Page 42 of The Heiress
Hey, wimp with a limp, remember?
A knock on the door made me jump, and I rolled over in bed to see Mom tiptoeing into the room using the torch on her phone.
“Hey, Phoe, just wanted to know if everything went okay.”
“Yeah,” I said, not sure what she mean by ‘everything.’
“You ordered food for Elisha?”
“Yes,” I said, adding a dry, “And me.”
“Thank you,” she said with a laugh. “Just wanted to make sure we’re treating our guest right.”
“How was your night?”
Mom shrugged. “Okay. Yes, it was fine. Right, I’ll see you in the morning.” She straightened my bed cover and leaned to kiss the top of my head.
“Taylor’s coming over tomorrow morning,” I said.
“Oh good,” Mom said. “What time? Maybe she can stay for lunch?”
“Early. But probably not, she’s got matches at the Club.”
“Okay. Goodnight, Phoe.”
“G’night.”
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Max had gone away forThanksgiving weekend, visiting his Dad’s family who were having a reunion. He wasn’t due back until Sunday, which is why Taylor was coming over. I’d help her with more sprint training and she’d hit with me.
“Hey, no crutches?” That was the first thing Taylor said when she greeted me with a high five.
“How’s Max?” I asked.
“Sick of turkey leftovers and pumpkin pie,” Taylor quipped.
I laughed, but didn’t waste time in taking Taylor out to the court. Small talk wasn’t Taylor’s thing when there were tennis balls to hit. We started with warm up drills, standard for all players, before I set the court up for her sprints. My eyes darted up to Elisha’s window, but the drapes were closed. If she’d had a heavy study session, likely she was still asleep. Wasn’t sure why I kept looking up, but it was in the back of my mind that I should probably tell Taylor that Elisha was staying here. Though I had no idea how I’d bring that into the conversation. Maybe I’d just wait and see if Elisha came down.
As usual, Taylor worked hard and when I gathered up the cones, she said, “Hey, you’re really moving better, Phoenix.”
It was like the biggest compliment she could give me and it gave me the confidence to ask, “Instead of hitting straight to me, do you think you could make me run?”
“Make you run?” Taylor asked, eyes wide.
“Yeah,” I said, though second thoughts were creeping in. “Just a bit. I think I’m ready for it.”
Taylor grinned like a deadly assassin. “You wanna run, Phoenix Carter? I’ll make you run all right.”
She was joking...I hoped.
But one thing I discovered about Taylor Frank was that when it came to tennis, her sense of humor vanished.
Taylor had me moving from side to side and with every step came a feeling of freedom. Being able to hit a crisp forehand on the run was satisfying, bringing a feeling of joy that couldn’t compare to anything else. And when I hit a ball out of Taylor’s reach, that brought a thrill that I couldn’t contain.
“Come on!” I shouted in exuberance, a cry common to many tennis players after hitting a winning shot. Granted, we weren’t keeping score, but to see Taylor applaud me brought a smug smile to my face.
“Nice shot,” she said.
