The Senator's Son, #1

by Anna Albo

  "Despite what Genie says, I may not go to law school. And even if I do, it would only be half a year that we'd be apart. Then you could come out to wherever I am, get a job, go to culinary school, whatever you want. If I get into Columbia, there are a million culinary schools you could go to. I've already checked it out."

  Columbia? Where was this coming from? Why hadn't he mentioned it before? "Or we might not even be together in a year."

  "That wasn't one of my considerations."

  "Why didn't you tell me?"

  "Because it's so far off. I don't look that far ahead."

  "But everything is already mapped out for you. And I don't even know what I'm doing with my life."

  "Then what's to stop you from coming with me? Transferring out to another school?"

  "Nothing, I guess."

  "I might even end up here. Who knows? But wherever I go, we'll figure it out. I promise."

  "I know."

  "We have so much time to make plans. I don't want you to worry about this."

  "I won't."

  Now that I was over the initial shock, there was an upside to the thought of leaving this school and all its horrible memories behind. And he was right. It was a long way off.

  "SHOULD I STICK AROUND and watch?" Zach asked, dropping me off at the tennis club.

  "It's only the preliminaries. Semi-finals and finals are next weekend. That's if we make it."

  He kissed my cheek before I grabbed my duffel bag. "I'm sure you'll make the finals."

  "We'll see."

  I waved goodbye and went inside. Helen was in the locker room, pacing in our usual meeting place. She already had her tennis outfit on and was chewing vigorously on her nails.

  "You're finally here! I was worried you wouldn't come."

  Was I late? I took a quick glance at my watch. I was fifteen minutes early. "You seem a tad nervous."

  Helen stopped. "I am. We have to win. I always meet up with Sally's team and she knocks me out of the tournament every time. She cannot beat me this year."

  Helen was wound so tight I could have spun her like a top. "Don't worry. It'll be fine. We'll have a great time."

  At least I hoped we would. We'd practiced three times a week together and then she came in the rest of the week and played with anyone she could get her hands on. Her obsession with Sally Carruthers was making her crazy.

  "This is the first year there's been sixteen teams. Sixteen! What if we don't win any prize money? I'll feel bad that you worked so hard for nothing."

  I smiled. "Helen, don't worry about it. I got to spend time with you and work on my tennis game. Who cares if we don't win anything?"

  She frowned. "I like to win."

  I got that impression.

  I changed and we made our way out to the courts. The round of sixteen started in twenty minutes for the adult ladies’ side, followed by the adult men. The women's teams were on the court getting in some last-minute practice. I scanned our competition. Helen had nothing to worry about, but I didn't tell her that.

  "She's over there, first court, pink outfit," Helen said under her breath.

  I took a look. Sally was a decent player, but not a huge challenge. "Helen, are you sure I'm cleared to play in this tournament?"

  Helen grabbed the only open court and a few balls. "Yes. Trust me, I made sure this was all kosher."

  We warmed up with a simple rally. We then moved on to our serves and that's when I knew something was wrong. I didn't notice at first, mostly because I was focusing on hitting my points, but almost all the other ladies, including the few assembled to watch, had stopped what they were doing to watch me. I was getting ready for another toss when Helen waved at me to stop, then motioned for me to look over at the other courts. Faces were staring, some in awe, jaws dropped, others mortified.

  Helen jogged over, a wide smile all over her face. "They're all scared shitless. Let's paste them."

  I nodded. I'd have to take something off the serve. My intent wasn't to hurt or humiliate anyone even though Helen was out for blood.

  Our first opponents were Kelly and Bree, two lovely ladies in their mid-thirties. Neither was able to return a single one of my serves, and that's after I took some heat off. In the history of my tennis life, I'd never served a perfect game. This new accomplishment did not make me proud.

  And, as predetermined in our many practice sessions, I took any ball that was in my reach. In fact, some of the few points Kelly and Bree made were from Helen overestimating my capabilities. We won the match in thirty-two minutes. Both Kelly and Bree were gracious, but I had a feeling not all our opponents would feel that way.

