Chapter Thirteen
MILLY
On Monday morning a car pulled up to Milly’s house earlier than expected, but the garage, or rather, the guest cottage, as she was now calling it, was all ready for them.
She’d just taken a date-and-nut loaf out of the oven and had fresh-squeezed lemonade in a pitcher waiting, as she expected the girls to be hungry and thirsty after their drive down from Los Angeles.
She slipped off her apron, stepped into her pumps, and freshened her lipstick before she opened the door to greet them.
It was silly, she thought, but she wanted to look good for them—chic and stylish.
But it wasn’t them. This car was full of boys, young men, actually, and they pulled into the open parking spot outside her house, squinting in the sunlight at the numbers painted on Milly’s house.
“This parking spot is taken,” Milly called out from her doorstep.
“I have guests arriving who’ll be pulling up here shortly.
Try a little farther down, where there’s plenty of space.
” She tried to wave them on, but they killed the engine and the young men started piling out of the red convertible, seven of them from a car that was clearly meant to seat five, and they began unloading bags onto the sidewalk.
“Mrs. Kincaid?” One of them said as he walked up the garden path to Milly’s front door and held out his hand.
“Yes?”
“Hello, ma’am, I’m Johnny Walsh.” He took off his sunglasses. “Lovely house you have here.”
“Johnny?” Milly said, confused. “I’m expecting a Rosie and her two friends.”
“Oh, sure thing. Rosie is Mikey’s girl.” He pointed back to a young man with jet-black hair pulling a duffel bag from the trunk.
“She was nice enough to find us a place to stay. The girls are staying on the peninsula near the Rendezvous Ballroom, lucky dogs. We were a little late to get our act together and book a place, so we got stuck on the island, but we’re just happy to be here. It’s going to be a great week.”
“But you’re men!”
“Yes, that we are,” he said with a wink. “But we’re very well-behaved men, and we won’t cause you a lick of trouble. In fact, you’ll barely even know we’re here. Oh, and before I forget…” He reached into his pocket and handed her a wad of cash. “Here’s what we owe you.”
Milly took the cash and stared at it, then quickly tucked it into the pocket of her blue-and-white-gingham dress, because standing there with money in her hands while seven men descended on her felt somehow indecent.
“Now, hold on a minute,” she said as they all started walking through her gate and toward her front door.
“There seems to have been a misunderstanding. This is not the guest cottage; it’s out back.
” She pointed to a gate that led down the side of her house and out to the cottage in the back.
The boys, or men rather, filed past her one by one, each nodding to her as they went.
“Hello, Mrs. Kincaid … I’m Mikey. Great to meet you, ma’am, I’m Wesley.
Thank you so much for having us, I’m Luke.
…” And on they went, reciting names that she couldn’t possibly remember.
She stood for a moment, after they’d all headed to the back, to see if any of her neighbors had seen the stream of men flood her front yard, but no one was out on the sidewalk, and she didn’t notice anyone peeking out from behind their curtains, but that would just be a matter of time, she thought, and what on earth would she tell Lloyd about all of this?
“I think there’s been a mistake,” she said, chasing after them, heading in through the door of the cottage. “This place is only big enough for three, maybe four, tops.”
“Don’t worry about us, Mrs. Kincaid. We’re going to be at the beach all day and out dancing all night,” Johnny said. “I promise, you won’t even know we’re here.”
How could she not notice that seven young, handsome men were squeezed into her little garage/guest cottage and beaming at her expectantly?
They’d come all this way with their duffel bags, and she hardly wanted to be the killjoy that ruined their vacation.
It felt like just yesterday that she’d been that age—carefree, looking for fun.
“Mrs. Kincaid?” Johnny said.
“All right,” she said and shrugged. “If you can manage in here, all seven of you, then be my guests. But it will be tight. I’ll bring some more towels from the main house, and I have a date-and-nut loaf fresh out of the oven and some lemonade.” The boys groaned with anticipation.
“Thank you, Mrs. Kincaid, we’re starving,” one of them said.
She shook her head and smiled. “I’ll be right back.”
As she walked into her house, she did wonder if she should let the neighbors know about the misunderstanding, but she thought it was probably best to leave things alone.
