closing his eyes, connected. The ball hit the wall. For three seconds they had a rally going. But then Estela moved in and killed the ball with a low corner shot.

“Five-nothing,” she said. “It’s getting cold. Let me get my sweats back on.”

She slipped into her sweats and threw off her sweatbands. José thought about asking to borrow the sweatbands. He had worked up a lather of sweat. But his pride kept him quiet.