“Girls, I can’t believe that was our last match ever,” one of the seniors said, pouting as she looked down at the bubbles.
A few of the girls, including Hannah, agreed.
And then, the first senior spontaneously burst into tears. The girls were stricken.
“It’s okay!” they said, reaching for her. “It’s just a sport!”
“You can always play tennis in college!”
“We still have all summer. We can meet and play!”
But the sobbing senior shook her head and said, “It isn’t that. Nate broke up with me yesterday. And I think that’s why I played so badly!” She let out another howl, and the girls were in an uproar, trying to calm her down and assure her that Nate was the worst.
Ada bit her tongue, overwhelmed with sorrow. Because she was a therapist, it felt up to her to deliver the news that your high school boyfriend wouldn’t be very important to you in a few years. She wanted to give context to this strange and exhilarating time. But then again, the worst thing you could do to a high school girl was make her think her feelings didn’t matter in the long run. Ada got to her feet and tiptoed away from the hot tub and into the house, catching Hannah’s eye as she went.
Hannah mouthed, “Thank you,” probably because she knew Ada had had to fight not to say anything. Hannah had a great deal of emotional intelligence. Sometimes it floored Ada.
When she closed the door behind her and entered the kitchen, Kathy turned, drying a plate, and said, “Tears in the hot tub? Already?”
Ada laughed and sat at the kitchen table, still wrapped in the blanket. “They’re under a lot of stress right now. So many changes. So many silly high school boys.”
“You couldn’t pay me to be eighteen again,” Kathy said.
But Ada had adored being eighteen: lost to the beauty of the city, going to opera auditions, hearing her name on the lips ofsome of the biggest names in the industry. Her life had been moving at a fast clip. She’d forgotten her high school boyfriend’s name immediately.
She hadn’t needed anyone! Except Quinn.
Kathy and Ada sat for a little while in the kitchen, watching the sky dim and hearing the faint voices of the teenage girls as they gossiped and built one another up, sharing stories of their own broken hearts. Ada wondered if this was the kind of talk that Max and Peter were having right now; if Peter had thrown his phone in his pocket and forgotten about it, because he was so distracted by his friend’s emotions. It was the kind of guy Peter was, Ada reminded herself. Kind. Open-hearted. Eager to listen.
An hour or so later, the doorbell rang. Ada popped up and went to the foyer, her head elsewhere. When she opened it to find Nick Willis, the poet, standing there, her heart jumped into her throat. He looked mystified. Immediately, it was as if electricity had zapped the air between them.
“Nick?” Ada asked, trying to keep her voice steady. She’d heard of this happening before—passionate patients becoming obsessed with their therapists and tracking them down. He was a poet. Maybe he’d felt that urgency between them (if it even existed?) and decided to throw out the rulebook. She prepared to tell him she was married and would never date a patient, as it was considered unethical.
“Hey! Um. Wow. Dr. Wagner. This is Hannah Bushner’s house?” Nick asked.
Ada’s anxiety crashed in on itself. “Yes. It is. Hannah’s my daughter.” She opened the door a little bit wider and added, “I go by my maiden name at work. After all that school, you know, I didn’t want to be known by my husband’s last name.”
“I totally get that,” Nick said. His lips drew a smile. “My daughter is here, I think. Carleigh?”
Ada remembered hearing the name “Carleigh” off and on during the matches this season and vaguely remembered Hannah saying there was a new girl from the city who was “really good.” It clicked.
“Your daughter is that Carleigh!” Ada said, beckoning for Nick to come in. “I should have put two and two together. Oh, but I never saw you at any of the matches!”
Nick winced. “She doesn’t like me to sit in the bleachers. She says it makes her too nervous. But I’m always off in the parking lot with a pair of binoculars, watching as much as I can from the car.”
Ada was impressed that he still made an effort to watch his daughter while respecting her boundaries. She wondered if his last therapist had clued him into that.
But Nick continued, “To tell you the truth, it’s painful for me, too. My wife was a professional tennis player. It’s how we met. I was there to write about her match for a magazine. I interviewed her, and that was that.” He lowered his voice and let his eyes drift to the ground. “Carleigh likes the sport, but she wants to quit now that the season is over. I can’t blame her. She’ll never be as good as her mother, and I know it brings up painful memories.”
“Did her mother want her to go pro?” Ada asked.
Nick shook his head. “No way. She wanted Carleigh to do something with her brain. I think she always hated that she made money with her body and had to rely on it. It’s awful, considering what happened later. The cancer.”
Ada nodded, her chest tightening.
“But you must know all about that,” Nick said, narrowing his eyes.
Ada looked at him, unable to speak.Does he know who I am?