Besides, it seemed quite common for local residents to rent out their guesthouses or extra bedrooms, so maybe this wouldn’t be such a catastrophe after all.
She carried a tray of sliced nut loaf and lemonade to the guest cottage, and the boys just about lunged for it.
“This is delicious,” Mikey said.
“Best nut loaf of my life,” Luke said. “Don’t tell my mother I said that.”
“That lemonade—” Wesley said, gulping it down. “I didn’t know how thirsty I was.”
“Made from fresh lemons,” Milly said, pointing to the small lemon tree growing outside the guest cottage window.
She warmed at the sight of them all gushing over her baking skills, watching them eat and drink as if they hadn’t been fed in weeks, seeing someone grateful for the effort she’d made.
It had been so long since anyone had thanked her for anything, really.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” she said. “Let me know if you need something. I’m in the house just there.” She pointed. “But this is a quiet neighborhood, and I’m new to the area, so I don’t want to be bothering my neighbors. You’re going to have to be on your best behavior.”
They all nodded politely. “Yes, ma’am,” a few said.
Maybe she’d make them meatballs tonight, she thought, as she crossed the yard to her kitchen door, even though dinner was not supposed to be included in the rent.
She’d be cooking for Jack and Debbie, anyway, so what harm would it do to cook a few dozen more?
She delivered the towels and a few extra pillows, then set off to the market to buy several more pounds of ground beef.
When she returned, the boys were gone but the car was still parked out front. She peeked in the cottage window and saw socks and pants strewed about the place. She quickly carried her groceries into her house. There, slipped under the door, she saw a scribbled note:
Dear Mrs. Kincaid,
Thank you for letting us stay. We’ve gone to the beach.
Be back later,
The Boys
Milly smiled. It felt quite nice to have someone care enough to leave a note. She rolled up her sleeves and quickly got to work. She only had a few hours before the children would be home from school.
The next day, during her lesson with Robbie and Sylvia, Milly felt as inept as she did the first time around.
She couldn’t keep the ball in play, and a mounting sense of disappointment consumed her.
When Robbie stood behind her and adjusted her grip on the racket, moving her arm to replicate the swing, she was not fooled by his intentions and she quickly assured him that she understood and stepped aside.
When the lesson was over, she was relieved.
“Should we stay and try to play a little?” Sylvia asked. “I’ve got a few minutes.”
“I don’t think so,” Milly said. “I might be a lost cause, and I think someone wants to use the court.”
“Oh,” Sylvia said to a woman standing at the gate. “I didn’t realize you were waiting.” But the woman didn’t respond, just opened the gate and walked on. As she approached, Milly realized it was Adele.
“I’m not waiting for the court,” Adele said. “I’m waiting to speak with you, Mrs. Johnson.”
“Me?” Sylvia asked.
“I looked for Mr. Johnson but he was not available. His secretary said I could find you here.”
“We just finished a lesson. How can I help you?”
“I’m Adele Lambert.”
“I know who you are, Miss Lambert,” Sylvia said.
“I would like you to hire me,” she said. “To work here.”
Sylvia looked confused. “Don’t you work at the Fun Zone?”
“Not anymore,” she said, glaring at Milly.
“Oh no, did something happen?” Milly asked, feeling somehow to blame. “Did the ride malfunction cost you your job? That doesn’t seem fair.”
“It doesn’t matter now.” Adele returned her attention to Sylvia. “I’d like to work as a tennis coach,” Adele said.
“Goodness.” Sylvia almost started to laugh. “I’m sorry we don’t have any lady coaches.” She picked up her pocketbook and put it on her shoulder.
“Maybe you should,” Adele said.
“The coaches here are all male. Same as at any other club.” Sylvia said. “Do you even play?”
“Yes,” Adele said. “She has seen me.” She looked pointedly at Milly.
“It’s true, I did,” Milly said. “In the alley behind my house. She’s very good. Excellent, actually.”
“I could beat any of the coaches here,” Adele said.
“Ha!” Sylvia laughed. “Good for you.”
“And every single man.”
“You’re very confident,” Sylvia said, beginning to step away.
“You do not play well, either of you. You’re terrible actually. You don’t even hold the racket correctly, and your serve is weak,” Adele said.
“Excuse me?” Sylvia turned back.
