“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll fly out with Bowe.”
“All right, I’ll call you back.”
I hang up the phone and walk upstairs, where Bowe is reading the same book I’ve seen him carrying around for days. I finally register the title. How to Go on Living When Someone You Love Dies.
“Hi,” I say.
He puts the book down and sits up. “Hi.”
I stare at Bowe as he waits for me to say more. He is in a heather gray Henley T-shirt and a pair of jeans. His hair is a mess. His stubble has grown in quite a bit.
He is here. He has not left.
“I’m going to New York with you,” I say. “I’m playing the US Open.”
“Okay,” Bowe says, nodding. “Yes, great.”
“My dad would like that,” I say. “If I did that.”
“I completely agree.”
I walk toward him and put my arms around his torso, lean my head against his chest. Here is someone else who knew my father, someone else who knows what I have lost, someone who lost something too.
“I’m gonna go and I’m going to win the whole goddamn thing,” I say, pulling back.
“I love it,” Bowe says, nodding and smiling. “Yes, I’m gonna do that too.”
Both of us laugh, and I don’t have a shred of guilt for feeling joyful without my father on this earth. This is the tiniest beginning of a terrible, beautiful whole new life.
The morning of my match against Dvo?áková, there is a knock at the door of my hotel suite, and Bowe answers it. Gwen comes in holding a blueberry smoothie.
“I didn’t know you were coming,” I say.
Gwen smiles softly. “Yes, you did, honey,” she says. “It’s okay. I’m here.” She hands me the smoothie.
Bowe is gathering my kit and my clothes. But when I watch him do it, I realize I didn’t do any of the packing. He did it all back in L.A. And now he is doing it all here.
So far this morning, as well as asking Gwen to get the smoothie, he’s woken me up, called down for almonds, run the shower, put me in it, and then when I just stood there, he got in with me and washed my hair.
“You’re playing Dvo?áková?” Gwen says.
“Yeah.”
Gwen looks at Bowe. “And you’re playing Gustavo?”
Bowe nods. “If I win, I’ll play Ortega, probably. And then maybe Griffin or Bracher. But, you know, when I lose, that’s it for me.”
“You’re retiring,” Gwen says.
“Yeah. I’m done. I’m ready to be done.”
Gwen nods. “And are you retiring?” she says, looking at me. “After this?”
I don’t have an answer. I can barely consider this afternoon.
“Okay,” Gwen says. “We’ll prepare for all scenarios.”
Bowe returns to whatever he’s doing and then pops his head back up a second later. “Oh, don’t forget your notebook.”
He hands it to me, and I breathe in. I’ve read every line of it over and over again since I first found it. I fell asleep reading it last night. I read the page on Dvo?áková three times this morning alone. I look at my watch. I’m playing her in a matter of hours.
“What is that?” Gwen says.
I open my mouth to explain, but I can’t. I can’t get the words out.
“Jav put it together,” Bowe says. “His coaching plan. So Carrie’s gonna follow it and win.”
Gwen nods. “I love it.”
“Do you want to see it?” I say.
“Your coaching plan that your father gave you?” Gwen says. “You don’t have to share that with me. Or with anyone if you don’t want to.”
“I want to,” I say. “Check it out.”
I crack the book open, and I take her through each page. When we get to Dvo?áková, Gwen and I read through it together.
Since Carrie beat her back in Melbourne, she’s gotten stronger. Her baseline work is better. But she wants to be a power baseliner so bad, even though she’s better at serve and volley. Keep her playing at the baseline. It will thrill her, but she won’t be able to keep up.
I start to feel that hum in my bones. It feels small, right now, like a nascent flame. But I know it will grow. I know soon it will roar.
Gwen looks up at me. “You’ve got this,” she says.
“Yeah,” I say. “Plus, my dad didn’t write it down, but Dvo?áková is intimidated by me. I’ve beaten her every time I’ve played her so far. So if I don’t let her get a foothold at the beginning, I think she’ll go down like a house of cards.”