The summer heat rose from the pavement, the ride on our bicycles giving us some relief from the stuffy air. “The hot weather always reminds me of home!” Mother called over her shoulder. Her hair flowed across her face, and she kept looking behind her to check we were following. Her pale legs whipped her pedals faster and faster, and Bea and I laughed with glee. Mother’s red and white striped shirt flapped in the wind ahead of us like a flag as we pedalled harder to keep up.

The centre of Sparwood was eerily quiet. The summer spurred an exodus from the town, and when we rode by the post office and the library, no one could be seen. I saw the Canadian flag floating atop the buildings and a few cars—white, green, red, grey—but those were the only signs of life. Everything was geometric. Square windows, rectangular buildings, a straight line of parked cars. Orderly, clean, still. But lifeless. What a contrast to the stories Mother told Bea and me about the energy and chaos of the Asian markets, where she would push her way through crowds of shoppers over the sticky, wet floors to get to the vendor to discuss which daily produce was fresh and what she wanted to cook that day.

“The heat brings life back home,” she said. “Not like here. Here, the heat leaves the town lifeless.”

We leaned our bikes against the fence at the tennis court, where the heat was bouncing off the surface in waves. Bea and I brought out the balls in our pockets, and Mother untethered herself from the racquet bag, unzipping it and taking out the racquets inside. As Bea and I were bouncing the balls, we saw three teenagers walking towards the court, racquets and balls in hand. Mother didn’t notice and started bouncing a ball with her racquet.

“Hey lady, we’re going to start a game in five,” one of the boys said. “Our friend is just running late, so you may want to find someplace else to go.”

“We were here first,” Mother said firmly. “You can hit some balls on the wall until we’re done.”

“Listen, lady, we play here at the same time every day. As soon as our friend gets here, you gotta go.”

Mother turned her back and volleyed. I was amazed and scared. I didn’t know what would happen next. I looked their way but tried not to stare.

“Way to go, Mom. You tell them,” Bea said, grinning.

“Never mind them. Lily, pay attention!” Mother ordered.

Bea and I worked hard to keep up with her, even though she was hitting the ball gently into our corners. Ten minutes passed and the teenagers approached. They gathered mid-court by the net and started murmuring and pointing at Mother. “We gotta get that Chink lady off the court,” the leader said.

Mother turned around. “There are only three of you. How are you going to play doubles with just three people?”