Chapter 9
CHAPTER
NINE
Markie
The ball cracks off Tally’s paddle, sailing toward the center of the court. I race to the net, ready to dink it to the opposite corner, just out of her reach. Anticipating my plan, because I exploit this weakness every time we play, she sprints forward.
My heart pounds as I stretch for the ball. But just before it reaches the net, it drops just enough to catch the top and dies on her side.
“Boom!” I say, sucking in a lungful of air.
“Damn you.” She stops, shoulders falling with a sigh that starts in her toes. “How do you get so lucky?”
I laugh. “There’s no such thing as luck, baby. It’s all skill.”
“And how, exactly, did your skill make the ball hit the net? Do you have some forcefield I don’t know about?”
If so, I wish it’d repel losers that easily.
We touch paddles midcourt and head toward the bench.
Tally Thatcher and I met at a summer camp in seventh grade.
She and I had a lot in common and became camp besties right away.
We were thrilled to be assigned to the same bunk and spent night after night sharing secrets and talking about our crushes—namely a guy named Jayden from the boys’ camp on the other side of the lake.
One afternoon, instead of going to my arts-and-crafts group, I accompanied her to the pickleball court.
She stuck a paddle in my hand and the rest, as they say, is history.
We played every day. We broke curfew by trying to get in a few more shots.
By the end of camp, we created our own little tournament and decimated every team brave enough to go against us.
She’s pickleball royalty in her hometown. And, up until four years ago, when they made our tourney co-ed, she was often my partner.
“This was so much fun,” she says, packing away her things. “I’m so busy at work these days that I hardly get to play, let alone play with someone good.”
I shove my things in my bag. “I play all the time, but yeah, the talent pool is shallow here, too. I had to find a guy from Colfax County to be my partner for the Sugar Days Festival.”
“Is he good?”
“Good enough.” I sling my bag over my shoulder, wiping my brow with the back of my hand, and we head toward the parking lot. “How’s work going?”
The breeze is warm despite the slightly lower temperature this evening. Clouds all but block most of the sun’s rays from scalding our skin. The slight grayish tint to some of them hints at a thunderstorm, but I should be home before bad weather hits.
“Work is so busy,” she says. “Sometimes I look around at my big corner office with my fancy name plate on the door and wonder how, exactly, I became a marketing executive for a pro hockey team.” She laughs. “But here I am, and I love it.”
A smile appears before I realize it.
Tally deserves everything amazing that’s come her way, and God knows she’s worked for it. I love seeing good things happen to good people. It’s the same way I felt when Audrey set her wedding date, and when my sister finally admitted that she loved Hartley.
My friends all seem to be moving into new phases of life, which feels inevitable as we inch toward, and hit, our thirties. It feels like a natural progression to go from being wild and free in your early twenties to wanting something … more. Something stable. Something you can count on.
Cheers to the ones who find that. Guess I’ll have to drink in their honor.
“It must be so hard to figure out ways to market hot hockey players,” I tease her.
Her laughter grows. “Surprisingly, most of our efforts are geared toward men. Less than forty percent of our fan base are women.”
“And if you’d market more of the hot guy angle, you could probably surpass fifty.”
She opens her back door as I pop my trunk. “True. But getting the league to approve a calendar with half-naked hockey players is a stretch.”
“Might be worth a try. Don’t they like money?” I ask, slinging my gear into the car. “Women spend big when they’re passionate about things. Just a thought.”
“Oh, I’ve had that thought. Trust me.” She reaches in and turns on her ignition. “I’d hug you, but we’re both sweaty as heck.”
I smile at her. “I get it. Now, when is your surgery again? Gallbladder, right?”
“Yeah. It’s … I can’t remember the date, but it's in about a month. I have it on my calendar at work.”
“I’ll talk to you before then. But, if not, I’ll be praying for it to go well. And don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything, okay?”
“I’ll be fine.”
I tilt my head to the side and stare at her. She’s one of the most capable women I know … and one of the most hardheaded.
“Text me when you get back to the city,” I say.
“Will do. And today was fun, Markie. We need to do this again … after my quads recover. I forgot how much you make me work for it out here.”
“Anytime you’re up for it, I’m game.”
We exchange a wave, then get into our cars and pull out of the parking lot. Tally goes left, and I go right, but I don’t get to the end of the block before my phone rings, and my brother’s name flashes across the screen.