  The umpire came up to us at the end of the match as we headed off court. "Emma Andrews?" she asked.

  A moment of dread washed over me. She was going to find a way to disqualify us and ruin Helen's dream. "Yes," I said.

  "I remember you. It's been a few years. I umped a few of your matches."

  The boom was about to be laid. Helen's moment in the sun was about to be dimmed.

  "I quit when I was sixteen."

  "I heard. A lot of us were shocked. I'm happy to see you playing again, but aren't you selling yourself short in this tournament?"

  I cringed. "I think so. I've never played in one of these, so I had no idea."

  Mercifully Helen had wandered off. She didn't need to hear all this.

  "I know you're going easy on these ladies, but you want to turn it down at least another two or three notches?"

  "I will. I'm sorry."

  She smiled. "Don't be sorry. Win the damn thing! It will be nice seeing someone other than Sally Carruthers hoisting that trophy. Good luck, dear. And think about coaching. You've got a great game and so much talent. Don't waste it."

  With the umpire gone, Helen returned. "What was that about? She getting us in trouble?"

  "No, not at all. She remembered me from my competitive days."

  "Make sure you take it easy tonight. We have to be fresh tomorrow."

  I muffled a laugh. I was pretty sure I could show up in a full body cast and still win the tournament.

  "HOW'D IT GO?" ZACH asked when he picked me up. "That was pretty quick."

  I started laughing, an uncontrollable fit of laughter that soon had me in tears. Zach watched in bewilderment as I tried to pull it together.

  "I didn't realize the question was that funny."

  I blotted my eyes and composed myself. "Zach, they are all pretty mediocre players. I'm not one to boast, but I could wipe the court with half of them. Honestly, I should be disqualified. It's not fair. One lady I watched could barely serve. She hit three quarters of her serves into the net. When we win—and we're going to win—I'm going to feel like I'm stealing their entry fees. It's not right."

  "That bad?"

  "I served a perfect game. My opponents didn't return a single one of my serves and that's after I took off half the heat."

  Zach chuckled. "I can't wait to be your partner in our summer tournament fundraiser."

  "Let me just say that I'm not proud of myself."

  "I should have stuck around to see this ass-whipping. Instead my horrible girlfriend had me slicing mushrooms and grating various cheeses."

  "She does sound horrible."

  "She totally is, but she's great in the kitchen and in another room," he said with a wink.

  "Get your mind out of the gutter, Walker."

  "But it's so fun there."

  "When is Brett coming?" I asked with a swift change of subject. I had to keep to my schedule, and he wasn't going to distract me with any fooling around.

  "He said around six."

  That gave me some study time before he arrived. With all my newfound physical activity, both with Zach and on the tennis court, I'd fallen behind in my history and English Lit classes. I had a history paper due Monday that was only half-finished, and I needed to start and finish a book for my Lit class. Mercifully I was up to date in everything else.

  The moment we g
ot home I started the dough and the tomato sauce. The dough had two hours to rise while the sauce had an hour to cook and an hour to cool. I'd start sautéing ground beef and chorizo around five-thirty. My plan was to eat around six-thirty, attempt to ingratiate myself with Brett for an hour then hit the books again.

  "Want to screw around a bit?" Zach asked.

  As much as I wanted to, instead I informed Zach of the evening's itinerary which included him checking on the sauce every half hour and giving it a good stir.

  "That's not nearly as fun as my idea."

  "Sorry, but I have to hit the books."

  My plan went ahead and by the time five-thirty rolled around, I'd finished my history paper and read the first few chapters of my English Lit book. Food was a pleasant distraction. I put Zach to work chopping green and red peppers while I tackled the meat. When he was finished, his next task was onions.

  "I hate chopping onions. They make me weepy."

  I rolled my eyes and smacked him in the ass.

  "Miss Andrews, are you getting fresh with me?"

  "Mr. Walker, just get back to work. I'll get fresh with you later."

