Chapter 15

July 2023

The morning after my dinner with Ash at the French restaurant is rough. We finished two bottles of wine last night, our teasing of the faux French Claude growing by the glass. I was determined to get him to confess his sins, but he stuck to his guns and said, "Oui, oui," even when I asked him pointedly whether he spoke French or had even been to France.

I was glad for the car, and after it dropped me off and I climbed up the stairs to my hot, hot room, I stripped down to my underwear and prayed this was the last night I was going to sleep without air-conditioning.

My phone buzzing at six wakes me. At first, I think it's the alarm I'd set so I don't miss practice, but it's a text.

From Wes.

I'm sorry,it says. Just those two words floating on my screen. It could be about a lot of things, but I know it's probably about the one big thing. The worst thing. Her. Whoever she is.

"Someone you don't know,"he promised, and then I'd held up my hand and said, "Enough," because I didn't need any more of a visual than I'd already found.

I start to type an answer, then stop, because what do I want to say? I'm sure he is sorry. Maybe sorry he got caught, and maybe sorry that I'm gone too. But sorry is not enough, so I put the phone down and give myself a minute to decide whether I'm going to go to practice.

What I want to do is go back to sleep, but it's already hot in here, and I know from experience that once I'm up, I'm up. So instead of pulling the sheet over my head, I go to the bathroom and take a long, cool shower, then change into my tennis clothes and head to the club.

It's a bright morning and the sun hurts my eyes. I've forgotten my sunglasses at the house, so I pull my tennis cap low and pray that Matt doesn't notice the extra slowness in my step and the way I'm wincing when anyone talks too loudly.

I might be fooling him, but I'm not fooling Cindy, who crushes me in our first set. But I don't roll over that easily and I fight my way back, bringing us level at one set apiece. We're running out of time, so we play a tie-breaker, and first I'm up a mini-break and then she is, and then I rip a serve and I move up to the net, and she swings her arm back and cracks a passing shot down the line.

The world slows down, and now I'm inside a memory. Cindy's expression is the same as that of the woman who took me down fifteen years ago, and my arm is moving to try to get the shot, but my brain is screaming, No!

I get halfway there before I stop myself, but I can already feel the pain blooming at the site of the old tear.

The shot lands in, and Cindy puts her arms up in victory. I put my hand on my thighs, hunch over, and breathe in and out slowly. I can feel Matt's eyes on me, like he's X-raying my torso, trying to decide if history is repeating itself.

"Olivia?"

"I'm okay," I say, but it's low, mostly to myself.

Matt's hand is on my back. "Can you stand up?"

I nod, then tip myself up slowly. I rub my side. I've hurt myself, but it's not a break. I've just strained the muscles, an injury I've had more than once since the terrible break in Florida.

"Sorry," Cindy says, not looking sorry at all.

"Don't be. That was a great shot."

She smiles. "See you tomorrow?"

"Take the day off tomorrow," Matt says before I can answer. "Besides, isn't it your birthday?"

"You never used to give me my birthday off."

"I've mellowed in my old age."

I rub my side again, pressing into the muscles, trying to determine what I've done. Nothing too permanent, I don't think, but a day off is probably a good idea. Every part of my body hurts since I started playing every day.

"I'll take you up on that, then."

He smiles at me, the worry in his eyes easing. "You'll be okay."

"I will."

He releases me, and I go to the sidelines and recover my tennis bag. I wince as I bend to pick it up and stop. I'm about to ask Matt to take it for me, but then someone's picking it up.

"Let me help you," Fred says.

I rise slowly. It hurts to move, but it hurts to be around Fred too. "I got it."

Fred doesn't let his grip go; he just slings the bag over his shoulder and extends his hand like he's letting me go through a doorway first. I can feel Matt's eyes on me again, and some of the students' too, so I start to walk away, letting Fred follow me.

"You feeling okay?" Fred says. "Did you aggravate the old injury?"

"I'm fine."

"It felt like I was watching history repeat itself."

I shake away the echo of my own thoughts. I stop at the court fence and open the door. "You were watching?"

"I've always liked watching you play. You know that."

My brain leaps to that first summer when we didn't get enough time to figure out what we could be before he left. He was supposed to come to watch me play then, but we didn't make it far enough. But there were other summers. Ones I wish I could forget.

"It's not like the old days," I say as I push the gate open.

"I don't agree. You look great out there."

I grit my teeth. I thought his cold stares and clipped voice the other night were bad, but this is worse. Nice Fred. Former Fred. I'm not sure I can take it.

