“There are two people in a tennis match. One ends up winning, one ends up losing. And I think the pleasure comes not from winning. I think the pleasure comes from beating someone.” She scrunched up her face like a very puzzled child. “Why is that something we admire? We call them winners, but when you think about it, they really get off on making someone else lose. Why is that something we admire so much?”

“That’s a good question.”

“I wanted to be a professional tennis player because, I mean, can you imagine anything more wonderful than making a living playing the game you loved?”

He heard Suzze’s voice: “Kitty was a great player, wasn’t she?”

“I can’t, no.”

“But if you’re really good, really talented, everyone tries to make it stop being fun. Why is that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why, as soon as we show promise, do they take away the beauty and make it all about winning? They sent us to these ridiculously competitive schools. They pitted us against our friends. It wasn’t enough for you to succeed—your friends had to fail. Suzze explained this to me, like I didn’t already get it. Me, who lost my entire career. She knew better than anyone what tennis meant to me.”

Myron stayed very still, afraid to break the spell. He waited for Kitty to say more, but she didn’t. “So Suzze came here to apologize?”

“Yes.”

“And what did she tell you?”

“She told me”—Kitty’s gaze moved past him, toward the window shade—“that she was sorry for ruining my career.”

Myron tried to keep his expression blank. “How did she ruin your career?”

“You didn’t believe me, Myron.”

He did not reply.

“You thought that I got pregnant on purpose. To trap your brother.” Her smile was eerie now. “So dumb when you stop and think about it. Why would I do that? I was seventeen years old. I wanted to be a professional tennis player, not a mother. Why would I intentionally get pregnant?”

Hadn’t Myron thought something similar recently? “I’m sorry about that,” he said. “I should have known better. The pill isn’t a hundred percent. I mean, we learned that first week of health class in seventh grade, right?”

“But you didn’t believe that, did you?”

“At the time, no. And I’m sorry about that.”

“Another apology,” she said with a shake of her head. “Also too late. But of course you’re wrong.”

“Wrong about what?”

“About the pill not working. See, that’s what Suzze came to tell me. She said she did it almost as a prank at first. But think about it. Suzze knew that I was religious—that I’d never have an abortion. So what would be the best way to eliminate me, her toughest competitor?”