can almost see it, like fog over the Detroit River. Sandy and I find an empty locker to share and zip each other into our costumes.

Gina, Gina, I’m so excited. I have to go to the bathroom. How do I look?

You look fine, Sandy. Your costume looks great on you. Do I look okay? I tug on the legs of my costume and check myself out in the mirror. Sandy fills out her costume nicely. She has more shape and curves than I do. Mama says I’m a late bloomer. I stand in front of the mirror and imagine myself on the ice. I can see my entire routine. I look myself in the eye.

Girl, move! You’re hogging the mirror. I blink at the skater who shoves me.

Sorry, I say, and move away from the mirror.

That was rude. Who did your makeup? Sandy asks me.

Mrs. Scarlo, Uncle G’s secretary.

It looks so professional. Do you think she could do mine next time? I could come over to your place. Your costume is scrumptious, where did you get it?

Stop chewing your fingernails, Sandy. Come with me to the restroom.

I grab Sandy’s hand and head to the restroom. Asking someone to come to the restroom is the best way to change the subject. Two things I don’t want to talk about. First of all, Sandy always wants to come to my house, and now she wants to come to get her makeup done. I can’t invite her to my house. My house is…different. And second, I don’t want to talk about my costume. Mama and I made it. We could’ve bought it from the Columbia Costume Company catalog, just like everyone else. If I’d asked Uncle G, he would’ve said, whatever you want, Angel Baby. Let’s order you two of the finest! But, Mama and I like designing and sewing together. And really, our costumes are prettier and fit better than anyone else’s. I don’t want anyone to know it’s homemade, though. They would laugh at me, and I don’t want them to make fun of Mama, either. They’d say we are poor. We aren’t poor.

Chapter Three

Sandy and I head back to the locker room. I sit down on the bench and angle my feet into my skates. These are another pair of new boots because I’ve grown four sizes since I started skating. I lace them up tight with double knots and tuck the ends into the criss-crossed laces. My toes aren’t supposed to move. I try wiggling them to check. I take a deep breath to slow my heart rate, and I stare at the toe picks, taking power over them.

Everyone’s nerves are on edge. Girls are biting their nails, picking their acne, and scratching their hives. We all have to do something with our tension. I play with my hands pretending to skate my Sonja Henie paper dolls across my lap in time to the music, like I did when I was little. I look into the eyes of my competition; and I wait.

You girls iz ready now? C’mon, c’mon, get a moof on right now, den. Helga claps her hands and herds us out of the locker room. Helga makes her usual joke about her being Bossy ze Cow leading her young heifers. She’s told that joke at every show in the last three years. It isn’t really funny anymore, but we all laugh anyway because Helga thinks that’s a really funny line, and we all like Helga. She’s just trying to settle our nerves with her big voice and her not-so-funny yokes. It’s her yob.

The chop chop of our wooden blade covers follow us out to our waiting area. From here we can see the competition and rest while waiting for our warm up call.

You remember now, ja? You do not talk or eat in here, ja? No clapping wiz your hands, neither. Helga doesn’t have to remind us, we all know the rules by heart, but it’s her job. Many of the girls pace: chop, chop, chop, chop, back and forth. Others stretch and warm their muscles. But, I want to watch the performances. I want to see the competition.

Hans, Helga’s husband is leading the boys out to their waiting area. They gather on the other side of the room. Except for the pairs teams, boys and girls aren’t allowed to sit together. Helga and Hans remind us once again that no one is allowed to talk. That’s a pretty good plan, actually, because boys like to tease and mess up the girls’ hair dos. It also keeps the girls from saying mean things to each other, which they do. It’s probably just because they’re nervous, but Mama would say their mamas didn’t teach them well; ‘no manners,’ she would say.

For some reason, I start thinking about the boys. I don’t really care very much about the boys so I don’t know why I’m thinking about them. I wonder what their locker room looks like. I wonder if they’re scared, nervous, shriek about their hair and fuss with their costumes. Sandy says the boys’ restrooms don’t have sit down toilets. She has a brother and she knows things like that. She says the boy skaters don’t wear any underwear. Mama would have a fit if I told her that. It’s probably not true anyway. I’ve discovered that girls say a lot of things that aren’t always true, especially about boys. Mama says God always expects us to tell the truth.

Even