Мэри Эндрюс - The Newcomer

“Damn,” Merwin said. “I thought we might have a chance this year. That guy from the Michigander, the one with the wicked forehand spin? I heard he got prostate cancer. Didn’t even come down this year.”

“We’re not calling off the tournament,” Ava said. “It’s too late for that. Joe will keep us updated on Harry’s condition, but we’ve got other players. And anyway, I already bought all the food and beer and wine. We’ll see you all at six o’clock in the rec room,” she said, loudly enough for everyone to hear.

One by one, the regulars drifted back to their rooms. It was three o’clock.

The door to her unit was slightly ajar. Isabelle was sitting at the tiny kitchen table in Letty’s motel room, reading a paperback mystery from the rec room’s lending library. “She’s asleep,” she whispered, nodding in the direction of Maya, who was tucked under the covers in the bed. “We swam in the pool for a while, and I gave her lunch.”

“Thanks,” Letty said, sinking down onto the bed. “What a morning!”

“I heard what my mom said about Mr. Bronson,” Isabelle said. “Is he going to be okay?”

“I hope so. Poor Sheila. The way he yelled at her—and at me, was awful. I felt so sorry for her. She was just trying to help.”

Isabelle dog-eared the page of her book and stood up. “He can seem pretty grouchy sometimes, but my mom says he’s actually a nice guy. He knows a lot about gardening, and every year he brings her plants and seeds from his garden up north. He planted all those flowers around the pool, and down by the beach walk. And he drives Miss Wilona to church every Sunday, because he said he doesn’t want her taking the bus.”

“Sheila was so scared,” Letty said. “I felt helpless, and I know she did too.”

“I’m gonna go on home and do a little homework,” Isabelle said. “You still want me to watch Maya tonight, right?”

“Unless things change, yes,” Letty said. “I promised your mom I’d help out with the food and the bar at the tournament tonight.”

Ava bustled around the food tables in the rec room, bringing in foil chafing dishes of pigs in blankets, potato salad, and chicken wings. There were bowls of chips and pretzels and a supermarket fruit and cheese platter. The centerpiece was an enormous platter of cookies.

“Wow, that’s a lot of food,” Letty commented. “How many people are we expecting?”

“We usually get fifty or sixty people,” Ava said. She pointed toward the kitchen. “Can you get the bags of ice and dump them into the cooler? I’ve got white wine and beer to go in there. And there’s a jug of iced tea on the counter that you could bring out too.”

Letty was icing down the jug wine and beer when she heard tapping on the front door. She looked up to see three older women, standing expectantly on the doorstep.

“Here we go with the early birds. Not even five o’clock yet,” Ava said, rolling her eyes. She turned to the door. “Sorry, ladies,” she said loudly. “We’re not ready for you yet.”

Letty followed her into the kitchen to bring out paper plates and cups. “Seems like a lot of excitement for a Ping-Pong tournament.”

“It’s not the Ping-Pong they’re excited about. It’s the all-you-can-eat buffet for five bucks and wine and beer for a buck,” Ava said. “Plus, like I said before, it’s kind of a tradition. A lot of our folks know the regulars at the other motels. They go to church or do water aerobics at the community center or play golf or shuffleboard together. It’s a real community, you know?”

“I’ve been meaning to ask, what happens when the snowbirds fly back north in the spring? Does your business see a big drop?”

“Not really. We fill up with families over spring break and Easter. There’s a little bit of a lull until school gets out, then we stay busy all summer long until September. That’s our slow time, ‘shoulder season’ we call it, until things pick up again close to Thanksgiving.”

“Interesting,” Letty said. “What do you want me to do now?”

Ava pointed to a folded-up card table. “You can put that outside by the door. I’m gonna let you sell tickets tonight.” She glanced up at the clock. “Joe should be here any minute with the folding chairs, and you can help set them up before it’s time to man your post. We’ll open the doors at five thirty.”

“Did you find someone to take Harry’s place in the tournament?”

“I had to twist his arm, but Joe finally agreed to step in.” There was another tap at the door. “Good. That’s him now.”

“How’s Harry?” Letty asked. She was setting up the folding chairs around the perimeter of the Ping-Pong table.

“Better than he deserves to be,” Joe said. “The docs said the aspirin you made him take probably saved his life. Sheila asked me to let you know how grateful she is.”

He gestured toward the Ping-Pong table and handed her a paddle. “How about you warm me up? Ava guilt-tripped me into filling in for Harry, and I haven’t played in ages.”

“Me? I don’t think I’ve played Ping-Pong since I was twelve.”

“It’ll come back to you. We’ll just volley a couple minutes. Those oldsters are gonna break down the doors to get at the pigs in blankets if we don’t let ’em in pretty soon.”

He held the ball in his left hand and the paddle in his right and gave it a thwack. The ball bounced once on Joe’s side of the table, then skipped over the net and caromed off Letty’s side. She swung but missed.

But the “pong” sound of the ball hitting the table took her instantly back to Camp WeLoJe, the sleepaway camp where she’d spent two weeks the summer she was twelve. Somehow, Terri had wangled a “scholarship” for both her and Tanya to the camp, which was a moldering collection of cabins sprinkled around the edge of a dank-smelling lake in the mountains of North Carolina. WeLoJe stood for We Love Jesus, and it was run by an ultraconservative Christian church that forbade watching television, wearing makeup, and chewing gum, the three activities that were twelve-year-old Letty’s personal Holy Trinity.

Tanya had cleverly faked a case of stomach flu on the day of departure and had stayed home, much to Terri’s annoyance.

The campers had mandatory Bible study every morning and afternoon, campfire “sing-alongs,” archery, arts and crafts, and the only thing Letty remotely enjoyed, a Ping-Pong table. She was an outcast from the beginning, because all the other girls in her cabin attended the same church together. At the end of the two most miserable weeks of her childhood, when the church bus dropped her off at home, the only thing Letty had to show for her stay was a leather belt stamped with WeLoJe and her initials, and a wicked case of poison ivy. But she knew how to play Ping-Pong.

Letty retrieved the ball and lobbed it over the net. Joe hit it back, she managed to return his serve, whiffed the next two serves, then, to her amazement, managed to sustain a volley for four or five exchanges.

Someone was pounding on the plate-glass door. “Open up! We need to practice too.” Merwin Maples and Oscar Jensen had their faces pressed to the glass.

“Okay,” Ava said. “The food’s ready. Letty, you get out there and start selling tickets. Let’s get this show on the road.”

People streamed into the rec room. A van pulled up and disgorged eight elderly guests from the SeaBreeze Motel, all dressed in matching aqua SeaBreeze T-shirts and sun visors. Letty sold tickets, made change, and politely but firmly refused (per Ava’s instructions) to accept personal checks or Canadian currency.

She could tell from the noise from inside that the tournament had begun, but she was too busy to get up and spectate. At some point, Ava brought her a plate of chicken wings and a glass of the worst white wine she’d ever tasted. Cheers and boos erupted from the rec room. At eight thirty, Joe came outside, dragging a folding chair with him. His hair was damp with sweat and his MURMURING SURF MARAUDERS T-shirt stuck to his chest.