  Zach buzzed Brett up just after six and went to greet him. I popped my head out the kitchen to wave, like people do when they're being polite. I had no opinion of Brett because I didn't really know him. Zach talked about him a lot, they played hockey and worked out together, but beyond that Brett was a face I barely remembered from the infamous cabin.

  "Want a beer?" Zach asked him.

  "Sure. Smells good in here."

  "Pizzas from scratch, man."

  They settled into the living room while I rolled out dough and put together two different pizzas. I slid them into the oven and grabbed a beer for myself.

  I was about to join them in the living room but stopped. Would it be strange with me in there? What if they were discussing boy stuff? But where else was I going to go? Hide in the bedroom and be antisocial? I decided to go for broke. I flopped onto the recliner no one ever used and pretended that I hung out with them all the time. Six months ago I wouldn't have dreamt of doing something so bold. I listened to the conversation, trying to act natural. The subject was hockey.

  "No way!” Zach was saying. “Mason is not a thirty-goal scorer. Maybe twenty, but that's only in a good year. He's not trade bait."

  "Mason and add in that rookie Swede, and you can get a decent goalie," Brett retorted.

  "What have you been smoking? Best bet they get rid of Halstrom and Mason and someone dangles a goalie."

  "Trade deadline already? Time is flying by," I said.

  Brett looked at me like I’d told him I had three boobs.

  "She watches hockey," Zach added nonchalantly. "Football, too. Not a huge basketball fan."

  Brett recovered from the shock and returned to the debate. "Giving up Halstrom and Mason is too much. You can't give up two core defensemen."

  "But Halstrom is always hurt," I added. "Who'd want someone so fragile?"

  Brett's head whipped around to face me again. His brain was computing something before he spoke. "Exactly. She's right," he said cautiously, like I might suddenly attack him with my talons.

  Cue my exit to check on pizzas and set the table since Zach had conveniently forgotten to. As I was putting out the plates and cutlery, I saw Brett lean over to Zach and whisper something. Normally I would have been offended, but I decided not to worry or care what he had to say. Besides, if I asked Zach, he'd tell me later.

  I pulled the pizzas out of the oven and let them rest a few minutes. I threw a frozen apple pie I'd made weeks before into the oven to bake. It wouldn't be ready for an hour, but I was sure they could wait.

  I moved on to making a salad. While I didn't care if I won Brett over, I knew it mattered to Zach. Had I been too pushy with the hockey talk? I was only trying to make conversation. And if he didn't like me before, was there really anything I could do to make it worse?

  I sliced up the pizza and called them. They jumped to their feet and Brett took a seat while Zach retrieved more beers. Brett took four pieces and piled them on his plate. He didn't touch the salad. He took a bite, then another.

  "Shit, this is good pizza," he said.

  "Told you," Zach said proudly.

  "Any night you're making pizza, I'm free," Brett said, his blue eyes lighting up.

  And then they went right back to hockey talk.

  "You see that hit Pennington took? They say it's an upper body injury, but I heard it's his shoulder and he's out weeks," Brett said.

  "Separation or his rotator cuff?" I asked.

  "I hear it's a separation, but it's pretty bad."

  "If it's a third-degree separation, he's torn something. He's out at least six to eight weeks. I separated my shoulder and was out nearly a month."

  "Oh, yeah. You played hockey?"

  "Competitive tennis. I separated my shoulder on an awkward fall and it hurt like hell. Thankfully I didn't tear anything."

  "I didn't know you played tennis."

  He seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say, like I was one of the boys. Kind of. "I quit a few years ago. I still play for fun, though."

  "That's cool."

  They went back to hockey talk and I didn't say much else. I threw in the odd comment here and there, but I'd said enough. I think I'd gained some of his respect. They offered to clean up and I went back to studying. Overall, I thought it went well.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  EMMA

  It came as no surprise that Helen and I made it to the finals. Our semi-final competition put up a valiant fight and even returned some of my serves after I'd toned them down to a manageable pace. For the finals on Sunday, the club had pulled out a set of five rows of bleachers and about twenty people had gathered to watch. Zach was sitting among them.

  "I think we can beat her," Helen said, her body vibrating with anticipation.

