Chapter Ten
Ten
As the sun dipped toward the horizon, oranges and pinks reflected off the darkening ocean.
At the beachside restaurant, a heaping helping of Caribbean coconut rice and beans topped with mahi-mahi satisfied Lulu’s hunger.
Now she dozed on the drive, as the van lumbered inland toward the tropical river region.
Alejandro had warned them that severe storms were predicted for later in the week, so they should take advantage of the good weather while they could.
It was hard to imagine stormy weather around the corner.
The sunny beach day had left her skin warm and her cheeks pink.
Lulu checked in with a happy Zoe, all the while noting the irony that Mom was the one feeling like she was up past her own bedtime.
After the call, she hit her bunk bed hard in the rustic, dormitory-style quarters she shared with Ariana at Hacienda Rio Pacuare.
At sunrise, Lulu woke refreshed and ready…
at least for the morning’s plan. A drill session was set up on a simple blacktop lot that someone, she guessed Tyler, had taped with lines for their group.
Gwendy, Bill, and Tyler were already on the court, tapping a ball diagonally over the net.
Lulu joined in while Ariana got her camera set up.
“Whoo! Did you see that, Bill? Was that a sexy shot or what?” Gwendy exclaimed after executing a particularly elegant drop. “You can put that in the spank bank if ya like.”
Lulu blinked, trying her darndest to unhear it, and even Tyler’s neck went a bit pink. Ariana lowered her lens and reviewed her footage. Under her breath, she muttered, “Delete. Delete. Delete.”
Tyler’s eyes met Lulu’s. “Good morning, you.” That “you” sparked something in her.
The way he singled her out with the simplest word.
Why did the smallest hint of his attention feel like a grand overture?
Quiet enough for her ears only, he said, “After we finish this morning, stick around, will you? I think you’re at a stage where I could work with you on some higher-level shots. ”
Lulu nodded her assent. She wanted to prove she was worthy of learning advanced techniques, not just let him assume so because her tennis skills had been strong.
Besides, putting her focus on a physical activity helped move her mind away from the worry about the afternoon’s adventure, the promise of white-water rafting on a class IV river. But that was later.
On the court, where Gwendy and Bill continued to practice, Gwendy stood poised and ready at the baseline. Her husband, swallowed by his oversized shorts, did his best to hit his slices to her at the back line. But one after the next, his shots fell short.
“Harder, Bill. Harder!” Gwendy encouraged more loudly than necessary. “Get those balls deep!” Winking at Lulu, Gwendy gave a crass chuckle. “It’s amazing how many statements apply to both sex and pickleball. My favorite? Who’s up for mixed doubles!”
From the sidelines, Ariana set her camera down and sighed. “I give up.”
The older woman shrugged with satisfaction. “Nothing gives a mother more pleasure than mortifying her adult child in public.”
“And on that note…” Tyler gathered the players at the net. “I wanna teach you guys a game called Dingles.”
All heads turned to Gwendy, waiting for it. “Nah. Too easy.” She shrugged.
“We’ll have two balls going at once.”
Gwendy guffawed. “Low-hanging fruit. Literally.”
Ignoring Gwendy, Tyler continued. “Starting together, everybody dinks, hitting the ball low and over the net diagonally. This drill is really good for controlling the ball,” he continued.
“But eventually, when you miss, shout ‘Dingles!’ With the remaining ball, the four players play out the point as usual, full court.”
The first couple of attempts at maintaining the game were full-blown mayhem, but once they got the hang of it, Lulu’s hits became even and low.
She found the rhythm of the exercise helped her concentrate on repeating and improving her form with each hit.
And even when one of them missed the ball and yelled “Dingles,” and the game descended into chaos, she found herself laughing along with the others at the frenzied bedlam.
She couldn’t help but notice Tyler, whose face-encompassing smile indicated that fun was the real goal of the game.
As the rest of the gang headed back to the dorms to get ready for the afternoon rafting, Tyler set up opposite Lulu at the net.
“An advanced drill, huh?” Lulu gave him the side-eye. “Or is this a ploy to show me you can still kick my ass on the courts, Mr. Pro Pickler?”
“Well, I better be able to kick your ass on the court. I am on the national tour—” Tyler swallowed the last words. A puff of laughter escaped him. “I mean, used to be on the national tour,” he amended.
