Page 98 of Carrie Soto Is Back

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That night, Bowe comes over, and as I’m falling asleep, he puts his arm around me and says, “Everything is going to be okay.”

“Everyone always says that,” I tell him. “And no one ever knows if it’s true.”

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A couple of days later, my father goes in for surgery. Instead of staying home and training like he has told me to do, I spend the entire day in the waiting room so I can hear the results the moment the surgeon is done.

When Dr. Whitley comes out, she has no smile on her face. For a moment, I feel as if life as I know it is ending. My chest constricts; the room grows hot. But then she says, “He’s doing fine.” And suddenly I can breathe again.

“Thank you,” I say.

“You should go home,” she tells me. “He will probably sleep the rest of the night.”

But I don’t.

I wait until he’s moved to recovery and then fall asleep in the chair beside him. Just hearing his breath is enough to allow me to sleep soundly.

In the morning, when he wakes up, he is groggy and confused. But Dr. Whitley says that his pacemaker is operating properly.

“So when can I go home?” he asks.

Dr. Whitley shakes her head. “You have to stay here and recover. The surgery was long, the repairs have to heal. We need you here for observation.”

“For how long?”

“Dad, you need to focus on getting better,” I say.

He holds my hand and ignores my words. “How long?” he asks again.

“A week at least,” she says. “Maybe more.”

“Okay,” my dad says with a nod. “I understand.”

When the doctors leave, I start to ask my dad if he wants me to bring him anything else from home. But he cuts me off.

“If we can’t train together, you are wasting your time on the home court. You need to go to London and practice on grass.”

“Dad—”

“No,” he says. “You know that I’m right. We would have left for London by now anyway. You need to go on your own.”

“I know, Dad, but I’m not leaving for London yet, not with you still in the hospital.”

“Yes, you are, and don’t fight me on it. I’ve been thinking about this for days now. This is the new plan.”

There is a gentle knock at the door. I see Bowe standing in the doorway, holding a fern and a balloon that saysGet Well Soon.

“Hey, Jav,” he says. “Hope I’m not intruding. I just wanted to check on you.”

“Come in, come in,” my father tells Bowe, who smiles at me. “Actually, I have a great idea,” my dad says. “Bowe can come check on me while you’re in London. You’ll do that, won’t you, Bowe?”

Bowe nods. “Absolutely. As long as you need. With my ribs, I can’t play tennis. I havenothingto do. You could even argue nothing to live for. So yes. It would be a favor to me if you let me check in on you.”

I look at the two of them.

“This is a setup,” I say.

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