Now Is Our Time

by Jo Kessel

  As soon as they’d got back from the hospital Claire had fallen asleep and Jonah had lain awake watching her, marvelling at the new lives growing inside of her, dreaming of their future. At about seven o’clock he got up to make the girls’ breakfast. Claire stirred too.

  “Shush,” he told her. “Go back to sleep. You can rest all day if you want to.”

  Jonah was on that same sort of energised “high” one experiences after falling in love. It’s a kind of buzz that doesn’t require sleep. It’s the best natural buzz that exists. Jonah had never taken drugs but he imagined that this kind of euphoria might come from a Class ‘A’ narcotic, only it couldn’t possibly feel this good.

  “Hang on a sec,” he called after the girls as they ran to the pool shortly after nine o’clock. “Wait for me.” Where were his sneakers? He liked to take advantage of them swimming by working out in the gym. He needed his sneakers. He ran upstairs to check in his closet. They weren’t there so he ran back downstairs and checked the back patio. They were hiding underneath the hammock. He ran outside with them still in his hand. The girls were already in the pool, swimming underwater. He sat on a sun bed whilst he put on his shoes, eavesdropping on the girls’ conversation as they resurfaced at the far end.

  “I really want you to come to my birthday party,” said Martha. “Do you think you’ll be able to?”

  “I hope so,” Miriam replied. Her tone didn’t sound so certain.

  “Why don’t you get your Mom to ask your Dad?”

  “I’ve already tried that,” said Miriam. “And she said she wasn’t sure that my Dad would like it.”

  “What about if my Dad asked your Dad, do you think that would work? It’s a fashion designing party and you love designing. You could design yourself some cute pink denim shorts with frayed edges.”

  Miriam didn’t reply so, instead, Martha turned her focus on her father.

  “What do you think, Pops? Can you do something about it?”

  Jonah tied up his second lace, not wanting to make promises he couldn’t keep.

  “I’ll speak to Claire about it again,” he said as he got up. He pointed to the gym. “Right, I’m going for a run now. I’m in there if you need anything. Be good and don’t make too much noise.”

  For the first couple of minutes Jonah jogged on the treadmill, his mind was completely blank, focusing on the movement of his legs and on his breathing. As the pace picked up, however, thoughts started slowly seeping in. He pondered his finances. He may not have been the world’s number one tennis player but he had been shrewd. An athlete’s career is invariably short, so the most has to be made of it. The main bulk of the small fortune he’d amassed wasn’t from prize money, it was from sponsorship deals. He’d been popular among companies promoting sexier brands, who’d sought him to promote their image. Nike, Coke, Rolex, Calvin Klein, Jeep Cherokee and Wilson had all sponsored him handsomely over the years. His arrangement with Calvin Klein had gone way beyond their logo being sewn onto his tennis tops. For years he’d done a series of TV ads and glossy magazine photo shoots in the US, modelling their latest range. He felt uncomfortable under the glare of the camera, especially stripped down so bare, but the monetary rewards were worthwhile. That deal alone had bought him not just Lily Beach, but another couple of properties he rented out in California as well as a penthouse in New York - and a lifetime’s supply of underwear!

  If he didn’t want to he needn’t work another day in his life, but he liked working. It gave him a sense of purpose and he didn’t want Martha to grow up thinking that her father did ‘nada’ for a living. Occasionally he was hired as a motivational speaker and the tennis commentating work had recently taken off. Not long ago his agent had mentioned another possibility for him in television, which Jonah said ‘he’d think about’. He didn’t really think it was for him but, now that he knew there were two babies on the way, perhaps he should reconsider. If he remembered correctly, that job would at least keep him in one place. Much as he liked it, following tennis tournaments around the world as a commentator wasn’t conducive to family life. He would call his agent later.

  Jonah was running steady and hard, watching the girls as he mulled this over. He checked his watch. He’d done ten minutes, time to pick up the pace. He adjusted the speed on the treadmill. He started to think about Claire and the twins again but then, from nowhere, the hairs on his arms pricked up. He was hot as hell, sweating profusely, and yet his skin was suddenly pocked with goose-bumps. His skill at being a great observer of people and situations, with a sixth sense for second-guessing others, now told him that he was being watched. But it didn’t make sense. There was nobody else in the gym or by the pool except for the girls. He decided that the exciting news combined with not having slept all night must be playing havoc with his sixth sense and he carried on running. Nonetheless, his hairs still stood stubbornly on end. Disconcerted, he slowed his pace down and ground to a halt, stepping off the machine.

  Jonah didn’t like interrupting his training. Something felt wrong. He felt as if he was being watched. He left the gym and went over to the pool.

  “Hi Dad,” said Martha, “that was quick.”

  He was struggling to catch his breath, panting heavily as he slowly circled, taking in his surroundings, looking first at ground level, then higher. There was a rustling in the bushes that camouflaged the complex’s outer fence.

  “Hello?” called Jonah.

  “Who are you speaking to?” asked Martha.

