Pickleballers

Chapter Thirty

Thirty

Three consecutive weeks of sunshine had to be a record in Seattle. Despite the sixty-five-degree August chill, the fans and players gathering outside Everest Park sported summery gear: shorts and T-shirts emblazoned with kitschy pickleball greetings like Day Dinker and My favorite game is the next one . Excitement built as the crowd clamored to enter the grounds of the Northwest Picklesmash Tournament.

Treading through the entrance gate, Meg swallowed her trepidation. Everest Park was known for its first-rate surfaces and for the fenced dividers between courts to keep balls from running away. Mainly, it was recognized for the kind of attitude a court can project when it knows it is one of the highest-class facilities in the county—nearly as expertly designed as the Founders Courts. Bleachers set up especially for the tournament offered perfect views of the twelve pristine courts.

Meg clutched her paddle to her chest; a blended cocktail of emotions whirred through her veins. Sure, she hoped Bainbridge could bring in a win for their charities, but she would be happy, too, if Lakeview won cash for their new courts. As for Vance, as nervous as she was, a big part of her wanted to face off against him. And win.

Meg moved with relief when she caught sight of Annie waving her paddle. Seated beside her friend, the real Michael Edmonds lifted a hand in salute. Meg made her way through the bleachers, stepping over legs until she reached Annie.

“Saved you a spot,” Annie said, removing a baseball cap from the bleacher seat.

“Any sign of Rooster?”

Annie hesitated. “He sent a text to the group chat.” She tapped at her phone and displayed the message. Would love to be there to support you but having issues here. Good luck.

Meg matched eyes with Annie. “Hope everything’s okay.” Rooster had asked them to give it some time before visiting the newborn preemie, but they were hoping Lulu and her little one were out of the woods.

“I’m sure everything’s fine. He wouldn’t want you to worry.”

It was true. Meg had Annie and Ethan to thank for helping her reach this moment, but Rooster’s faith in her had started it all. He would want her to focus on doing her best. Taking a cleansing breath, she wrangled her attentions toward that purpose.

When she looked up, there was Ethan moving toward her, scooting between the bleacher benches with his smiling eyes set on her. The warmth in his gaze made her feel like she was the only one, the most important person in this giant crowd of players and spectators. She stood and kissed him in greeting, lingering longer than a hello warranted. They sat, their hands clutched together, grinning like satisfied cats.

On the bleachers around them, their neighbors began to stir and murmur. A few spectators stood, craning to see the courts below. A man dressed in cowboy boots and a pearl-buttoned shirt cruised across the courts to a small stage where a podium had been set. He yanked a microphone from a stand and cleared his throat.

“Ladies and jelly beans! I wanna welcome you to this year’s Picklesmash Tournament.” A pounding of eager applause rippled through the stands. “Wow. Now that’s a spirited bunch. I’m Carl Dewitt, and you might recognize me as a four-time champion cattle caller from the Puyallup Fairgrounds. I’m gonna tell you right now, I don’t know the first thing about pickleball, but I sure was excited to learn that I could get paid good money to shoot my mouth off about whatever y’all are doing here. What a gig. I’ll do my best not to disappoint. Let’s get ’er done.”

Meg shifted to see the cause of the fresh excitement that bubbled through the crowd. “Who’s that?” She pointed at the relaxed athlete waving to the crowd.

Carl fished a shred of paper from his pocket. “All righty. Let’s all clap our hands together. First up is the professional pickleballers showcase. Let’s see who we got here.” He scrutinized the scrap. “Nope. That’s my grocery receipt.”

“That’s Phil Chow,” Ethan said. “Twenty-two years old and he’s on the up-and-up. And I wouldn’t be surprised if you knew the other guy. In the tennis whites.”

Instantly the crowd was on their feet, cheering. The pro dressed in all white stormed onto the courts like he owned them. “He’s kind of a local celebrity,” Ethan said. Meg could see why. With his arms boasting muscles and tattoos and with his wavy black hair pulled into a man bun, the guy had style and looks, and the crowd was eating him up. “Tyler Demming. Lives right nearby.”

“Really?” Meg said. “You’re not gonna believe this, but that guy played with me a couple months ago. He saw me waiting for a game at Lakeview, and he offered to partner with me.”

She remembered admiring his play, awed by his easy grace. She hadn’t been aware that he was a pro until after their game. “I’m a beginner,” she had warned him. “Are you sure you want to partner with me?”

But Tyler Demming had assured her that above all, they would have fun. During the game, when she’d hit a well-angled dink, he had said, “Great shot. See? You belong in this game.”

She told Ethan, “He set everything up so I could close the point. It was like he knew exactly what would happen three shots down the line.”

“He does that. He goes to area clubs and joins in with the peasants. No offense.”

