and expensive-looking tennis shoes. “You're not
ready for the great match.”
“I got sidetracked.”
“So I see.” Quince looked around the room at the pictures on the wall. She got up and studied one closely. “I miss Snout,”
and she turned sideways so Katharine could see that she had been looking at a picture of the shaggy dog Katharine had seen
in Thisby's photo book.
“I never told you this, but after Snout bit you and Dad sent him away, I was furious at both of you. You probably don't believe
that I remember it, but I do.”
Katharine nodded noncommittally and said nothing. This seemed to irritate Quince.
“I do remember. I loved Snout. He was my best friend. He'd come into my room when I'd get home from the hospital and sit by
my bed. I remember. When I was around seven or eight, I rode my bike up Coldwater and tried to find him. I spent the whole
weekend. I called and whistled, but I never found him. And you don't even live here anymore, and they still won't let me have
a dog.”
Katharine didn't know what else to do but keep nodding her head in a circular motion, neither definitely up and down nor side
to side.
Quince turned away and after a bit sat down on the end of the bed again. “So, when can I come live with you?”
Oh, God
. “Quince, I've been pretty sick.”
That old excuse again
?
Quince immediately looked hurt and pissed off. “So, what's that got to do with it?”
A voice rose up the staircase. “Come on, girls. Let's go.”
Quince slowly rose and tugged at the ends of her shorts. “Let the games begin.”
“Tell him I'll be down … anon.” Katharine sounded ridiculous to herself, but Quince didn't hesitate in response.
“Anon.”
It was the only Shakespeare Katharine knew. She remembered it from Franco Zeffirelli's film
Romeo and Juliet
— Juliet harking to her maid, “Anon, nurse,” while kissing Romeo one more time. She obviously was going to need to know more
than that to survive in this family.
Katharine followed the sound of someone hitting a tennis ball against a backboard. Beyond a pool and a sea of grass was only
—
only
? — one court. Puck was volleying sharply against the forest green plywood backboard. He looked very good.
Maybe this isn't such a terrific idea
.
Quince was pulling a racket from a cabinet that was hooked onto the outside of the fence; she then bounded onto the court
to Puck's side. Watching Quince bounce about caused tears to pool behind Katharine's lower eyelids. How like Marion Quince
revealed herself to be. Half child, half young woman. And able to somersault from one extreme to the other.
Robert Bennet took the other side and immediately started hitting the ball to Puck and Quince. Katharine was encouraged; Quince
was not very good, and hopefully, Thisby wouldn't be expected to be much better. She opened the cabinet, and there were three
rackets to choose from. She furtively tried the grips of all three — they all felt wrong — and took the last one in default.
She walked onto the court and at the side bench carefully retied the tennis shoes she had found in Thisby's closet. Quince
continued to be silly.
“Concentrate, Quincey,” her father said rather irritably.
I see that he can get away with calling Quince “Quincey.” What is it about fathers that they can do what mothers can't?
Quince hit a ball into the net and raced to pick it up. “My legs can keep no pace with my desires.”
Her father responded seriously, “Question your desires, know of your youth, examine well your blood.”
Quince stuck her tongue out at him, which he did not or chose not to see.
Puck was silent.
Katharine's apprehension grew.
I can't keep this up. I'll be unmasked
. She waited a moment longer and then forced herself to stand, hitching up the overlarge shorts. She moved into the forehand
court, and Thisby's father almost reluctantly moved over to the backhand side. A ball rolled to Katharine's feet. She picked
it up, bounced it, and
ready for the great match.”
“I got sidetracked.”
“So I see.” Quince looked around the room at the pictures on the wall. She got up and studied one closely. “I miss Snout,”
and she turned sideways so Katharine could see that she had been looking at a picture of the shaggy dog Katharine had seen
in Thisby's photo book.
“I never told you this, but after Snout bit you and Dad sent him away, I was furious at both of you. You probably don't believe
that I remember it, but I do.”
Katharine nodded noncommittally and said nothing. This seemed to irritate Quince.
“I do remember. I loved Snout. He was my best friend. He'd come into my room when I'd get home from the hospital and sit by
my bed. I remember. When I was around seven or eight, I rode my bike up Coldwater and tried to find him. I spent the whole
weekend. I called and whistled, but I never found him. And you don't even live here anymore, and they still won't let me have
a dog.”
Katharine didn't know what else to do but keep nodding her head in a circular motion, neither definitely up and down nor side
to side.
Quince turned away and after a bit sat down on the end of the bed again. “So, when can I come live with you?”
Oh, God
. “Quince, I've been pretty sick.”
That old excuse again
?
Quince immediately looked hurt and pissed off. “So, what's that got to do with it?”
A voice rose up the staircase. “Come on, girls. Let's go.”
Quince slowly rose and tugged at the ends of her shorts. “Let the games begin.”
“Tell him I'll be down … anon.” Katharine sounded ridiculous to herself, but Quince didn't hesitate in response.
“Anon.”
It was the only Shakespeare Katharine knew. She remembered it from Franco Zeffirelli's film
Romeo and Juliet
— Juliet harking to her maid, “Anon, nurse,” while kissing Romeo one more time. She obviously was going to need to know more
than that to survive in this family.
Katharine followed the sound of someone hitting a tennis ball against a backboard. Beyond a pool and a sea of grass was only
—
only
? — one court. Puck was volleying sharply against the forest green plywood backboard. He looked very good.
Maybe this isn't such a terrific idea
.
Quince was pulling a racket from a cabinet that was hooked onto the outside of the fence; she then bounded onto the court
to Puck's side. Watching Quince bounce about caused tears to pool behind Katharine's lower eyelids. How like Marion Quince
revealed herself to be. Half child, half young woman. And able to somersault from one extreme to the other.
Robert Bennet took the other side and immediately started hitting the ball to Puck and Quince. Katharine was encouraged; Quince
was not very good, and hopefully, Thisby wouldn't be expected to be much better. She opened the cabinet, and there were three
rackets to choose from. She furtively tried the grips of all three — they all felt wrong — and took the last one in default.
She walked onto the court and at the side bench carefully retied the tennis shoes she had found in Thisby's closet. Quince
continued to be silly.
“Concentrate, Quincey,” her father said rather irritably.
I see that he can get away with calling Quince “Quincey.” What is it about fathers that they can do what mothers can't?
Quince hit a ball into the net and raced to pick it up. “My legs can keep no pace with my desires.”
Her father responded seriously, “Question your desires, know of your youth, examine well your blood.”
Quince stuck her tongue out at him, which he did not or chose not to see.
Puck was silent.
Katharine's apprehension grew.
I can't keep this up. I'll be unmasked
. She waited a moment longer and then forced herself to stand, hitching up the overlarge shorts. She moved into the forehand
court, and Thisby's father almost reluctantly moved over to the backhand side. A ball rolled to Katharine's feet. She picked
it up, bounced it, and
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