“You play like girls, like delicate little flowers. You hit the ball with no power, with arms like soft spaghetti,” Adele flopped her arms around. “How can you expect to have power and control if you play like that?”
“All right,” Sylvia said, irritated now. “I’m not going to stand here and be insulted in my own club.” She linked her arm through Milly’s and pulled her toward her. “We have to go. And you’re not allowed on this property unless you are a member.”
“May I give you a few tips?” Adele asked, picking up a ball off the ground and not waiting for a response. She took a step back to the baseline, angled her body perpendicular to the net, tossed the ball in front of her, then jumped up to meet it, sending it crosscourt low and fast like a rocket.
“Wow!” Milly perked up and slipped her arm out of Sylvia’s grip. “See, I would really like to be able to do that.”
“I could teach you, for a fee of course,” Adele said, picking up another ball and doing the same serve again.
“I could also teach you to keep the ball in play.” She picked up another, tossed it gently in front of her, and sent it down the line, picked up another, jogged to the net, and volleyed it at a tight angle.
“No one can get a short ball like that; you would win every time with that angle. Go to the other side of the net.”
Milly immediately ran to the other side and held out her racket. Adele hit a ball in her direction and Milly returned it.
“Turn your shoulders,” Adele said, and Milly hit it back and forth to her several more times.
“Loop your racket back before you swing, and finish over your shoulder,” Adele said and demonstrated, then sent her another ball. This time Milly returned it straight to Adele, and they rallied for a few miraculous minutes before Adele caught the ball in her left hand and Milly jogged back over.
“That was amazing. I actually hit the ball, a lot of times,” Milly said.
“Well, as I said,” Sylvia chimed in. “Our coaches are…”
“I’ll hire you,” Milly said.
“What?” Sylvia looked from Adele to Milly.
“I’ll hire her. I’ll pay the same rate that Robbie charges.” Milly turned her attention back to Adele. “Look, if you really can teach me how to hit the ball the way you did, then I’d like you to coach me.”
“Hold your horses,” Sylvia said. “You can’t just hire her; she doesn’t even work here.”
“Sylvia.” Milly lowered her voice. She liked Sylvia a lot; she liked her confidence, her charisma; she liked how sociable and inclusive she was, how she was taking Milly under her wing and helping her navigate life on the island.
She didn’t want to dismiss her at her husband’s club, but she felt strongly about this.
“Those lessons with Robbie were awful. I didn’t learn one thing, except that he would like to sleep with me, even though I made it very clear that I’m married.
Look around, the male coaches are too busy coaching the male patrons and don’t seem to want to waste their precious time with us, and when they can, they squeeze us in early in the morning and spend half the time looking at our legs.
I want to learn, to really learn, and get good like her. ”
“Well, honestly, you’ll never get as good as me,” Adele said. “And you’ll only improve if you put in the work.”
“But you’ll at least teach me what you know?”
“Of course. I will make you a lot better. I can make you both so much better in a few short weeks that soon you will be able to beat your husbands.”
“Yes!” Milly said, exuberantly. “I want to get good really quickly.”
“Then you need to play every day,” Adele said.
“That’s fine,” Milly said, justifying in her head that she could use the money from renting out the guest cottage to pay for her lessons.
Sylvia looked from Milly to Adele and seemed to consider it. “You’d have to pay me twenty percent of your earnings, just like the other coaches,” Sylvia said.
“Fine,” Adele said.
“And we can try it for two weeks and see how it goes,” Sylvia added. “I reserve the right to cancel this arrangement at any time.”
Adele nodded.
Milly felt giddy with excitement. If she could improve, then she hadn’t joined this club for nothing.
She’d lost so much of herself since having children; she’d been so swept up in them and their well-being and Lloyd and the house and the move that she’d forgotten about herself, forgotten to care for herself, forgotten who she was, even.
She’d grown soft around the middle and soft in the brain.
She had nothing exciting to add to the conversation; it was no wonder that Lloyd was looking for excitement elsewhere.
Suddenly everything came into focus. She might not have that innate talent she’d hoped for, but she was going to take lessons with this brash French lady, and she was going to get so good at tennis that Lloyd wouldn’t be able to take his eyes off her.
She was going to win her husband back—she was sure of it.