"I like it fat."
"Fair enough."
Perpetua came through the gate at 7:20 with her wire basket squeaking. She stopped at the table. She looked at the poster board sign for a while, the shaky red letters, and Ruel thought she was going to say something sharp, the way she did about his follow-through. Instead she put her hand flat on top of the box of rackets, the way you put your hand on a sleeping dog, and left it there a moment.
"You painted DESK," she said.
"Paint was left over," Ferrol said. "From the boat."
"Your father's boat."
"Mine now. It doesn't float. I just keep painting it."
Perpetua took her hand off the box. "Benny would have liked this," she said, to nobody in particular, and wheeled her basket through the gate onto Court 3.
By 7:50 nobody else had come. Ruel and Perpetua had warmed up, and he had hit forehands until his shoulder was warm and his follow-through was finishing more often than not, and Ferrol had sat at the desk with his thermos and his empty clipboard, watching, his breath going up white. Twice Ruel saw him look down Sumac toward the east side. Twice there was nothing there.
At 7:52 the white Lexus came down the street. It slowed as it passed the lot. Ruel could not see through the tinted glass who was inside, but he saw it slow, and he saw it pause, and then it went on without turning in. Ferrol watched it go. He did not say anything. He poured more coffee.
At 7:58 Laszlo Ruhland's old Buick pulled in, and Laszlo got out with his knee brace and his Browns cap, and walked over to the board and stood looking at it with his hands on his hips. Then he wrote RUHLAND on Court 2 at nine, one hour, one name, and looked at the desk and at Ferrol and said, "Morning, sign guy," and Ferrol said, "Morning, mailman," and Laszlo grunted and went to sit in his car with the heater on.