  Jonah checked himself. He didn’t want to scare the girls.

  “You!” he grinned, lying down on the sun bed. Forget it. He’d do some exercise later. Slowly, as he lay there, wincing as Martha and Miriam willingly performed belly flops to see who could make the greater splashy thwack, the feeling of being watched dissipated. Either he’d been imagining things or whoever had been doing the watching had gone away.

  ----------------------------

  Back inside, Miriam went upstairs to check on her mother, leaving Jonah and Martha alone in the kitchen. He liked it being just the two of them. Over the last month there hadn’t been much of that and he hoped his daughter didn’t resent him for it. She didn’t seem to and he knew that, if she had been upset about something, she would definitely have said so.

  “Hey kiddo,” he wrapped his arms around her. She was growing so damn fast. Just that thought made him think about the new babies and how tiny they would be in comparison. Would Martha hate them, resent them or just accept the new status quo? He felt a stab of worry shoot through his gut. It made him understand better how Claire felt about it. Her concerns were all valid. However, Jonah knew that, when it came to the bottom line, it would all work out - it had to!

  “Do you want me to make you a smoothie?” he asked.

  “Yes, please.”

  The kitchen had a central island with high stools around it. Martha scrambled up onto a seat, watching as her father cut the stalks off the strawberries and tossed them into the blender, smothering them with lemon yoghurt and orange juice before replacing the lid and turning the machine on.

  “Could you ask Miriam’s father if she can come to my party?” she shouted so that her voice could be heard above the whirring.

  “I’ve got a better idea,” said Jonah, turning the blender off. The strawberries had turned the yoghurt nicely pink. “Why don’t you ask her father? It’s harder for grown-ups to say no to kids. He’s coming to pick Miriam up about an hour before I take you back to Mom’s tomorrow. You’ll meet him then.”

  “Great idea,” said Martha.

  Jonah took two tall glasses out of the cupboard and loaded them first with crushed ice from the freezer and then with the smoothie mixture. He pushed one of the glasses towards Martha and raised the second one towards his lips.

  “Mm,” Martha approved as she tasted. “You make the best smoothie.”

  “I’m going to miss you tomorrow,” said Jonah.

  Damn, he didn’t mean to say that. He always thoug
ht it but he was never actually dumb enough to say it out loud, because it made the parting process so much harder. The lack of sleep, the sense of being watched, the baby news, it was all making him act out of character.

  “Me too,” said Martha. “I’ve had the best summer. And Dad -

  “Yes, sweetie?”

  “I want you to know that I really like Claire.”

  Jonah’s heart sang.

  “She really likes you too.”

  Martha started shifting uncomfortably on her stool, as if she’d sat on a nest of ants that had started to crawl all over her backside.

  “And Dad,” she continued, “you never answered Miriam’s question. Are you going to ask Claire to marry you?”

  Jonah held his daughter’s gaze as he put down his glass. Perhaps this was an opportunity for a heart to heart.

  “I’m not going to answer that question for the same reasons that I gave Miriam when she asked. But if, hypothetically, I were to ask her, how would you feel about it?”

  Jonah held his breath, half regretting his question. If Martha wasn’t happy about a marriage then chances were that she definitely wouldn’t welcome a baby, let alone two.

  “That would be good,” said Martha.

  Phew, Jonah could breathe again.

  “She makes you happy and that makes me happy. Plus she’s a much better cook than you are.”

  “Excuse me, young lady,” Jonah pretended to be offended. “What about my smoothies? And don’t forget, I am King of the barbecue.”

  “Sure,” grinned Martha, disbelieving. “Whatever.”

  “I love you kiddo,” said Jonah, placing an arm around her shoulder and kissing the top of her head. “And I’m very proud of you for accepting Claire and Miriam into our lives. Thank you.”

  Martha nestled into Jonah’s chest, crushing her nose into his stomach.

  “I love you too,” she said, before pulling away so she could breathe properly. “And also -

  “Yes?”

  “Can we play tennis this afternoon?”

  “Of course we can,” smiled Jonah.

  -------------------

  Martha was a bloody good player, as Claire would say. She was built like an athlete and her talent had been spotted at a very young age, when her agility combined with excellent hand to eye coordination already made her a force to be reckoned with whenever a racket was in her grip. She already had a wide arsenal of shots, with a mean hook forehand and a two-handed backhand with wicked topspin. She whacked the ball back and forth like a mini Sharapova. In fact, she looked a bit like Maria Sharapova as she targeted her shots long and deep to the left, then long and deep to the right, alternating with great precision as their rally continued. Jonah had no doubt that, if she wanted it enough, she could have a chance on the professional circuit. That wasn’t what he wanted for her though. Too many sacrifices have to be made to get to the top of your game and experience told him that came at a price. Yes, his life was getting back on track now but had the hiccups along the way really been worth it? If he could do it again, would he do it differently? It was far better to look forward not backward and to live without regret.