  Think? I'd seen Sally Carruthers play. She was good, probably the best out there, but she wasn't going to beat us. "It's good to be optimistic," I said. Bursting Helen's competitive bubble was not on my agenda. Instead, it consisted of beating Sally's team in less than an hour, a celebratory lunch with Zach and Helen, then getting back to the apartment for last-minute packing so we could be in Pine Falls by dinner.

  "It's so nice your boyfriend came to watch us play. He's so handsome and polite. My lazy husband said he's sick of watching me lose."

  Helen had met Zach when we arrived. He charmed her up by telling her how good he'd heard she was. She lapped up all the compliments like a school girl.

  "When you bring home that trophy, he'll be sorry he missed this," I said.

  We hit the court for some practice. Sally watched us from the far court, tapping her foot impatiently. She had on a pink designer tennis outfit and the latest shoes. Her long blonde hair was tied up in a neat pony tail. There wasn't a flaw about her. She called over the umpire for our match, a woman I hadn't seen before. They spoke a few minutes, the umpire nodding here and there. Their conversation ended, and the umpire made a beeline for me. I anxiously watched her approach. Was the guillotine about to drop? Had the loophole been found? The umpire, all five feet two of her, looked up at me.

  "Ms. Andrews?"

  "Yes."

  "Please promise me you'll kick Sally Carruthers's ass!"

  And off she went to her umpire chair. I let out a stunned giggle as Helen ran over to find out what was said.

  "I think Sally tried to get me disqualified. The ump told me to kick her ass."

  That's what we did in thirty-six minutes. Every serve Sally saw was to the best of my ability, save the one double fault. I showed mercy on her shell-shocked partner and when we won 6-0, 6-1, Helen cried. Tears were streaming down her face as she collapsed on the court like she'd won Wimbledon. I let her savor the moment, then helped her to her feet. She bear-hugged me, thanking me over and over again.

  I let her hoist the trophy to the cheers from the assembled crowd. Sall
y stormed off, her partner trudging behind.

  "You know Helen's getting wasted tonight," Zach said after our quick lunch with her. It was Helen who rushed it. She had pictures to post on Facebook.

  "I'm glad I could help her out. The prize money doesn't hurt." Prize money I insisted we split.

  We stopped back at the apartment and Zach packed up his truck while I put the last of my things together. Spring break in Pine Falls was exactly what I needed, yet I couldn't shake the nerves. What if Dad and Grandpa didn't like Zach? I'd never really dated a guy before, let alone brought one home. What would they do? Grill him relentlessly? Make him walk over hot coals? Tar and feather him? I was sure Zach could hold his own, but I hated not knowing how things would be.

  "We ready?" Zach asked, standing in the doorway, an exasperated look on his face. I'd been a bit spastic since we'd gotten home, packing, repacking, and adding things to my already overstuffed backpack.

  "I think so."

  We called out a goodbye to Genie who was on her phone. She waved and we were off. Pine Falls wasn't exactly a metropolis, so I suggested Zach only come out for a day or two, but he said he'd keep his options open. Other than the hockey rink, rec center, Walmart, and our mini-shopping center with a grocery store attached, Pine Falls didn't offer much. Its close proximity to Minneapolis was its only selling point. There were lots of people who made the daily commute, preferring Pine Falls' small-town feel to the big city. Grandma used to drive me three or four times a week to practice with my coach. When she got sick both Grandpa and Dad had offered to drive me, but without Grandma it didn't feel the same. I did keep it up though, until the week she died. That was it for me. I gave up my amateur career.

  "Your dad and grandfather argue a lot? You know, running the antique shop together."

  "Not often. A lot of their business is online and Grandpa's the one who travels and scouts for new stock so they aren't in each other's faces all the time."

  "It sounds kind of neat. I hope I get to see the shop."

  "I'll take you there."

  The drive seemed shorter than usual and before I knew it, I was giving Zach the final directions to the house. We pulled up into the driveway, behind Grandpa's rusting SUV. He refused to part with it, especially when he was hauling big items. Why potentially damage a new car?