The red glow of the vestibule’s EXIT sign created the feeling of being somewhere late at night. Ben pulled open the inner door and they went in and looked down from the top of the gallery. Courts 1 and 2, the marquee glass-back courts, sat side by side at the bottom of a carpeted bank of stadium steps. For an instant Ben remembered what they had looked like in the architectural plans, but then this reality crowded out any other version. The walls of the gallery were bare drywall with the seams and screw heads plastered over blotchily. The lines of the courts seemed almost hallucinatorily straight.

Ben could see a burr of dust over everything. The Manley Price Courts.

“What do you think?” his father asked.

“They look amazing.” Ben missed the water stain on the ceiling of the Um Club court, the mismatched carpet remnants in the little lounge. Chip had sprung for a glass back wall, but you had to wedge it closed with a wooden shim after the latch had broken.

“They do look amazing.”

The two of them didn’t move. Ben didn’t know what they were supposed to do now. He realized he should have been a little surprised that they hadn’t brought shoes and racquets to hit with.

As they stood there looking down, not going farther in but not turning around to leave, Ben thought that maybe his dad was so subdued because he was going to miss having Ben at home.

Ben’s dad took in a breath, exhaled, and said, “I hope they’re worth it.”

Now, in the stairwell with Markson, Ben tried to remember with more specificity just what it had been like at the courts. How much of the quiet there had been money quiet?

Markson looked at him, the act of his compassion there in his eyes. “And of course, listen,” Markson said, “I know what financial trouble at home can be like. My family went through a rough period when I was in college. It’s stressful.”

Ben kept nodding and nodding.

“So, again, if you want to talk about any situation at home, I’m much more than happy to.”

Ben had never thought of himself as someone who would have a situation at home to talk about. But now Markson was concluding, looking in his face, asking for some acknowledgment.

Ben thanked Markson. Markson smiled with genuine warmth, so much so that Ben felt afraid his problem was serious enough to demand a smile this warm.

*  *  *

After making it through geometry, then bio, Ben walked back toward Hawley. He just wanted to get under the covers and pause his life for a few minutes before JV soccer tryouts. Ahmed had told him that morning that his father had agreed a swimming pool was necessary, and they were getting board approval now before beginning to interview architects.