“It’s hard for some grown-ups,” said Joy. She’d seen plenty of players at the club make questionable line calls. “Sometimes umpires can be biased too.”
She thought of the first time she played in the Under 13s grass court championships at White City. Her grandfather was busy that day, and so her mother took her. Her mother, bored out of her mind, flipped through Vogue while Joy played. Joy couldn’t understand why the umpire kept calling her shots out and her opponent’s shots in. She later discovered the umpire was her opponent’s mother. “Well, you’re much prettier than her,” her mother said on the way home, as if that was what counted. (It did help a little bit.)
“Look at his talent, Troy. Look at where he got. He didn’t need to cheat.” Stan was still stuck on the topic of Harry. He would forever be stuck on the topic of Harry. He grabbed the string of the balloon and snapped it free from the chair, so that it floated up to the ceiling.
“Oh,” said Amy sadly, watching it go.
“Good to see you’re still so loyal to him, Dad,” said Troy. “Considering how loyal he was to you.”
Brooke sucked in air through her teeth as if she’d stubbed her toe.
Stan pulled at the fabric of his too-tight shirt with such ferocity Joy was reminded of the Incredible Hulk bursting free of his ordinary clothes when he lost his temper. Troy used to adore that show. Perhaps because of his own unstoppable temper.
“It was Harry’s father’s decision to drop me.” Stan spoke calmly. He wasn’t going to explode into the Hulk. “To drop us.”
He directed his attention to Savannah. “Harry’s father decided to change coaches.” He shrugged. A big fake shrug. “It happens. Tennis parents are a unique breed. They get some success and they start looking for something bigger and better. That’s life in the coaching game.”
Maybe it wasn’t a fake shrug. His insouciance seemed almost believable. Did he truly feel that now? Was he over it?
“But I guess you must still feel really proud that you discovered him?” said Savannah.
“We do feel proud,” said Stan. “Sure.” He looked uncertainly around the table. “Where was I?” His eyes caught on Brooke and his face softened. “The little one.”
“The little one who is a whole inch taller than me,” commented Amy, her gaze still on the balloon.
“Brooke was the smartest of our kids,” said Stan.
“Thanks, Dad.” Troy tipped his finger to his forehead.
“On the court,” said Stan. “She was the smartest and most strategic one on the court. She had to be, because she was playing you lot and you were all so much bigger and faster than her. She was analyzing her competitor’s weaknesses at an age when most kids were just thinking about getting the ball over the net.”
It was true that Brooke was clever on the court, but Joy had never really enjoyed watching her play as much as the others, because Brooke herself seemed to take no pleasure in the game. That permanent frown made its first appearance when Brooke was about eight. Even before the headaches.
“But Brooke gets migraines,” said Stan. “It was a terrible, terrible shame.”
He shook his head with such regret and sadness you would think he was describing Brooke’s early death, not her early retirement.
Joy remembered the day Stan and Brooke came home hours early from a tournament.
“What are you doing here?” Joy had asked. She was rushing out the door on her way to fill in for one of the coaches who had called in sick. She was in a permanent rush in those days.
“She’s done,” said Stan. “She’s finished.”
“What happened?” Joy asked as Brooke walked past her and went straight to her room without saying a word, but the look she shot at Joy seemed so accusatory, and when she looked at Stan she saw the same accusation in his eyes: You failed. Because the children’s medical care was her responsibility and she couldn’t fix Brooke’s headaches.
“That doctor you take her to has no fucking clue,” Stan had said, and what Joy should have done was tell Stan to take her class for her, and she should have gone and comforted Brooke, but she was so angry with Stan for swearing at her, for blaming her, that she didn’t even think of it, she just left, slamming the door behind her.
“If we’d got the right medical advice things might have been different,” said Stan now, and Joy felt that long-ago frustration rise within her as if it were yesterday.
Savannah lifted up Amy’s plate of brownies. “Would anyone—”
“I took her to doctor after doctor after doctor!” said Joy.
“No one is blaming you, Mum,” said Brooke as the dog began to whine.
“Well, it certainly sounds—”
“Indira left me,” said Logan, and the room fell instantly silent.