“None taken.”

“Did you win?”

“Of course.”

The showcase game began, and the spectators leaned forward, enraptured by the fluid play of the pros. Meg marveled as, leaping and sliding, the opponents battled one-on-one. In rec play, Meg raced around, busting her butt to get to the ball on a doubles court. These players covered the full singles court with ease. There was no banging back and forth, just calculated placement and point-ending finesse.

“Wow.” Behind her, Dress Shirt Dave was shaking his head in wonder at the pros’ talent. When he noticed her, he grinned. “Oh. Hey, Meg. I hear you’re playing for Bainbridge.”

Her lips parted as she prepared to defend herself, but Dress Shirt Dave presented his fist for a bump. “They’re lucky to have you,” he said.

Below on the courts, the demo match ended. Tyler Demming tapped paddles with his opponent, and with his winning grin, he raised both hands in victory. Tyler’s victory sparked a near collision among a couple of female fans who rushed down to the courts, Sharpies in hand, presumably to get their paddles signed. At least Meg hoped it was their paddles. Meanwhile, tournament volunteers swooped onto the playing surface. Armed with brooms and garbage bags, they removed freshly fallen leaves and pine needles from the courts.

In the stands, people began to murmur at a new development. Several rose to their feet. Meg followed their attentions and caught sight of the glamorous couple striding through the gate.

The man moved effortlessly, his blond, wavy hair bouncing with his step. The woman’s bronzed, toned legs rose above her invisible socklets and disappeared beneath a sleek fuchsia skirt. With each pace, the skirt rose and dipped, offering a peek of the curve of her buttocks. Her breasts levitated beneath a white scoop neck worthy of a parental advisory rating.

Meg took in the slo-mo runway walk of the eye-catching pair, and her bitterness surprised her as it breached the surface. Vance and édith waved at the crowd. Waved! Ethan, with his attention pegged on the pros’ match, took no notice. But Annie tapped Meg and whispered, “Doesn’t matter. Just focus on your game.”

“Do you think those are real?”

“Hey.” Annie’s gaze caught Meg’s. Evenly, she said, “You. Focus. Lemme check the matchup schedules. If you play Lakeview first or second, you can get it over with.”

Sixteen Northwest clubs from around Washington and Oregon were slated to participate, from the Canadian border-town league, the Bellingham Ballers, to the state’s southernmost club, named Vancouver: The One in Washington.

The morning matches were already arranged. Annie and Dave Edmonds, back with Lakeview, were scheduled to play their first round in an advanced match against Bainbridge’s Juanita and Sebastian. But Meg did not recognize any of the players she was slotted to compete against before lunchtime.

As the organizers set up the first matches, the players and spectators mingled on the soccer fields beside the courts and at the sheltered picnic area. Hand in hand, she and Ethan strolled around the outskirts of the playing area.

Across the lawn, Meg spotted a cluster of Lakeview players collecting near the drinking fountain—several of the Daves, the guy who wore sports glasses with the lenses popped out, Mustache Steve deep in conversation with Did-I-Mention-I’m-Single Steve, and Jeannie and her minions—all stood clumped together. As she neared, she noticed they’d gathered around Reflux Dave, who, with uncharacteristic exuberance, was regaling the gang with a story.

Reflux Dave’s face glowed. “And then they gave me this. Look!” He thrust a plastic bag at the rapt crowd. “A quarter and one penny, both dated 1996. That’s what they pulled out of me!”

A collective gasp traveled through the group.

“Yeah. They let me keep ’em. Now I feel great. I can’t believe those were in my intestines all those years. Musta been some crazy game of quarters. I have no idea how the penny got in there. Imagine. All that misery was twenty-six cents.”

“26 Cent,” Mustache Steve said. “Hey. That’s your new name.”

Dave’s sudden smile nearly busted his cheeks. “Yeah! 26 Cent. That’s so much cooler than Reflux Dave. 26 Cent. That’s me!”

“26 Cent,” the others echoed. A stampede of hands pounded him on the shoulder in congratulations before collectively turning toward Meg.

“Hey!” Jeannie shouted, noticing her. “If it isn’t Little Miss Turncoat. Or should we call you Meg ‘Benedict Arnold’ Bloomberg? We hear you’re sleeping with the enemy. And worse, you’re playing pickleball with him.” Cringing, Meg stopped in her tracks and swiveled to Ethan, but he was out of earshot, filling his bottle at the fountain. Jeannie took a step too close. “How does it feel to cross over to the dark side ?”

What was Jeannie’s problem? Wasn’t Jeannie the one who’d convinced Lakeview to replace her? But Meg worried—would her whole tribe turn against her now that she planned to play for Bainbridge?