"Thanks." I turn to the path that will take me the short way home. "I walked here," I say. "You don't have to come with me."

"I could use a stretch. I've been in meetings since five."

I look at him now. His dark hair is mussed, and his face has its pre-shave stubble. "London time?"

"London time."

"You're still based there?"

"I'm half there, half here. But I plan to make this my base. I'm putting a team in place who will run things in London so I can be less involved."

"And get more sleep."

He smiles but it doesn't reach his eyes. "More sleep would be great."

The path to my house is narrow, not built for us to walk next to each other, and I'm grateful for that. It's easier to talk to Fred when I don't have to look directly at him.

"I hear you on the sleeping," I say. "There's no air in my room."

"I remember."

I blush. "Yes, well … Ash is getting her guy to take care of that today, she says, so that's good." I sound like a moron, speaking in half sentences.

"You made up?"

"You knew we weren't speaking?"

"She told me."

"Oh?" It comes out like a squeak.

"I mean years ago. I haven't spoken to her recently if that's what you're asking."

I feel a tinge of relief that Ash wasn't lying to me last night. "You've never liked her."

"That's not true."

"Fred, come on."

He lets out a sigh behind me. "Okay, maybe. But I had my reasons."

"I remember," I say with some satisfaction. Two can play at this game.

We're at the end of the beach path, and I step onto the sidewalk. It's only a block from my house now and I pick up the pace. Anxiety is pricking at my fingers, and my hangover feels like it's back for round two. I need a shower, meds, a nap. I need to get away from Fred.

"Are you thinking of playing professionally again?" Fred asks.

"What? No. I'm too old."

"You're not old."

"Thirty-six tomorrow," I say, then kick myself.

"Are you doing anything to celebrate?"

I sneak a peek at him. His face is open, candid, like he's talking to someone he just met at a cocktail party. But there's a spark of interest too. He can't quite keep that in check.

"I haven't given it much thought. I didn't know I was coming out here till right before I did."

"When you heard I'd bought the house?"

"What? No."

We're at my driveway, facing each other. The top of his shirt is open, and he has a triangle of tan between his collarbones. There's a line of sunburn too, across the bridge of his nose, following the path of his freckles.

I wish with every fiber of my being that I didn't find him so attractive. That I could forget the feel of his hands on me.

"I didn't know you'd done that until I got here."

"Charlotte didn't tell you?"

"She did not."

"You two in a fight?"

"No. Why do you ask?"

"You sound angry."

"Well, I am."

"At me?"

I cross my arms, then regret it. I'm going to need to tape my side at the very least. "Of course at you."

"What did I do?"

"Come on, Fred. You bought my family's house and didn't even tell me about it."

"Would you have taken my call?"

That stops me. I don't know what I would've done if Fred had called.

"I didn't think so," Fred says.

"You didn't give me the chance to find out—"

"Not this time, but—"

"—and you haven't told me why you bought it or what you intend to do with it."

"You really want to know?"

We stare at each other for a beat, and I can't read him. Does he want to tell me? Or is he shielding me from something that might hurt me? I can't take the risk.

"I guess not." I reach for my bag, and he gives it to me. "Thanks for bringing it here."

"Sure. I hope your side's okay."

"Thanks." I turn to leave.

"Wait, Olivia."

"What?"

"Lucy told me that you were thinking of having an estate sale?"

"Lucy told you?"

He has the good sense to look sheepish. "At dinner last night."

I want to sink into the ground. He's dating Lucy.

"Anyway, I was wondering if you had any plans for the proceeds?"

"I hadn't thought about it."

"You know there's a charity for my uncle. I thought you might want to set up something similar in your mother's name? There are some nice pieces in the house that might bring in a tidy sum."

I'm stuck between being angry at the thought that he was appraising the furniture when he was visiting the house, and the happiness of being able to honor my mother the way she should be. "Oh, I … I'd have to talk to Charlotte and Sophie. And my father, of course."

"Of course. Let me know what you decide, and I'll set everything up."

"You don't—"

"It would be my pleasure. I have lawyers on staff who can do it, no problem. Decide who you want the recipients to be, and we'll take it from there."

"Okay, I will."

He stares at me, and for a moment the world slows down like it did on the tennis court, like I'm living in the past and I know what my body wants to do, but just like on the court with Cindy, my brain is screaming, No!

And then the moment passes, and I step onto the driveway, fighting as hard as I can not to break into a run.