The Leaves

By Joseph Garabed

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

“Are they?” Tom said. “I didn’t notice.”

She bounced the ball three times 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.

      “Imagining that was my face?” Tom said.

      “I’m tired.”

      “We’ve only just started, darling.”

Marie let her Babolat clatter on the clay and walked over to a small gazebo covering the benches. She sat down and drank from Tom’s bottle by mistake, choking on what was much more vodka than it was soda.

      “What the hell is the matter with you?” she said.

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

Marie wiped her mouth with a sweatband on her wrist and crossed her arms. Tom sat down next to her. He was wearing the Armani cologne she’d bought him last Christmas.

      “Are you alright?” Tom said.

      “I had a 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 spotless, 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 red oaks that surrounded the court dropped a 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 sides of the court and had a brief 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 back to the baseline to serve to the opposite box. He pulled a ball out of his pocket and bounced it twice. “Love, fifteen.”

He put a little more on this serve, and it drifted closer to 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.

He bounced the ball twice again 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 the ball cross-court with a strong forehand. Tom chopped it, floating the ball over with enough 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 it up with his backhand and tried to lob her but mishit it and she drilled it with an overhand volley that bounced well over his head. He gave her a thumbs up and picked the ball up as it rolled towards him off the fence.

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

      “Maybe I’ve been getting lessons from 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, Honey” Tom said. “Fifteen, thirty.”

He bounced the ball twice again and served it, almost as hard as he could, 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 another ball from his pocket. 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’d 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 before picking it up. “Fifteen, forty.”

Tom put both of his serves into the net and dropped his racquet. “Good game.”

      “If that’s all you’ve got, maybe I could still catch a lesson from Manuel.”

      “Christ, Marie. Losing your father doesn’t mean you can say whatever the hell you want to me.”

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.

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

      “I know. It’s alright.”

Marie turned her brown eyes to his and held them there. 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. The wind began to pick up more, and it felt good moving through her hair. She watched the trees drop more leaves onto the court, some of them covering her footsteps on the clay.

Marie stood up, grabbed her racquet, and put it back in her bag. She picked up the rest of their balls off the court and closed the gate behind, using 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 before exiting.

She looked around once she was in the hallway, and still saw no one. After a moment’s pause in front of the men’s locker room door, she pushed it open and strolled in. It was empty as well, and her shoulders relaxed. She walked to the back of the room towards the wood and glass sauna door, 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.