Page 104 of Summer After Summer

“Not for me, thanks.”

“Of course. You were saying?”

I look past him to Matt, who’s watching us. Matt knows something about Fred—he used to come watch me practice when I was rehabbing after my rib injury five years ago. And he saw me after Fred and I ended things.

Oh! Matt wasn’t waving me over. He was waving me off.

“You finished college early?”

“Yes, in three years rather than four.”

“Impressive.”

“I had no distractions.”

I bring my eyes back to Fred’s. They’re clear and so blue, like the summer sky at twilight. But I can’t see past that. I used to be able to read his thoughts like they were written out. Now, it’s all an urbane mask, like this party, which is full of women in pastel dresses and men in linen suits.

“And then three years to VP? They must like you.”

“Mr. de Keurig—Tomas—has taken me under his wing.”

“That’s great, Fred. Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” He sips at his champagne. “Ready for your match tomorrow?”

“I hope so. Will you excuse me?”

“Of course.”

I walk past him and go straight to Matt. He’s in coaching mode, still wearing the track suit he favors.

“Are you all right?” he asks.

“I’m fine.”

“I didn’t know he’d be here.”

“I wasn’t worried you did.”

I reach for a cucumber sandwich, then stop myself when I catch a look from him. “Just one?”

“Go ahead.”

I pop it in my mouth and savor it. The cold butter, the crisp cucumber, the fresh cress. I want to eat a thousand, but just the one will have to do.

I turn so that Matt and I are watching the room together. Fred is moving around, glad-handing this powerful man, then that gracious lady. He’s comfortable, secure, at home. The piped-in chamber music lends a sophisticated air to the event that would otherwise be just some canapes and drinks in a fancy viewing box.

“Do you think that he arranged for me to be invited to this?” I say to Matt quietly.

“I’ve been wondering that.”

“Why, though?”

“You’d have to ask him.”

“I doubt he’d tell me.”

Was it to get in my head? To get revenge for the way things ended? Did he hate me? He didn’t seem to, but that morning five years ago, when I woke up cold on the floor of the summer house, that had been the last time I’d heard from him. That had been my choice too. I hadn’t reached out because I didn’t want to know if he’d answer me. If I kept silent, then I could tell myself it was my decision, not his.

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