“No, Marty McClaren. I said no. I can’t go on about some tennis racket that I’ve never even heard of,” Jamie Shawford groaned into the phone. The life of a famous tennis player was rough, said no one ever.

She stood just outside an exclusive indoors tennis court with her favorite racket tucked under her right arm, and the phone against her ear. Jamie was dressed in short cut white shorts, and a matching shirt with blue trim. It was among one of her favorite outfits to train in, and she specifically chose it when practicing indoors. The glass she was leaning on pounded occasionally when tennis balls hit against the other side, a sign that the other players were still practicing.

“It’s the perfect time to make people hear of it,” Marty argued back. “Plenty of rackets owe all their fame to a tennis player. It's three sentences, please cut me a break.” Marty was practically begging. Marty McClaren was the ever capable manager. Jamie relied on her not only in a professional way, but in a friendship way as well. Jamie was pretty sure when they were both old and gray, they’d still be friends.

“I just don’t have it in me to lie like that.” Jamie was laughing now. The exasperation spilled over in Jamie’s voice and she was well aware of it. Marty rarely begged for anything.

Jamie was sure Marty had more to say, but before she got another argument in, Jamie’s phone buzzed with another incoming call. Jamie pondered the caller I.D. for a moment before deciding to pick it up. Jamie set down her racket and switched the phone over to her right ear.

“Marty, my brother is calling. I’ll call you back in a few.” Jamie didn’t wait to hear Marty’s response back before clicking the accept button. There were a few grand moments of silence before one of her youngest brothers spoke.

“Jamie, it’s Andy.” There was a pause. “Dad- dad passed away last night. I just thought you should know.” Andy’s voice was quiet. Andy and Jamie had never been close. With almost a fifteen year age gap between them, Andy had barely been able to speak before Jamie got kicked out of the Shawford house for good.

Jamie couldn’t form the words she needed. Couldn’t manage to even get out a lousy “I’m sorry for your loss”. Because it wasn’t her loss, was it? She spent years wishing for that man’s death. She wasn’t upset about their father dying because he had never really been a father, had he? Not to her, at least. No, Jamie wasn’t sad. She just was shot speechless.

“I’ll come home.” Jamie finally managed to choke out. For all the days she wished that man would drink himself into a grave, Jamie never actually thought it would happen.