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E ndy jogged toward the country club’s racquet pro shop.

She checked the time on her phone and saw that she would have about forty-five minutes to get her thoughts in order before the community meeting started.

The bright desert sun beat down on her dark brown hair, glinting off the natural highlights, and she reached up and pulled it into a high ponytail.

A bead of sweat trailed down her long neck, and her upper lip glistened.

Yanking open the glass door to the pro shop, she was hit with a wall of air-conditioning and the ringing of a telephone. “It’s going to be super hot today,” Endy said, walking inside and fanning her face.

“It’s always super hot here,” replied Maria Gutierrez as she hung socks on wall pegs. “It’s so hot even my ex’s heart is melting.” Ignoring the ringing telephone, she looked over her shoulder to Endy. “Did you hear the latest?”

“No. What happened?” asked Endy, her eyebrows drawn together.

“The court maintenance crew found more dog crap on the new pickleball courts this morning,” replied Joel from behind the front desk as he reached for the telephone. “Second time this week … We don’t really know what’s going on.” He stared at the telephone, which had ceased ringing.

Maria pretended to retch. “I’m sure there’s a good explanation,” she said. “Joel, I would suppose as the director of racquet sports that you’d know everything that’s going on.”

“Well, not everything ,” said Joel. “I don’t know who’s allowing their dog to crap on the courts, but it’s disgusting.”

“Remember when someone kept leaving their bagel and cream cheese by the patio workout area?” asked Endy. “And no one found it until it started smelling and was covered in all those ants?”

“It turned out to be Mrs. Davis. She thought she’d finish the bagel after her workout, but always forgot about it,” Maria said.

“I mean, she was eighty-seven.”

Maria nodded, agreeing with Endy. “And then there was that time that someone kept collecting all the lemons that dropped from the fruit trees and kept them in that cardboard box by the ice machine, and the whole thing turned into a fermented mush,” said Maria.

“Maria,” replied Endy. “That was you.”

Maria looked chastened. “I was going to make preserved lemons to sell at the farmers’ market.”

“Again, disgusting,” said Joel.

“Maybe it’s like an old dog that has trouble going poo, and it can only do it in a specific spot. My tia had a little Chihuahua that had to turn around three times and face north before it would actually go.”

Hearing this, Endy stopped and slowly cocked her eyebrow at Maria.

Maria shrugged her shoulders. “Or maybe that was my tio who had to do that—I can’t really remember. I’ll call her later and ask.”

The door to the pro shop opened, and in came a few groups of players that had just come off their courts.

Club members called out to one another, gathering around the café tables, and the volume in the pro shop rose.

The deafening whir of a smoothie blender competed with the TVs mounted high above the counters, combined with a heated debate over the benefits of hat versus visor.

Endy stood in front of the wall of windows with a smile, the radiant sunlight warming her back.

“Just get one of both,” she called out to the women contemplating the hat display. “Members get twenty percent off merch.”

Behind the desk, Maria nodded at Endy and tapped her temple. Smart, she mouthed over the loud music playing from the wall speakers, while the women approached the desk carrying two hats and two visors.

Endy moved away from the windows and weaved between the half dozen tables sprinkled throughout the pro shop café, stopping next to a group of older, gray-haired men, their pickleball paddles piled on the table.

One had a look of concentration across his face as he sucked at his teeth with his tongue.

“Why do they call these smoothies when they’re anything but? They should be called crunchy drinks,” said George Jacobs. He pulled his lips open and bared his teeth. “Do I have anything in my teeth?”

Endy choked back a laugh when she saw the bunches of tiny chia seeds sprinkled throughout George’s smile.

She slid a napkin across the table. “Maybe just a little, George,” she replied.

“But just make sure to drink it all up because those smoothies have lots of potassium, which will help with your leg cramps.”

“Something’s got to help,” George said. “Last night, I woke Dawn up twice when I had to jump out of bed—”

“Not a picture I want in my head,” interrupted another senior man at the table. “We all know you sleep in the nude.” The whir of the blender started up again.

“Sucks getting older, George.” Endy patted him on the shoulder as she turned to go. “Say hi to Dawn for me,” she said over her shoulder, walking away. “And give kisses to those three Chihuahuas of yours, too.”

“I’m not kissing those monsters,” George called over the din. “Last time I tried, one of them almost bit my lips off.”

Endy giggled and then retreated, heading for her office.

Standing beside the door, a threesome of older ladies, whom everyone called The Grands, bent over a shopping bag they had propped under the plaque that read:

ENDY ANDREWS

Assistant Director of Racquet Sports

Whisper Hills Country Club

“You ladies looking for me?” asked Endy as she came up behind them, causing one to jump.

“Jeez, Endy, you frightened me!” exclaimed Earlene, her eyes wide and her hand on her chest. “I almost had a heart attack.”

“—again,” said Nora.

“That was a long time ago, Nora. The doctor has given me a clean bill of health since I changed my diet and started exercising,” insisted Earlene.

“And you look fantastic,” said Endy, placing her hand on Earlene’s arm.

Candi adjusted the wide-brimmed hat covering her spiky gray hair. “Sweetie, we were just at the Palm Springs Flea Market, and we found something for you.”

“Oh my gosh, you three. That’s too—”

Earlene said, “We just wanted to thank you for spending so much time teaching a bunch of old biddies how to play pickleball.”

Endy’s eyes crinkled. “I mean, they’re clinics, and it is my job …”

Candi reached into the bag and pulled out a neon-green cotton T-shirt.

She shook it out, then brought it up to Endy’s shoulders, letting it drape across her body.

Silk-screened on the front was an illustration of a large green dill pickle wearing Ray Bans and weirdly oversized white gloves and sneakers.

The shirt reached past her hips and was so huge that it seemed as if both of them could fit into it at the same time.

Endy blinked, looked down, and read out loud, “Do you pickle?”

Candi hooted with laughter and stepped back, looking Endy up and down. “It’s probably a little big for you, but we were lucky to even get this one. Huge mob scene at that table.”

Endy gave a pained smile. “I, uh, love it. You gals shouldn’t hav—”

“But we did. And guess what else it says on the back,” said Nora, her tiny body standing a head shorter than Endy. She motioned for Endy to turn the T-shirt around. Printed across the back in hot pink letters were the words: BIG DINK ENERGY.

“It says, ‘Big dink energy,’” whispered Nora with a sly smile.

“I can see that, Nora,” replied Endy, biting her lip.

Earlene clapped, and Candi and Nora joined in. “Put it on!” Candi said, and Earlene agreed. “On! On!” chanted Nora, clapping her small, wrinkled hands.

Endy’s mouth opened and closed. She chewed the inside of her cheek.

And then she took a deep breath, smiling at the trio while she pulled the extra-extra-large neon-green T-shirt over her head.

The hem of the T-shirt brushed the bottom of her tennis skirt.

She gathered a corner of the shirt and tied it in a knot, adjusting it tightly over her hips.

Twirling in a circle, arms outstretched, Endy laughed. “How do I look?”

“Even more stunning than usual,” replied Candi, her hands covering her heart. “Girls, stand next to Endy, and let’s get a picture.”

Nora moved close to Endy’s side. “You can be like me and use the picture for your Tinder profile,” she whispered with a slow wink.