Lulu met his eye. “I didn’t mean to bring up…”
“It’s okay.” He waved away her concern, trying to minimize the moment. “The whole world knows I screwed up. Tyler Demming, destroyer of pickleball opponents and public property.” He was not laughing.
She tipped her head. Studied his face. There was a vulnerability there she had not seen since they were young. She could tell him she’d screwed up, too. That she was hanging on to her job by a shoestring. By dental floss. By a stray hair. Maybe she and Tyler were not so different after all.
Her limbs ached to sit herself right down on the courts, like all those years ago, and talk. Really talk. But that was an intimacy she couldn’t afford with a married man.
“I’m sorry that happened to you.”
“Nah. It didn’t happen to me. I made it happen.” And there it was. A different Tyler than she had been seeing in the press. Not the screwup, nor the player. Not The-Rocket-who-can’t-keep-it-in-his-pocket. Here was Tyler Demming, taking responsibility for his actions. That was new. That was…nice.
She let her paddle hang by her side. “So what’s up next? When you finish up with this coaching gig?”
Shrugging, he brushed off the question. “Dunno. It’s times like this I wish I had a little more Lulu Gardner in me. If you were in my shoes, you’d probably have a spreadsheet listing the top ten jobs in pickleball and how to get them.”
Pressing her lips into a line, Lulu fought a smile at how well he remembered her.
In fact, at breakfast when they had some Wi-Fi, Lulu had managed to find time to fill out a couple of applications and shoot off her résumé to potential employers.
Best to be proactive and get some practice applying, even if her next steps were uncertain.
“Anyhow. Let’s get you hitting,” Tyler said, dinking a ball her way, unaware of how near he’d come to the truth.
The ball swooped back and forth over the net, but now her mind was stuck on their matching predicaments.
Why was it so difficult for her to open up now so they could talk their way through their hard times like they used to?
She was certain that if they could talk it out, their conversation would give them both ideas and support.
But Tyler was in coaching mode. “Keep your eye on the ball,” he reminded her. And yet. She had the uncanny feeling that his eyes were still on her. And when she snuck a peek, the ball bobbled into the net.
“I thought you said I should keep my eye on the ball. What about you?”
“I’m a pro. And these are softballs.”
“I thought they were pickleballs.”
“Besides. I’m keeping my eye on you on purpose.” Her brow lifted, suspect. “To make sure you’ve got good form.”
She waited, anticipating a flirty remark about her good form. Lulu tipped her head, daring him. Every fiber in her being wanted to ask, “And do I?,” but she did not. If he could respect her no-flirting rule, so could she.
Their gazes locked on each other as she continued to hit. Lulu was not watching the ball anymore. Not even a little. It was excruciating. And she hated to admit, even to herself, but it was delightful.
Tyler’s laugh broke them out of their staring contest. “I think you have this skill down!” And he sent her back to the baseline so she could practice her drops.
And just like in her tennis days, Lulu rassled her patience and concentration to slow down the swing of her paddle, keep her wrist straight, and send the ball sailing in a way that it would just clear the net and then drop into the no-volley zone.
A difficult shot to hit, and even harder to return.
In the zone, Lulu fell into the cadence of working on a shot as both of them labored toward a mutual goal.
And when they switched places and she fielded his consistent drops, she felt a rising pleasure in her successes.
It was good to be good at something. She had forgotten. But her body remembered.
Like in the old days, their playing time flew. As they packed their paddles, Tyler caught her eye and simply nodded.
“What?”
“You’re really good, Lu. You could be great. If you stick with it. Just…” He shrugged in encouragement. “Practice.”
“And maybe I’ll get to Carnegie Hall?” she joked. But really, she was pleased with his compliment, because she knew it was true. And although the lift of her lip only made a subtle appearance, her insides were smiling.
Lulu had known it was coming and yet she stood on the water’s edge, tensing with dread.
Stones as smooth and large as dinosaur eggs lined the banks of the Pacuare River.
The water here was flat and quiet, but that didn’t dampen her nerves.
If this were a film, Lulu thought, this would be the part where the camera pans to the sweet birds chirping in the treetops to fool the viewer into a false sense of security.
Don’t worry. There’s no ax murderer behind that door.
Probably somebody holding a chocolate cake.
And no class four raging rapid around that bend, just…