“Ping pong's an event?” Jake asked, his eyebrows raised. “I could totally win that.”
Jake adored ping pong. I didn't think he'd ever walked past a table and not picked up a paddle and played anyone willing to give it a go. He really wanted to clear out our basement so we could get our own table and set it up down there. And because he was very good at it, no one ever wanted to play him. I think he envisioned himself as one of those guys from China who swung as hard as they could and somehow managed to keep the ball on the table. It was amusing to watch, but it was not amusing to have him as an opponent.
I patted his shoulder. “Go find out how to win the ping pong championship, honey.”
Maybe it would take his mind off murder and mayhem and slashed car tires. I smiled to myself. Who was I kidding? He didn't need any help pushing those things out of his mind. I did.
He gave me a grim smile and wandered over in that direction.
I took stock of the rest of the games set up. Half of them were designed for kids and half were designed for adults. I semi-recognized several faces, as all of the volunteers running the games were campers at the resort. There were prizes for both kids and adults, cheesy fun prizes that were worth more in bragging rights than in actual value. It was the kind of thing where you could really see the community that Delilah had built, with people smiling, kids laughing and cheering and it felt like everyone knew one another. I felt a pang of sadness for her as I remembered her words from the previous day. It was hard to imagine that this might be the last Summer Olympics, that the campground might be shuttering its doors forever, that the sense of camaraderie among the campers was something fleeting and delicate, at the mercy of hard numbers and cold facts. I didn't want to think about those things. I just wanted to concentrate on how nice it was to feel like we were a part of it.
However, an hour later, I wasn't sure being a part of it was such a good idea.
Jake entered the ping pong tournament and, like I figured, won every single match easily. He was a shoe-in for the ping pong championship. He was covered in sweat and smiling as he waited for his opponent. But when I saw who walked out to face him in the final match, I got a little nervous.
Actually, a lot nervous.
Because Wayne Hackerman stepped up to the other side of the table, a red, white and blue headband on his head, the mirrored sunglasses on his face, and a fancy-looking paddle in his hand.
“Are you kidding me?” I said, coming up next to Jake before they started. “That guy?”
Jake grinned at me. “I know, right? Can you believe my luck?”
“Your luck?”
His eyes widened. “I'm going to crush him.”
“Remember karaoke night?” I whispered to him. “Can we please not have a repeat of that?”
“There won't be a repeat,” he informed me. “Because I'm going to crush him.”
“Can you stop yakking with your coach so we can get on with it?” Hackerman snarled from the other side of the table. “Won't take but a couple minutes and then you can go back to whispering with the little lady.”
Little lady.
“Crush him,” I growled.
Jake nodded and spun the paddle in his hand.
Ten minutes later, Jake was up 11-2 and smiling like the cheshire cat in front of the crowd that had gathered to watch.
“What's the score again?” Jake asked across the table. “I forget.”
Wayne Hackerman was red-faced, sweaty and seething. “You know what the score is, pal.”
“I just want to make sure so there's no confusion,” Jake said innocently. “Twelve to two, right?”
“Eleven!” Hackerman snarled. The volunteer keeping score, an elderly man who looked ready to pass out from the heat, nodded weakly. “Eleven to two. Now serve the damn ball.”
Jake chuckled.
And promptly lost the next five points.
The mood had shifted on both sides of the table.
“What's the score?” Hackerman asked in a high falsetto voice. “I forget.”
Jake grimaced. “Eleven to seven. I'm still up.”
“Not for long,” Hackerman promised, bouncing on his feet.
Most of the Olympic attendees had wandered over to the table, forming a large circle around it to watch.
They traded points until Jake was up seventeen to twelve. Then Hackerman won four in a row to close to within a single point. He was practically dancing around on the other side of the table.
All I could think of was how unbearable my husband would be if he lost. He hated losing to anyone, but losing to someone he couldn't stand would upset him to no end.
Fortunately, Jake took the next three points to get to game point. Then Hackerman won two more points so it was twenty to eighteen.
“Choking a little bit there, pal?” Hackerman asked, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Can't close it out?”
Jake started to say something, then took a deep breath and muttered something to himself that I couldn't understand. He served the little white ball over the tiny net and they volleyed back and forth for what seemed like an eternity, the crowd oohing and aahing at the appropriate times. Jake finally stepped in close to the table and smashed the ball down on Hackerman's side. The ball ricocheted off the table and popped up and smacked Hackerman right in the mouth before he could get his paddle up.
Jake dropped his paddle and raised his hands in the air like he'd just won a gold medal. The crowd erupted in applause. And Hackerman seethed.
“Guess I was able to close it out, wasn't I?” Jake said across the table. “Pal.”
“You got lucky,” Hackerman muttered.
“Right. Luck was what put that last ball in your mouth.”
There was nothing like seeing two grown men act like fourteen year olds.
Twice.
I took Jake by the elbow. “Congrats, killer. Now behave yourself.”
“I'm fine,” Jake said. “I'm fine.”
“No fighting,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “And be gracious in victory.”
He snorted. “He's lucky I didn't make him eat the paddle.”
Rhonda Hackerman materialized on the other side of Jake, clad in an electric blue tube top and denim shorts. “That was just...wonderful. No one ever beats Wayne.”
Even beneath the heat and sweat, I could see Jake's cheeks redden.
“Thanks,” he muttered.
“The way you handled that paddle,” she said, placing a hand over one of her massive boobs. “That was just...incredible. You have tremendous...hands.”
“Yeah, he really does,” I said, irritated. “And you might need to go comfort your own husband.”
She made a face like I'd suggested dog poop for lunch. “Wayne's fine. He's going to need to cool off anyway. First loss I can remember in a long time for him.” She touched Jake's elbow. “But he's never played anyone as good as you.”
“Rhonda!” Wayne screamed. “Get over here!”
Rhonda frowned, then gave Jake one more smile before sauntering away.
“I might drown her,” I said.
“You were the one telling me to play nice. That only applies to me?”
“It does not apply in any way when some shrew is hitting on my husband.”
“Shrew?”
“Shrew.”
The crowd around the table dispersed and I lost sight of the Hackermans in the throng of people. We found bottles of water in the cooler and then headed into the clubhouse to get out of the sun. Jake went to use the bathroom when Wayne Hackerman stormed into the clubhouse, mumbling to himself.
He stopped abruptly when he saw me and his face contorted into a sneer.
“My husband is in the bathroom,” I said, hoping to hold him up. “He'll be out in a minute.”
He stared at the bathroom door, then shook his head, visibly disgusted. “Fine. I'll wait for him to come out before I go in.”
I didn't say anything and we sat there in awkward silence, the only noise the ceiling fan buzzing above our heads. I stole a glance at him. He looked upset and exhausted. I squinted, trying to picture him crouched down by our car, stabbing a knife into the tire. Surprisingly, I had a hard time visualizing it.