You’re goddamn right I am.
“That’s you, isn’t it?”
I jumped at the girl’s voice. “Sorry,” she said.
“It’s okay.”
“That’s you and Mrs. Wyatt. You’re Nora Noakes.”
“Yeah.”
“Coach Cress talked about you all the time. You and Mrs. Wyatt. Said you were the best doubles team he ever coached.”
“Huh,” I said, staring at the photo, wishing I could go back to that summer knowing now it was the beginning of the end. Would I do anything differently?
“Mrs. Wyatt says you were the best. She’s always teasing Logan and me about it. Says you two would have kicked our butts. I’m Lexa, by the way. Lexa Rodriguez.”
“Nice to meet you. You and Logan are doubles partners?”
“Yeah. Club champs two years running.”
“Good for you.” I jerked my head toward the tennis courts on the other side of the wall. “Why aren’t you out there practicing?”
“I’m done for today. I just started my shift. Logan’s out there, hitting with my brother.”
“Think anyone would mind...?”
She rolled her eyes in a mannerism I remembered from my youth. “Please.”
My body relaxed as soon as I walked outside to the four courts grouped in a rectangle to the west of the clubhouse. A green windscreen covered the chain link fence around the court on three sides, with the fourth side open to the restaurant patio. Logan and a teenage boy were in the middle of a long, grunt-filled volley. I found a chair at a table near the court and watched.
Logan moved like her mother. Long legs and arms made her side-to-side movements seem effortless and gave her the ability to reach the ball even when her opponent thought he’d dropped it in the perfect spot. Her ball placement was impeccable, and she kept delivering shot after shot to his forehand. He would try to reposition himself to the center line, thinking Logan was about to go cross-court, but another volley delivered right at his forehand pulled him back every time. He knew Logan was setting him up as well as I did, so he delivered a shot to Logan’s backhand. She reached out and, with a two-handed grip, crushed the return. The guy watched Logan’s shot whiz by, just catching the in line.
Logan caught sight of me, grinned and waved. I waved back.
I sat back in my chair and let the familiarity of the sights and sounds wash over me. I’d spent half of my childhood on these courts, and in the swimming pool beyond. Summers full of sticky popsicles, nut-brown bodies cannonballing into the deep end, the tang of sweat and suntan lotion on our upper lips when we laid out, chicken fights with Joe and Charlie and whatever other boys were available, choking on chlorinated water when we were dunked. The squeak of tennis shoes on the court, the thwack of the racquet on a ball. Sitting on a lifeguard chair, twirling a whistle around our fingers, noses white with sunscreen.
A glass of water, sweat beading on the sides, was placed on the table next to me by a perfectly manicured hand. “I saw you from inside. Thought you might be thirsty.”
My stomach tumbled at the sound of her voice, and then I looked at her.
With her expensive tailored clothes, red lips and Jackie O. sunglasses, she looked like a movie star. A cool breeze brushed my skin, as if she’d brought the air-conditioning outside with her.
“Thank you.”
She nodded but was looking in her daughter’s direction. I gulped the water, unaware until it coursed down my throat how thirsty I was. The ice clinked in the glass when I set it down.
The breeze shifted Sophie’s dark hair across her olive skin. She swept it back behind her ear, and I caught a whiff of her perfume, spicy and sharp. A perfect scent for Sophie. I couldn’t help but smile.
“She’s better than I was,” Sophie said.
“Oh, I don’t know. You were a great player.”
“Not as good as you.”
“Nobody’s perfect.”
Sophie shifted her face slightly, and I knew she was side-eyeing me.
“Are you here to pick Logan up?”
“No. Breakfast meeting.”
“Don’t let me keep you.”
“It’s over.”
She looked back toward the clubhouse but didn’t move to leave.
“Do you want to sit down?”
“I can’t stay long.”
I pressed the button on my phone. Zero eight thirty. “Just for a minute.”
She studied me a long moment and sat down.
“Do you still play?” I asked.
“A little in the last year. You?”
“Haven’t picked up a racket since I left.”
“How far did you run?”
“About six miles.”
“Impressive.”
“Do you run?”
“Only when someone is chasing me.”
I laughed, and she smiled. “Same laugh. It’s nice to hear.”
Her eyes were hidden behind her glasses, but her smile faded into something else, and we looked away from each other. We watched in silence for a while, though I barely saw what was in front of me. I noticed Logan glance our way, and turn without acknowledging her mother. Sophie’s mouth tightened, and she uncrossed and crossed her legs.
“Sophie.” I sat forward in my chair and held my empty water glass between my hands. I saw my reflection in her bug-eyed glasses and grimaced.
“Are you going to berate me again? Because you’ll have to stand in line,” she said.
“Berate you? No.” I looked down. “Will you take your glasses off?”
She pushed the glasses back on her head, pulling her hair away from her face.
“Thank you.” I sighed and rubbed my forehead, the hangover headache sneaking back up on me. “I’m sorry for yesterday. For how I acted. I...”
I resent you. I miss you. I hate you. I love you.
She stared at me with those deep brown eyes, and I wondered if she could see into me like she used to, if she knew I was repulsed by her as much as I was drawn to her? Her expression was inscrutable. I cleared my throat. “I don’t know how long I’ll be in town, and I don’t want it to be awkward.”
“Awkward. Is that what you think this is?”
“It’s one word for it. Let’s not fight, okay?”
“You never did like confrontation.”