Page 73 of Pickled
PIPER
The early morningsunshine slanted through the shutters, making a parallel pattern across Judy’s bedroom floor. I was deep in her closet, sorting through boxes of shoes and steeling myself for her ridiculous scarf collection. The air conditioner hummed outside the window, and golfers shouted somewhere out on the course.
My phone buzzed against my hip. I groaned when I saw the name on the display and almost ignored the call. Lisa.
“You have some nerve,” I said instead of hello.
“Piper—”
“Setting me up with Gideon Bailey without telling me? What the hell, Lisa?”
“You’re both miserable and stubborn,” Lisa said. “Tell me you two weren’t perfect together on that court.”
“Perfect? We barely made it through one practice without killing each other.”
“But you didn’t.”
“He’s one of your clients, isn’t he?” How else could Lisa have arranged that ridiculous match?
“You know I can’t discuss that.” Lisa paused. “He wants to apologize.”
There was my answer. Lisa had to be breaking some physiotherapist/concussion patient rule. The Jimmy Choo in my hand nearly slipped to the floor. “Absolutely not.”
“Piper, hear me out—”
“No, Lisa. I don’t want to hear anything about Gideon Bailey ever again. He made it perfectly clear what he thinks of me.”
“That’s not fair. You both said things you didn’t mean.”
“I said things after he treated me like a sewer rat. There’s a difference.” I set the shoe down carefully, my hands trembling. “Find him someone else to play with. I’m sure one of those country club princesses like Izzy would love it.”
“Piper.”
“I have to go. I’m working.” I hung up before she could respond, then immediately felt guilty. Lisa was just trying to help. But the thought of facing Gideon again made the yogurt and granola I’d managed to eat that morning feel like it was going to make a surprise appearance.
Twenty minutes later, my phone rang again. This time, it was Judy. The staccato of pickleballs hitting paddles gave away her location. I crooked the phone between my ear and shoulder as I pulled out another pair of Jimmy Choo heels.
“Piper, clear your schedule. Janie Myers is doing a special clinic this morning. I’ve arranged for Olive to attend.” It wasn’t a question.
I put the shoe in the box. “A clinic? Judy, I can’t afford—”
“It’s free. Some promotional thing.” Her tone was breezy, but something felt off. “She specifically requested the young players with promise, and you know that’s Olive.”
A free clinic with Janie Myers? That never happened. I didn’t think too hard about it though; Olive would be ecstatic, especially with her upcoming badminton tryout.
“What time?”
“Ten o’clock. Courts five and six. And Piper? You should come watch. On the clock, of course.”
How could I say no? The shoes would have to wait.
An hour later, Olive bopped along beside me, holding my hand as we headed to the courts. She’d changed clothes three times before settling on an all-pink outfit.
“Do you think Janie will remember me from last time?” she asked, adjusting the matching pink sweatband that was a little too big for her head.
“I’m sure she will, sweetheart.” I wasn’t sure who was more excited, me or Olive.
The club was buzzing with activity. Kids ranging from about five to fifteen were scattered across the courts. The sound of paddles meeting balls filled the humid air, punctuated by overenthusiastic shouts from parents sitting in the stands.