I contemplate sending Miles to voicemail. If there were a snowball in hell’s chance that he was calling to chat, I’d be more inclined to answer it. But it’s Miles. That’s not what’s happening.
Before I can answer, the call stops. But before I breathe a sigh of relief, he calls again.
“Dammit,” I say, blowing out a breath. I answer the call with the same excitement that I’d use to teach a classroom of first graders during flu season. “Hey, Miles.”
“I’ve called you three times this evening.”
He tosses it out as an accusation. I wait for a follow-up, thinking maybe he’d ask if I was busy or okay.
It’s like I forgot who I was talking to for a second.
“Your point?” I ask my brother.
“You didn’t answer.”
“And they say that I’m the smart one of the family,” I say, sarcastically. “What can I do for you?”
He pauses. “Why do you say it like that?”
I stop at the end of the block to let another car through the intersection. “Because you only call when you need something, Miles. So, let’s forgo the pleasantries and just tell me what you want. I’m hot and tired, and I don’t have the energy to pretend you want to hear about my day.”
“Wow. Okay,” he groans but doesn’t bother arguing with me. “I’m boarding a plane as we speak, so I need to make this fast. Do you still have the binder that Mrs. Newsby gave you when she moved out of my rental?”
“Yeah. It’s in my trunk. Why?”
“Jory just called, and the water heater has been acting up, but he can’t get into the mechanical room because it’s locked. What are the odds that the key is still in that binder?”
I roll my eyes, ignoring the flutter low in my belly.
“The odds are excellent if the key was in there in the first place. Mrs. Newsby was almost anal in her organization, and I only took out the things you asked me to and left them at the house for Jory. I left everything else alone in case you wanted it back.”
“Do you think you could run the key to him?” He mutters something away from the phone. “Or I can have him come by your house and pick it up, if that works better? I just need to get him that key so he can check out the water heater, and I can get a repair guy to go over there if I need to.”
I pull into Miller’s Market and park.
Do I mind seeing Jory tonight? No. Do I want him coming to my house? Also, no. Besides, I’m just a couple of blocks away from his house.
But none of that takes away my frustration at Miles.
“Yeah, I can swing it by,” I say, sighing. “But maybe try calling me once in a while without asking me for something.”
“Oh, come on. I do.”
I snort. “No, you don’t. I understand that it’s just who you are, but that doesn’t mean you can’t change.”
“So you’ll do it?” He huffs a breath as if I’m the most taxing person he’s spoken with today.
“Yeah, I’ll do it. I’m at Miller’s, so I’m practically there anyway.”
“Great. Thanks. I gotta go. This is a four-hour flight so if you run into any problems, I’ll be unreachable for a while.”
Like you’d be any help anyway. “Be careful.”
“Will do. Thanks, Markie.”
“Bye,” I say, ending the call with as much enthusiasm as it began.
Instead of pulling back onto the road, I sit in my car and gaze across the field next to Miller’s.
The evening is so beautiful. It’s even prettier from the air-conditioned cab of my car.
A smile touches my lips as I think about my mom and how she hated being hot.
She’d open the kitchen windows if the oven was on, even if it was the middle of February.
Dad would come in, take one look around, and say, “Girls, be careful. Mom’s hot. ”
A pang of loneliness smacks my chest. The impact tightens my throat and burns the bridge of my nose. I don’t think about them often. I try not to. Because with every life milestone I hit and every small moment they miss, it’s like losing them all over again.
If they were here, maybe Miles and I would have a different relationship. We’d have something tying us together besides a shared last name.
If they were here, I could call Mom and complain about him like a sister irritated with her brother. She’d give me some piece of great advice and put things in perspective for me.
If they were here, I wouldn’t feel so alone when things get quiet. There wouldn’t be such a heavy pressure to have all the answers. Because even if I messed up, there’d be two people living across town who love me anyway.
I wipe my eyes with the backs of my hands and pull myself together.
“Don’t be a crybaby,” I mumble. “There’s nothing cute about being a crybaby.”
I flip the visor down and look at my reflection.
My eyes are a bit puffy and slightly red from swiping at them a moment ago, but my skin is nice and flushed from playing with Tally. And my hair is a little wild and sweaty, but it’s nothing that a quick brush can’t fix.
At least my shorts make my ass look great, and I wore a supportive sports bra tonight.
I fix my hair and add a touch of lip gloss before leaving the parking lot. Because if I have to run this errand, I might as well look great doing it.
I might not be in a place to accept Jory’s flirtation, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it.