Before Alice took a single bite, her father pierced her with a pointed look. “What’s this nonsense about renovating some old house?”
Alice cleared her throat before answering. “It’s not nonsense,” she said. “It’s where we think the Saint Helga legend originated, and if I can prove it, I’ll have the makings for a really great academic paper.”
“That will be a first,” Grayson said, and Alice visibly wilted for a moment before rallying.
“The Roost has the potential to be a learning center. Half of it will be modeled after an old tavern, serving high-end drinks and food. The other half will be a learning center where we can host small classes or conference talks or can rent out for special events.”
Maude frowned. “But what is the use of that sort of arcane education?” she asked. “Why don’t you put your efforts into something useful?”
“History can be useful,” Adam began, but Maude interrupted him.
“Bah! You waste time on a golf field.”
“Golfcourse,” Jack corrected.
“Golfcourse,” Maude conceded with a stiff nod. “None of those things deserve public funding. Next week the county is voting to cut Physical Education programs in the schools, and the proposal has my full support. Schools should focus on reading, writing, and critical-thinking skills rather than squandering money on football or track. Look at Adam. All that money we dumped into fencing and riding lessons, and he had to settle for a silver medal.”
Adam dropped his fork to glare at his mother, who sent him a tight smile. “I’m just teasing, darling,” but it didn’t sound like teasing to Jack.
Alice’s father took up where Maude left off. “Gym class is a distraction from serious learning,” Grayson said. “Most of the students playing high school football turn in substandard grades. Their time would be better spent with a rigorous tutor, not in gym class.”
The dining room reeked of elitism, and Jack couldn’t remain silent. “I was one of those dumb kids in the back row who teachers never thought would amount to anything,” he said.
Beside him, Alice stiffened and sent him a panicked glance, but Jack wasn’t ashamed of the struggles he’d endured, and met Grayson’s critical glare squarely as he spoke.
“I had my share of problems and hated being trapped at a desk while a teacher droned on. School wasn’t my thing—academics just didn’t click for me. But gym class, that one hour each day, showed me what kids like me could gain from moving, even if I couldn’t always join in. Watching others push through challenges, or trying small exercises when I could, taught me resilience and how to keep going despite life’s hard knocks.”
“Plenty of studies indicate that an accomplished tutor could have achieved better results,” Maude said.
Jack folded his arms, ignoring Alice’s pleading look to let the subject drop. “Sorry to disagree, but sports can teach some of the most important lessons in life. Seasoned athletes know that real competition never comes from your opponent. It comes from learning your own pain threshold and developing your ability to persevere. An hour of gym class can let a kid test himself against hard, objective demands. Those kids may not be able to memorize the Constitution or love a Jane Austen novel, but someday those dumb jocks are going to climb telephone poles and build your houses and serve in your military. They need tolearn to read and write and all that other good stuff you teach them in school . . . but a lot of them need that one hour of gym class where they can be successful and blow off some steam and learn the value of teamwork. People who say that sports is a distraction from academics have it backwards. Success in sports sets kids up for success in other areas of life. At least, that’s how it was for me.”
He leaned back in his chair, satisfied that he’d made his case. Maude and Grayson both scowled and Alice looked like a doe caught in the headlights, but a gleam of respect showed in Adam’s face.
Jack was glad Alice suggested he bring his golf clubs, because he was going to be tested this morning. It wouldn’t be a contest of skill, but whether he could keep his sanity while playing with these men. After hearing each man’s golf handicap, it was obvious he was the best golfer, but the raw competitiveness between Adam and Grayson Chadwick was astounding. Throughout breakfast and the ten-minute drive to the golf course, father and son engaged in a relentless needling match like two gladiators fighting for dominance. How someone as soft and gentle as Alice managed to survive in the competitive maelstrom of her family was miraculous.
By the time they arrived at the golf course, Quentin was already waiting for them.
“Very thoughtful of you to skip dinner last night,” Grayson barked at his youngest son. Quentin had a poet’s face with dark hair and soft brown eyes. Unlike Alice, who quivered in trepidation near her parents, Quentin let the insult roll off him without a ripple of concern.
“I found a nest of bobwhites that are in trouble and have been caring for them.”
Grayson rolled his eyes, but Jack was curious. “What’s a bobwhite?”
“They’re a type of quail that nests on the ground and their habitats are getting wiped out by all the development around here. There are four chicks, and they need to be fed every couple of hours, so I’ll head back home after nine holes.”
Grayson muttered something under his breath about quitters, but Jack instantly liked a man who cared for someone in need, even if it was only an abandoned nest of chicks. Anyone who’d been helpless at some point in their life understood the value of open-handed compassion.
Quentin’s look was as serene as a cat napping in the sunshine while they headed to the first tee box. That was when Jack noticed Quentin was barefoot.
“I like to feel the grass and soil beneath my feet,” he said. “Studies prove that contact with soil leads to a healthier microbiome and triggers the release of serotonin. I never wear shoes unless I have to.”
The elder Chadwick continued taking subtle digs at Quentin during the first three holes. He critiqued Quentin’s lackluster golf swing, his sloppy board shorts, even his bad taste in music. Watching a bully in action was infuriating, but Quentin was thirty-one and perfectly capable of standing up for himself if he chose to. The remarkable thing was, he didn’t seem to care. Nothing fazed his easygoing demeanor, so Jack bit his tongue and silently vowed to let his game do the talking, determined to wipe the floor with Grayson on the course.
By the fourth tee, the elder Chadwick quit belittling Quentin and turned his ire toward Alice. “Why isn’t that woman suing the college to get her job back?” he groused after they all arrived at the next tee box.
“She signed a nondisclosure agreement,” Adam said.
“InEngland,” Grayson pointed out. “The cat is out of the bag all over the world, so why isn’t she fighting for her job?”
