The Leaves

(First Published on Better On Vinyl Magazine Vol. 2)

“The leaves are starting to change,” Marie said.

            “Are they?” Tom said. “I hadn’t noticed.”

            She bounced the ball ahead of her front foot three times, like she did before every serve, and tossed it into the air. When the ball reached its apex, she stretched for it and swung harder than normal. Her racquet made contact high on its strings and the ball sailed into the back fence with a rattle.

            “Did you imagine that one was my face, or something?” Tom said.

            “I’m tired.”

            “We’ve only just started, darling.”

            Marie let her Babolat clatter onto the clay and walked over to a small gazebo in between courts. She sat on a bench and drank from Tom’s bottle by mistake, choking on a concoction that was much more vodka than it was soda.

            “What the hell is the matter with you?”

            “This is supposed to be a leisurely game, you know,” Tom said. “Meant to be enjoyed.”

            She wiped her mouth with her wristband and crossed her arms. Tom sat down next to her. He was wearing the Armani cologne she bought him last Christmas, and his stubble was the perfect length. It was black and in between shadow and a beard, with the faintest touches of gray.

            “Are you alright?”

            “I had one bad serve,” Marie said. “Relax.”

            “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

            She looked out at her side of the court. The baseline was already covered in her footprints, and most of the ball marks were inside the lines. His side was almost spotless between the lines, as if he’d been playing standing still.

            It was cool and there was a breeze that never fully stopped. Every few minutes one of the oaks that surrounded the court dropped a yellow leaf. Most of them drifted down on the opposite side of the fence, but some found the clay. Marie watched one fall onto the prongs atop the fence and impale itself on the metal.

            “You don’t have to worry about me,” Marie said.

            “What kind of man would I be if I didn’t?” Tom said.

            “One that trusts me.”

            “Do you worry about me?”

            “All the time,” Marie said. “But for different reasons.”

            Tom took a drink from his bottle and stood up. “Let’s switch sides.”

            “I want to play a few games and keep score,” she said.

            “You can serve first.”

            “No,” she said. “We’ll rally for it.”

            They walked over to their new sides of the court and had a short rally, after which Tom lined up on the baseline to serve. Marie leaned forward and rocked her hips side to side, spinning the racquet’s grip in her hands. He smirked and gave her an easy serve to the middle of her box, which she smashed to the corner with good topspin.

            “Don’t forget to keep score, darling,” Marie said.

            Tom walked to the opposite side of the baseline. He pulled a ball out of his pocket and bounced it. “Love, fifteen.”

            He put a little more on this serve, and it drifted towards the sideline. She lunged for it and sliced it over the net with her backhand. As she shuffled back to the center of the baseline, he hit the ball back to the corner she came from. She didn’t try to reach it and started walking to the service box before the ball landed.

            “Fifteen all,” Tom said. “We could always play pickleball instead.”

            Marie smiled for the first time that day. “Fuck off, darling.”

            Tom bounced the ball twice and served, this time with spin so it moved right to left, landing just inside the center service line. Marie took a big step to her right, tanned quad flexing beneath her tennis skirt, and hit a strong forehand cross-court. Tom chopped it, floating the ball over with plenty of backspin to give himself time to get to the center of the baseline.

            Marie rushed the net and hit a hard shot to his left. Tom scooped the ball with his backhand and tried to lob her, but didn’t get enough on it and she drilled an overhand volley that bounced over the fence. He gave her a thumbs up and dug a new ball out of his pocket. Her smile hadn’t gone away.

            “Have you been practicing?” Tom said. “Secret lessons?”

            “Maybe I’ve been seeing Manuel while you’re at work.”

            “He’s pretty cute. As far as club pros go. Not your usual type, though.”

            “You think I only like white guys?” Marie said.

            “Only the rich ones. And he’s short.”

            “But he’s strong.”

            “Take it easy, love,” Tom said. “Fifteen, thirty.”

            He bounced the ball twice again and served it. His swing was too big, almost as hard as he could, and he sent it straight into the net.

            “Maybe you should get a lesson or two before you try to ace me, darling,” Marie said.

            Tom ground his teeth and pulled out another ball. He tossed it into the air without bouncing it and hit it easily into the center of her service box. She sliced it with her backhand and played a drop shot just in front of the net. He sprinted and threw himself at it, only knocking it into the net after it bounced twice.

            “Nicely done,” Tom said. “Bit of a cowardly shot, though.”

            “You would know what’s cowardly, wouldn’t you?”

            Tom shook his head and walked back to the baseline. He wiped his forehead with the back of his arm and bounced the ball twice before tossing it.

            “Score?” Marie said.

            He let the ball hit the clay and dribble at his feet. “Fifteen, forty.”

            Marie nodded and adjusted her sunglasses. Tom put both of his serves into the net and dropped his racquet. “Good game.”

            “If that’s all you’ve got, maybe I should give Manuel another chance then.”

            “Christ, Marie. Just because you lost your father that doesn’t mean you can say whatever the hell you want.”

            She straightened her back and stood still for a moment before carefully leaning her racquet on the net and sitting down on the bench. Tom took off his hat and scratched the top of his head. He walked over and sat next to her. She kept her sunglasses on and stared at a leaf that the wind was sweeping across the court.

            “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean that.”

            “I know. It’s alright.”

            “There’s something I haven’t told you.”

            “Don’t scare me, what is it?” she said.

            “I quit the firm yesterday.”

            “You’re serious?”

            “I am,” Tom said. “How can I justify spending so much time there when, as we know, it can all end in a second?”

            Marie took off her glasses turned her teary brown eyes to his and held them there. “And what about time with me?”

            “I’m going to have a lot more of it.”

            He kissed her and stood up, holding out his hand. “I’ve played enough, my knee hurts. Can I walk you home?”

            “No, you go ahead to the gym; I want to practice my serve a bit.”

            He squeezed her shoulder gently and walked off towards the clubhouse. She looked at his back as he walked, the shirt tight around his shoulders. The wind picked up more, and felt good through her hair. She watched more leaves fly around the court, some of them covering her footsteps in the clay.

            Marie stood up and grabbed her racquet, but put it back in her bag, along with the rest of their balls. She closed the gate behind her and used the brushes to clean the bottoms of her sneakers before walking towards the clubhouse.

            It was silent inside the lobby, and she saw no one in the weight room. The women’s locker room was empty as well, and she put her tennis bag in a locker before undressing. She wrapped a towel around herself and put on a pair of slippers.

            She cracked the door and looked around, still seeing no one. After hesitating in front of the men’s locker room, she pushed the door open and strolled in. It was empty, and her shoulders relaxed. She walked to the back of the room towards the wood and glass sauna, the fog so dense she couldn’t see inside. She slowly opened the door, and saw her husband sitting alone on a towel, with sweat running down his entire body.

            “Marie? What are you do-

            She dropped her towel and stepped inside, letting the door close firmly behind her.