Lily pretended to tie her laces. She didn't want Bay to see her face. Having fun seemed very distant.

“Are we going to play Canadian doubles?” Tara asked. “You and I against Bay?”

“Sure,” Lily said. “Whatever you want.”

“That's what I want,” Tara said, hugging her too, handing her a ball.

Lily jogged to the baseline. The light cast long shadows on the gray court. The lines had been freshly painted, and they gleamed white. Bay bounced the ball on the other side of the net. Somewhere across the swamp, a screech owl cried, a descending trill.

“Are you ready?” Bay asked. “Here it comes.”

“Whack the hell out of it,” Tara said. “Let the ball have it.”

Bay hit, and the ball bounced, and Lily swung her racket. She connected, and the ball sailed back. Bay hit, now to Tara. Thwack, the ball returned. Lily's heart pounded. She crouched, ready for her turn.

Tennis came back to her in ten seconds or less. She hadn't played in over nine years, since before Rose was born. How many times had she and her friends played on this very court, hitting the ball until their arms were so tired they couldn't move? Lily had loved the game. She had played in the beach Labor Day tournament nearly every year. She had played in high school, been the number three singles player at Black Hall High.

Thwack, thwack.

She had been in discussions with a New York publisher about launching her own needlepoint magazine, and she had planned a tennis issue. A way to bring women readers, athletes, and needlepointers together. It would have been for spring, April or May. She had envisioned a racket and yellow ball. There would have been interviews with top women players inside. A story about women friends who'd grown up playing tennis together.

Thwack.

Lily stood on the baseline. The ball came, and she hit it hard. It returned, and she hit it harder. Her legs burned. Bay put the ball nearly in the alley, and Lily got to it, hit a backhand. It fired over the net like a bullet. She gritted her teeth, hitting the next and the next. Bay gave her a lob, she put it away. The ball came back, and Lily sent it to the far corner. Bay returned fire, and Lily stuck her racket out.

Tara had stepped off the court. It belonged to Lily now. She smashed every shot she could. She had power in her arm, and it flowed into her racket. Whack the hell out of it, Tara had said, and that's what Lily was doing.