Page 21 of The Heiress
I took it and headed straight for the kitchen.
“Hot chocolate is nearly—” Courtney stopped abruptly as I entered. I had a feeling there was more than one tear on my cheek now, in fact I imagined it was akin to crying a river.
“I’m sorry I’ve gotta go,” I said, snatching my keys from the counter. Courtney said something, but I wasn’t listening.
Dad followed me out, his protests more urgent now. “This is ridiculous, Phoe. It’s late. You just got here. Come back in.”
I threw my crutches and bag in the backseat, finally able to wipe my cheeks and clear my eyes, only to see Dad scratching his head and shaking it in disbelief, still insisting I come back inside.
“Thanks for dinner,” I said, glancing at Courtney who was at Dad’s side.
“Phoenix!” Dad shouted, a desperate cry as I opened the driver’s door. “This is crazy.”
“You know what’s crazy? Thinking I could play tennis again. Thinking I can still get a tennis scholarship. Am I right?”
If he replied, I didn’t hear it, slamming the door with full force.
My hands were still shaking as I got to the highway, trying to fathom my impulsiveness and the look of anguish on Dad’s face as I reversed out of his driveway, and Courtney holding her hands up to her mouth in distress. My brain was being bombarded—too much to wrap my head around—the personal injury claim against Mom, but the startling realization of Dad’s words.
No one had mentioned that tennis might no longer be an option. There was only talk of recovery and healing and being positive.
But what if nobody said anything because it was so blindingly obvious? Obvious that someone with a broken pelvis could no longer play sport competitively or at a top level. What if everyone had shielded me, sought to keep my spirits high so I didn’t give up? The medical team, the physical therapists, Mom—no one had indicated I wouldn’t some day get back to how I had been. Sure, I knew the rehab would be grueling, but hard work had never scared me. Had everyone just been indulging me, afraid of my fragility, keeping me hopeful?
And what if Dad was right and I had to find a Plan B. Because there had never been a Plan B, no need for it. If there was no college scholarship, would I have to seriously consider studying accounting or business or law or dentistry or something equally boring? Was my tennis dream doomed?
And it struck me that Max’s behavior had been pointing exactly to this. Max had wanted to give up tennis because of what had happened to me. Didn’t want to take my spot as the number one player on the Covington Prep school team, didn’t want to play again. It had only been encouragement from Taylor that had got him back on court. He said he felt guilty about that day, somehow correlating his sleeping late to instigating my mother’s decision to use her phone while driving.
But what if the real reason was that he knew I’d never make a full recovery? Hey, I might be good for social tennis at the Country Club, but claim the Mens Championship title like I did last year?
My heart sunk—and my hands momentarily lost their grip, my car veering in its lane. In a panic, I clutched the steering wheel tightly, pulling it back. The thunderous pounding in my chest threatened to deafen me, to wreak havoc on me because everything that I’d been working toward, all the plans to get back on track, to return to the courts may have been nothing but pie in the sky, false hope.
And what if Dad was the only one facing reality, accepting the truth. He said a personal injury claim against my mother was to protect me and my future. And that would only be necessary...if my future was in tatters.
Chapter 8
Elisha