“Look, you guys,” Meg stuttered. She wanted to play, wanted to win even, but it wasn’t worth losing these friendships—if that was what it came down to. “If you feel strongly about it, I don’t have to…” Her voice faded away, fighting against completing that dreaded idea.

Jeannie’s cackle cut in. “Take it easy, Meg. I’m just giving you shit. Ethan!” she shouted, pegging him in her sights. Jeannie’s expression morphed into a genuine smile. “I was looking for you. Check this out.” Jeannie riffled through her gym bag and came up with a pocket-sized journal titled Birds of the Northwest . Striding to the drinking fountain, she strong-armed Ethan and pointed eagerly at an entry in her book. “See? This book you gave me is great. I checked off the red-tailed hawk, a juvenile bald, and an osprey, too. Ospreys are easy. I spot like three a day.”

“I know. I saw your post on the birding chat. And great sighting on that breeding loon—with the checkerboard visible in the shot.”

“Can’t believe I caught that. Right?” Jeannie agreed. “Just south of his usual breeding ground. That was a lucky find.”

Unsure if this was a stress-induced delusion, Meg blinked hard. “So, you’re okay with the wetlands project?”

“Meg. Did you not hear? I’m beating Ethan on my bird count already and I’ve only just started.” Leave it to Jeannie to make a competitive sport out of watching nature. “This guy’s not such a rat bastard after all,” she added, clocking Ethan on the shoulder. “He’s helping us work out the permits for a new space.”

Meg looked to Ethan for confirmation. He gave a modest shrug.

Jeannie gave Ethan’s shoulder a motivational punch. “Tell her,” she insisted. But before he could say a word, she jumped in. “So, Ethan here,” she recounted, friendly as can be, “goes and contacts the city and gets permission to repurpose that empty shopping mall space for indoor and outdoor courts. If we can raise part of the funds, the city’s gonna help us convert it all into a massive complex. Lights. Coverage in winter. And bathrooms for all!”

Meg let out a puff of relief. “That’s great news,” she said, taking in Ethan with newfound respect.

“Besides,” Jeannie continued, “we’re gonna stomp Bainbridge into the dirt today. You don’t stand a chance against Vance and édith. They’re like those superhero teams in the movies. Know what I mean? If the world was about to explode, they would be the couple who would save us all. And they’d look great doing it.” Jeannie slapped Meg on the shoulder. “Lakeview’s gonna win us some shopping mall courts. But good luck with your matches, killer.” She pointed a finger at Ethan. “And you. Expect an ass-kicking this season on your pied-billed grebe count.” Snickering with her underlings, she marched off.

That was the Jeannie Meg knew and sort of loved. Playing pickleball made people happy, but it did not necessarily make them nice.

While she and Ethan strolled toward the stands, Meg recognized the win for what it was. So what if Jeannie was supporting her ex in this epic battle? Little by little, Lakeview would climb on board with the wetlands, and that was progress.

“That went about as expected,” Ethan said when they were alone. “What do you say we hit a couple before our first game? Do we have time for a quick pickle break?”

“I’d like a quick pickle break,” Meg murmured. Tugging him to her, she smooched him. Then, for good luck, she threw in some moderate grinding.

Pulling away, Ethan put on a scowl. “Meg. I’m shocked. I meant a quick warm-up.” His eyes said otherwise as he traced a languid finger from her chin to her belly button. “You’re a terrible distraction. Now I have to go find some ice.”

“For tennis elbow?”

“No. To bathe in. You’re driving me crazy.” As he disappeared toward the concession stand, her smile felt so explosive that her cheeks hurt.

By the time Meg hurried back to the stands, the advanced and intermediate rounds had already begun. On court F, Annie and Dave Edmonds spun the hurtling sphere back and forth against their opponents from Bainbridge. She cheered for Annie, but secretly her heart rooted for Bainbridge: the new team that had accepted her with open arms. She wished they both could be winners.

The smell of hair product and subtle perfume appeared before Marilyn did, sporting a metal pickleball association pin tacked to her fitted blouse. “Yoo-hoo! I have the matchups,” she called. She straddled knees and avoided feet as she squeezed toward the spot beside Meg. Marilyn planted herself, concentrating as her French-manicured nails scrolled through her phone.

“I already saw the schedule,” Meg said. “Ethan and I play Shoreline at ten. They posted all the morning matches.”

“Right,” Marilyn agreed. “But I’m a club administrator. So, I have the full day’s lineup. I thought you’d want a heads-up.”

The sliver moon of Marilyn’s white-tipped nail pointed at the final slot of the day. When she read the matchup, Meg’s tongue dried to dust.

