There was a ball beneath the bench when Mara unlocked the court.
It had been there long enough to lose most of its color. She picked it up, pressed it with her thumb and put it outside the gate where it wouldn't get mixed with the new ones. On the next court two men were in the middle of an argument about a serve. Neither sounded angry. They had been having the same argument when she came through the building.
She took the basket to the baseline. The court was dry, hot on the side where the shade had not reached. She put the water by the bench, the notebook beside it and her phone face down in the open pocket of the bag. There was no new message from Tess.
Inez came through the gate at five to two. She had flown into Richmond the day before and was using the same apartment above the dentist. Mara knew because Inez had asked her to send a racket there during the week. She carried the restrung racket now, still in its plastic sleeve.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hello. Good flight?”
“Fine. Late.”
She put the bag down and pulled the plastic off the racket. The sleeve crackled, caught at the grip, came free. Inez folded it once, then put it back in the bag instead of leaving it on the bench.
Mara had not seen her since the curb outside Lakefront. There had been messages about the court, the film, the racket. Nothing that required one of them to say whether the loss had become easier. Inez wore the cap she had worn in the final. It was clean now, the seam above the brim dry and pale.
She began moving along the baseline, sideways first, then forward, making the little changes of direction that warmed the joints before the ball asked them to do it faster. Mara stood by the net with the racket loose in her hand. The men on the next court settled the serve by playing another one. It went into the net. One of them laughed, the argument finished for the moment.
Inez came to the service line. They began gently, the ball traveling low over the net. Mara could feel the difference in the newer strings, the ball coming back to her more cleanly when Inez found the center. They went crosscourt, changed sides, moved back. Inez hit one forehand hard enough that Mara had to block it and let the reply go short. Inez came forward, caught the ball in her hand and sent another from the service line.
After ten minutes she stopped for water.
“I want the backhand after the deep one,” she said. “With Eli. The one I kept getting too close to.”
“We've got time before he comes.”
“I know. I want to feel it first.”
Mara nodded. She went to the basket while Inez moved toward the far baseline. They had until four, the end of the last practice they had agreed on six weeks earlier. Eli would join them at two-thirty. Mara had written nothing on the page beyond today's date.
She sent a ball deep to the backhand. Inez moved back, let it rise and drove crosscourt. The ball came hard enough to make Mara turn the racket late. Her reply went wide.
Inez took a ball from her pocket.
“Again,” she said. “I'll start.”
She sent it across without waiting for another feed, a high forehand that gave her time to move. Mara met it, sent the next ball deep and watched Inez go back for it. The first step was longer than she expected. Inez shortened the second, turned behind the bounce and brought the racket through.
The ball cleared the net. Mara followed it down to the line.