Page 3 of This Could be Love

“Then, take it easy.” He winked. “We’ll see each other tomorrow morning on the treatment table.”

I nodded. “Thanks for picking me up.”

Walking off, he said goodbye with a shaka sign. I waited until the gate was closed then stepped into the pleasantly air-conditioned home. It smelled good. Of flowers or some kind of room freshener. I slipped out of my sneakers and ankle socks and relished the feeling of the cool floor beneath the sweaty soles of my feet. The dark hardwood floor created a lovely contrast to the interior of the open living- and dining-room area. White furniture, linen lampshades, natural fiber carpet. There wasn’t a lot of decoration. A modern, wooden sculpture, a pile of coffee-table books, a few framed photos. Unlike at home, no bridal couple, no first day of school, no family trips, but photos of Kay’s accomplishments—a young Black woman at her first Wimbledon win, later proudly holding her Olympic silver into the camera, and one of Kay being received in the Oval Office by Michelle Obama. Unlike my mother, after her tennis career Kay hadn’t started a family. Instead, she had begun to work for the Women’s Tennis Association, founded an association to promote young tennis talent, and worked as tournament director for the San Diego Open. She coached a Top 20 player, made it to theNew York Timesbestseller list with her autobiographyIn Tennis Love Means Zero, and managed to be part of a Netflix documentary. Then, a few years ago, she bought the beachvilla on Oahu and opened the Diamond School of Tennis close by, the very place I would be spending the next six weeks preparing for my comeback.

I continued on my reconnaissance mission and had a look at the kitchen. The lacquered cabinets sparkled, as did the stainless steel of the refrigerator, and there was a basket full of spotless bananas on the counter. To my right a staircase led up to the first floor. A cream-colored macramé runner lay on the dark floorboards and muffled my footsteps. I walked to the end of the hall and opened the door. At first I thought that Gabe must have made some mistake. The room was huge, at least two times as big as the one I had in Munich. It was done in the same style as the rest of the house: dusty blue and white, natural materials, and wood. A sliding door led to a walk-in closet, another into a spacious bathroom with a tub you could have gone surfing in. The best thing, however, was the balcony overlooking the ocean. I was about to slide open the door when I heard a sound from below.

“Lou?”

I quickly ran downstairs, where Kay met me with a wide smile.

“Lou!” She pulled me into a warm embrace before stepping back and looking at me. “You look good.”

“You too.”

Even if it sounded like I was just being polite, I meant it. With her height and her slim, athletic figure, she’d always been a sight to behold, but Kay had only discovered her penchant for fashion recently. Today she was wearing yellow paper bag shorts and awhite blouse top. She wore her shoulder-length hair natural, unlike in the past on the tennis court, where she wore it in cornrows.

“I am so sorry I wasn’t able to pick you up from the airport.” She sighed. “This morning was really something.”

“What happened?”

She made a dismissive gesture. “I’ll tell you once you’ve settled in. Why don’t you get unpacked first and then…” She took a quick look around. “Where are your things?”

“Upstairs in the guest room. Gabe showed me where it was.”

She shrugged. “Even better. I hope you like it?”

I shot her a glance implying that she couldn’t be serious. “It’s insane. Especially the view!”

“Have you already been out on the terrace?” Her thumb pointed to the left, and she winked. “View’s not too shabby there either.”

Chapter 2

A balmy breeze brushed my face as I stepped onto the terrace and looked out over the Pacific. It was aquamarine, somewhat darker where the water was deeper. The lapping of the waves mixed with the sounds of birds and insects. From where I stood, I couldn’t see much of the beach, just the occasional glimpse through the palm leaves and dense plumeria trees that bordered the terrace and provided a little shade. Barefoot, I tiptoed across the sun-warmed natural stone and sat down by the pool. The pool was decorated with blue mosaic stones, which gave the water a particularly vibrant color. I dipped my feet and waited for Kay, who came out of the house shortly afterward with two glasses clinking with ice cubes. She handed me one and sat down at the edge. We let our legs dangle for a while and chatted about all sorts of things. My journey, the trip with Gabe, my parents, Munich, my injury, PT work, the US Open.

“So, you and Gabe,” I began, looking at the two deck chairs by the side of the pool. “Are you all…?”

“God, no!” She laughed a little too brightly. “He’s just a friend.”

“A good-looking friend.”

She wrinkled her nose, then asked, “You think?”

“For an old guy,” I replied, shrugging, and we both burst out laughing. “He looks a bit like Jason Momoa.” She laughed.

“Well, anyway, Gabe seems nice.And”—I winked—“he seemed to suggest that he and his wife had separated.”

“Julie, yeah.” Kay’s eyes grew pensive. “She’s back on the mainland after the thing with Keiko.” She hesitated. “A few years ago, Gabe and Julie’s son died while out surfing.”

My eyes grew wide in shock.

“It was a terrible tragedy.”

I lowered my glance. A sense of heaviness at odds with the environment spread across the terrace.

“Sheesh, that was a real buzzkill, wasn’t it? Let’s talk about something else. Your plans for today, for example. What are you in the mood for? You want to take a day trip somewhere? Go to the beach? Or would you rather just chill here by the pool?”

“Umm…I thought that maybe we’d start off with a training session?”