  Jonah couldn’t think of one tennis champ whose child had followed in their footsteps, and that couldn’t just be coincidental. Doctors often bred doctors. Lawyers frequently bred lawyers. Children liked to emulate their parents. Not in tennis though. Perhaps those children could see that the pain just wasn’t worth the gain. The chances of being the absolute best were too slim. Nonetheless, Martha had been ‘spotted’ and was coached in the US regional squad and regularly competed in tournaments within her age group. However, Jonah noticed that she liked to play less now than previously. Usually, when he had her with him over the summer, she wanted to play with him every day for at least an hour, sometimes more. This holiday, however, she’d only gone on court a handful of times at the beginning and ever since had chosen instead to play with Miriam off the court. This pleased Jonah. Not just because he wanted the two girls to get along, but because this meant his daughter was actively choosing a normal childhood over training for four hours a day.

  “Go get it tiger,” Jonah fed her another smash volley.

  Martha ran backwards, her eye on the ball, racket raised. Thwack. The sound the strings made as they met the ball told Jonah that she’d made perfect contact on the racket’s sweet spot. He turned to watch where the ball landed. It grazed the baseline.

  “Brilliant,” he praised.

  He picked a ball out of the basket, about to feed her another shot.

  “No,” she held up her hand, panting as she ran into the net. “Enough. I’ve had enough. I’m going to cool off in the pool.”

  At this point Miriam appeared, with sneakers on her feet and a racket in her hand.

  “You said you’d help me play better before I left,” she said to Jonah shyly. “Would you mind or have you had enough now?”

  “I’d love to teach you,” smiled Jonah, delighted she’d asked. “Martha, won’t you stay and watch?” he asked as she headed off to the pool.

  “Nah,” she said. “I’ll go hang out with Claire instead.”

  Again, this made Jonah sing on the inside, the fact the girls were each happy to be with the other’s parent.

  “Right,” he said, “Let’s start at the beginning. Show me how you hold your racket.”

  She had one of Martha’s cast-off Wilson’s. He checked her hand position on the grip. It was too tight and in the wrong place. He swivelled it round a touch.

  “There, that’s perfect. See the way your thumb lines up with that W? Right, don’t move your hand from that position.”

  Jonah demonstrated how she should swing back her racket on the forehand and then follow through, making her practice the movement a few times, finishing with the racket in front of her nose. Satisfied that she’d got it, Jonah stepped back round to his side of the net, taking the full glare of the sun in his eyes.

  “Ok Miriam, we’re going to play half-court only for now, so move back to the middle of that first line.”

  Miriam got into position and waited. Jonah gently fed her a shot, which she missed. And then another, which she hit into the net.

  “Relax Miriam. And remember that you need to hit upwards with the racket and not down.”

  He fed her another ball. Bingo. She got it back, a good, clean shot which landed about half-way down the court. “Excellent,” he encouraged. “Give me another one of those.” She did, and another and another. She was getting into the rhythm of it and starting to move her feet nicely to get to the ball when it happened again. Jonah felt the hairs on his arms stand on end and the goose bumps returned. He was definitely being watched. He swivelled to face the bushes adjacent to the court. The leaves rustled and moved and yet the atmosphere was as still as could be, not even the gentlest of breezes was blowing.

  “Hang on a sec, Miriam. Martha hit a ball out earlier and I think I’ve just seen it,” he said, moving slowly to the court’s entrance gate. If there was someone there, he didn’t want to give them a chance to escape. He gripped tightly onto his racket. It would have to double up as a weapon. Once at the bushes he moved along the hedge, hitting out at the leaves hard, this way and that. He went behind the bushes and walked up and down the narrow gap between the vegetation and the perimeter fence of the complex, thwacking at the foliage. He stopped and stilled, listening carefully. There was nothing but silence. What was the matter with him? Was he imagining things?

  “Jonah, are you ok?” called Miriam.

  “Sorry, honey,” he reassured. “I’m coming.”

  Back on court, he started feeding Miriam balls again. “Nice,” he praised, “good swinging action. Now maybe take a couple of steps back and we’ll try hitting a little farther.”

  She did as he asked and assumed ready position, racket in front of her nose and knees slightly bent. Jonah picked a ball out of the basket. His arm had already started swinging forward to meet it when, a nanosecond befor
e impact, Jonah heard what he swore was coughing coming from the bushes. What the heck. He wasn’t imagining it. Something, someone, was definitely there. Instead of his arm stopping, however, as his brain knew that it should, for some reason it carried on swinging like an automaton, hitting the ball robotically, firing it in Miriam’s direction. Fast, too fast. She couldn’t possibly get her racket to it, nor could she move out of the way in time. Jonah was still looking at the bushes and didn’t even realise what he’d done until it was too late.

  “Ouch,” squealed Miriam as the ball whacked her arm hard, very hard. She immediately comforted the pained area with her other hand, rubbing it up and down. Jonah jumped over the net and ran to her.

  “Honey, I’m so sorry,” he said, taking over the rubbing and inspecting the red imprint the ball had made on her flesh. “I’m an idiot. I wasn’t concentrating.”