“Alors, let’s get to work,” Adele said. “First we start with the basics—forehand and backhand. I will feed you one ball to your right and one ball to your left, and we’ll see how things go.”
“Great,” Milly said, standing tall, her racket hanging by her side.
“Ready?”
“Yes,” Milly said.
“No, you’re not ready,” Adele said. “You stand as if you wait to catch the bus. When I say ‘ready,’ you get into the ready position.” Adele crouched in a squat, gripping her racket in front of her as if it were a hammer, her heels off the ground, ready to pounce. “Like that.”
Milly copied her. “Like this?”
“Bien.”
Adele stood a few feet in front of Milly and gently tossed the ball to her left and to her right, correcting her as she went. “Turn your shoulders.… Loop your racket back..… Transfer your weight from your back leg to your front leg as you make contact with the ball.… Do it again.”
The backhand was worse than her forehand, if that were possible. Adele set her racket down, crossed to Milly, and stood behind her, taking her wrist and moving it for her, showing her how it should feel tosweep the racket back toward the fence, then hit the ball out in front of her. She adjusted the face of the racket to face down a little, and eventually Milly began to get the hang of it. “At your level, you hold the racket with two hands for this. The force has to come from your left hand, the hand at the back. That’s why it’s called a backhand,” Adele said. Milly listened and made corrections easily. She was coachable, Adele thought. She could be trained. “Finish your swing over the opposite shoulder, all the way. Make sure the racket scratches your back as you finish.”
After a while Adele realized her focus was intense, the way it used to be during a match, only now it was intensely scrutinizing Milly’s movements. She realized she hadn’t looked out to the other courts once; she had forgotten to pay attention in case anyone was watching them. Earlier that morning she had wondered if she could tolerate coaching someone else in the one thing that she loved most in the world, or if she’d find it infuriating, but Adele was enjoying this. She was relieved to know that she was able to put into words the actions that came to her intuitively. There was a satisfaction in being able to tell Milly exactly where to hit the ball or how to brush her racket around it to develop some topspin, and to see the desired result unfold. It was magic. She wondered if this was how her father had felt when he’d coached her. Over the years she’d thought so much about the way he pushed her too hard, how he drove her to the edge of her limits, but was it possible that he was simply mesmerized by the ability to pass on what he knew and see it come to life in his daughter?
When Adele looked at the clock mounted on the fence, she realized they’d gone ten minutes over their time, but she didn’t mind. She felt better than she had in months, years maybe.
“That was incredible, truly,” Milly gushed as she handed Adele eight dollars for the hour. “I feel as if I learned weeks’ worth of valuable skills in just one lesson.”
“I’m glad,” Adele said. “You weren’t as terrible as I expected.” Her attempt at a compliment.
“Oh, well that’s good, I suppose,” Milly replied.
The gate creaked open and Sylvia walked onto the court. “You looked quite good out there, Milly,” she said. “Well done.”
“It was all Adele. She’s the most brilliant coach, Sylvia. You have to try for yourself.”
Sylvia smiled tightly and Adele handed her $1.60, as they’d agreed upon—20 percent of anything she earned for the use of the court.
“Well, it turns out tennis is not the only thing you have a talent for,” Sylvia said, taking a folded newspaper from under her arm and snapping it open. Right there on the front page of the local paper was Adele’s face, up close, her arm just out of the frame as she attempted to shield herself.
“Mon Dieu,” Adele said, moving in to take a closer look. The headline read,LOCAL WOMAN RESCUES CHILDREN FROM OUT-OF-CONTROL FERRIS WHEEL.
“What a hero,” Sylvia said, a hint of sarcasm in her voice. Adele shook her head. “I used to work there,” she said quietly, gathering her things. She had to get out of there, away from these women before they asked more questions. She had to get back to the safety of her house. This was terrible—the worst possible thing that could happen. She’d been so careful for all these years to live a reclusive life, and now she was exposed, on display for all to see. She panicked, her breath getting shorter as if she couldn’t take enough air into her lungs. It had been a long time since she’d had an episode, but she didn’t want to have one here in front of these women. She threw her bag over her shoulder and headed for the gate.
“Wait.” Milly ran after her. “Are you all right?”
Adele kept walking and raised her hand. “Yes,” she managed.
“So, I’ll see you again tomorrow, same time?” she called out after her. But Adele had already rounded the corner and was out of sight.
