Page 139 of Carrie Soto Is Back

My heart falls. It’s over.

Bowe stands still on the court and closes his eyes. I watch his chest rise and fall. He nods and opens his eyes.

The crowd is oddly quiet for the end of a match. They wanted it for him. But it is Matsuda who is going to the final.

Bowe Huntley has retired.

I watch his face for signs of distress or grief—though I’m smartenough to know that grief will take various shapes over the next few months, maybe years. Still, his face now shows only a smile and wet eyes. Not a tantrum in sight.

I wish my father were here to see this. To witness what Bowe has done here at the US Open. He would have cheered the loudest.

Bowe waves to the crowd.

Suddenly, the whole stadium is on their feet, including me. They are screaming so loud for him that it pierces my ears. He waves to each section, nodding as he does.

Matsuda shakes his hand and then hangs back. He gives Bowe the moment.

Bowe looks at me and smiles. I smile back. Bowe turns to the crowd and lifts both of his fists above his head. And then waves goodbye.

He comes right to me, and I lean over from the players’ box to talk to him.

“Beautiful run,” I say. “A beautiful end to a stunning career.”

“I love you,” he says.

My eyes go wide.

“Sorry if that makes you cringe,” he adds, taking my hand.

I thought if this moment ever came I wouldn’t be able to look at him, but it’s easy. It’s terrifying how easy it is. “It’s okay,” I say. “I already knew. My dad told me.”

He laughs. “It’s that obvious, huh?”

“No,” I say. “Or maybe. I don’t know. Do you need me to say it back?”

“No,” he says. “I know who you are. And you’re late to warm up.”

“Are you okay?” I ask, hugging him. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Okay, I’m going. But I do too, you know. What you said.”

“I know,” he says.

“That obvious, huh?” I joke.

“Not really, Carrie,” he says, laughing. “But you have your tells.”

SOTO VS. CORTEZ

1995 US Open

Semifinals

It’s the third set. I’mtwo games away from clinching this thing.

I’m not tired yet. But Cortez is angry. I can feel it when she starts smacking the tuft off the ball.

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