He pauses, an awkward silence. Finally, “Could I come by? Are you home?”

“I am. Sure. I’d love to see you.” I think of his friendly freckled face, sandy blond hair. He has the look of perpetual youth, although he must be in his late thirties. “Can you tell me what this is about?”

“I’d rather tell you in person. See you in a couple minutes.”

Probably he’s going to let me know my tennis partner, Melissa, has replaced me permanently. It’s my fault, of course. I’ve been busy, and preoccupied, and truth be told, she and I just weren’t having fun together anymore. She told me I’m caustic, the bitch. I mean, I was simply defending the call I made.

The ball was definitely out.

I can still see Melissa shake her head and say to our opponents, “It was in. Your point.”

We lost the match because of her. She was wrong and she has yet to apologize. Come to think of it, I didn’t see her or her husband at Mary’s memorial. Fine. Who needs her, or tennis? It’s a stupid game for vapid people anyway. That’s a hornet’s nest I’m glad to be rid of. My “partner” and I haven’t spoken since I quit. My story. Or was replaced by another tennis-playing Stepford Wife. Their story. Who do you believe and what is it with partners? In life, in tennis, in love. They just let you down.

As I wait for Hoffman to drive a golf cart up the hill from his office near the tennis courts in the canyon, I think about all the wonderful summers my girls spent here at The Cove. They had such a charmed upbringing, so very different than my own. Learning to swim, surf lessons, volleyball and tennis lessons. Hoffman was an important part of their childhood. He joined the staff the same year we moved into The Cove.

He’s like family, sort of. More like a distant cousin we now see once a year. The doorbell rings and I cross the courtyard and open the gate. I reach my hand down to hold Cash’s collar, but he’s not there, of course. It’s just reflex, like the way I still wait for Mary to come home sometimes, momentarily forgetting that she never will. Hoffman is wearing a white polo with The Cove logo stitched on the sleeve. He gives me a bright smile, a quick hug and follows me inside.

I haven’t entertained a guest in ages. “Can I get you anything? Water? Iced tea?”

“No, I’m fine. Thanks. Are we alone?” he asks as we sit down at the kitchen table. He’s nervous, eyes darting. I’ve never seen him act this way.

“Did you leave me the letter?” I watch his face.

He blinks. “What letter?”