“You’re kidding. The last game of the day? The last one…and it’s me against my ex-husband?” By now, Ethan knew the whole story of her history with Vance, as did Marilyn, who rubbed Meg’s shoulder blades like she was giving her a good sanding. “You’re gonna be fine. You’ve practiced. You’ve worked hard. You are a solid player. Remember. There’s no reason they would have any advantage over you. They’re beginners, too.”

It was true. For each of them, this was their first tournament, the first time playing with the tension of spectators and a sizable prize on the line. Meg said, “It’s just a lot of pressure. To pit us against each other for the final game of the tournament.”

“No more nor less than any other game you play today. There are no brackets, so no eliminations. Just a round robin. Each team plays an equal number of times,” Marilyn explained. “The clubs are given points based on the cumulative match scores. Meaning, if you and Ethan win 11–2, Bainbridge gets nine points. At the end of the day, whichever club has the most points wins. With more than fifty games being played today, one match is not going to make or break the tournament. I’m just letting you know ahead so it’s not a shock.”

Meg mulled over her strategy until a cheer roused her. On the courts below, Annie and Dave tapped paddles in victory. As she threaded her way through the crowds, she set up a personal strategy. She would play hard before the lunch break, but she promised to pace herself and reserve some power for that last game.

Ethan appeared beside her courtside, just as Carl Dewitt announced, “Beginners’ round one: Shoreline vs. Bainbridge.”

Sliding an arm around her waist, Ethan squeezed her hip bone. “We got this.”

·····

Their first game began.

Climbing parallel ladders, Ethan and Meg, and the Shoreline beginners, Lydia and Dimitri, inched upward. Lydia was a popper, and Meg could see the high balls coming, but Dimitri was a banger, which made it hard for her to take the power off. They matched points at every step. Three to three. Five to five. Seven to five. Double eights. Meg pressed herself to keep her focus. Already, the volunteer ref had called her on a kitchen fault when her foot had slipped a quarter inch over the line.

Soon enough, the score was 11–10 in their favor, and although eleven points generally took the victory, the win-by-two-points rule was in place. Meg looked up to the crowd and caught Annie’s eye. Her friend jumped to her feet and cheered vigorously.

Ethan served, and Meg thrilled when she managed a third-shot drop. But Meg had telegraphed her target. Lydia from Shoreline stepped easily into the kitchen, waited for the bounce, and returned cross-net. Lydia’s shot, however, sailed higher than intended, and Meg pounced, smacking the ball down the center. Both Lydia and Dmitri went for it, clashing paddles and sending the ball flying off the court. Meg’s hit won the match point. Down the middle solves the riddle , she thought.

Paddles were tapped all around with polite sportsmanship, but the moment they strode off the court, Ethan lifted Meg off the ground and twirled her around. “You played great!”

Game followed game. Despite their efforts, they lost by four points to the beginners from Phantom Lake, but Meg had expected to lose to them. It was rumored that although the teenage sibling team had never played in a pickleball tournament, both had starred on their high school tennis team. For the remainder of the morning, however, Ethan and Meg narrowly inched out their opponents from Portland and Spokane, and even kicked some Kirkland bootie right on their Everest Park home court.

At lunchtime, Annie and Meg found a spot in the shade of the picnic shelter. On the horizon, a dense curtain of clouds formed, contrasting the blue-sky microclimate overhead. But here, on the green lawns of the park, the sun pounded down on the sweaty participants and spectators, while Bainbridge and Lakeview players mingled amiably at the wooden picnic tables.

Meg drew out her tuna sandwich. Annie opened the lid on a tofu-chickpea salad. Surprised to see her friend depart from her steady Bainbridge diet of burgers and brownies, Meg narrowed her eyes at the preponderance of veggies in Annie’s meal.

Annie shrugged. “I’m just happy that hotel rooms don’t have scales. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have been a real vacation.”

They ate their portioned lunches: enough to fuel their games but not so much as to double over with cramps. After Annie managed to get her fork into the last rolling chickpea, Meg leaned in. “How’s it going with the real Michael Edmonds?”

Her friend’s grin took over her whole face. “Fine…” Her singsong indicated there was more to say.

“So you like him.”

“Oh, Meg.” She rolled her eyes heavenward. “I know it’s cliché, but he’s perfect.” Her voice dropped into the confidential zone. “I think I’m in a serious relationship.”

“You mean, you never laugh?”

Annie groaned. “And on that note…I’m gonna head over and practice once more with Dave.” She hugged her friend’s arm. “You’re gonna do great in your game against Vance. Don’t let them psych you out. You got this.”

Meg settled herself onto the picnic bench. To help push away the nervousness about the impending game, she set about distracting herself with a daydream that involved Ethan, coconut-scented sunscreen, and marshmallow fluff. She hadn’t even gotten to the good part when she felt the bump on the bench of someone sitting down beside her.

Glancing up, she found Vance, his smirk knocking her vibe right out from under her.