Meadow held her breath.
Zaire lined up, stilled…centered.
Then he launched his club forward in one violent, beautiful arc. The ball burst off the ground with a force that looked personal, rising high and smooth before dropping right where he wanted it.
The crowd exploded.
Tia screamed.
Blain jumped up. He’d never really paid attention to golf, but knowing of Zaire had him locked in and he decided he might start going to the range to hit a few balls. It looked more exciting than he expected.
Meadow just covered her mouth, tears stinging her eyes.
The commentators sounded stunned. “Cooks! What a performance!”
Brent nodded slowly.
“He did it.” Meadow whispered like it was a prayer.
Meadow had been callinghim since the broadcast ended.
Call#1: straight to voicemail.
Call #2: two rings, then silence.
Call #3: nothing.
Call #4: absolutely nothing.
Every callshe made went unanswered.
Every text was delivered with no reply.
Every second stretched longer than the last. Meadow was close to just curling up and crying. This felt like abandonment…this felt like maybe Brent knew what he was talking about allalong and Zaire was too major for a smalltown girl like her…this felt like,go max out his card.
Tia watched her from the kitchen island, chin in her hand. “You wearing out that path in my rug, girl. Sit down.”
Meadow ignored her, dialing one more time. “He always answers…always.”
“Except when he’s winning national tournaments,” Tia said, popping a grape,
“that endedhoursago!”
Blain looked up from the counter, trying not to smile. “He probably doing sponsor dinners.”
“And interviews,” Tia added.
“And media, ” Blain responded playfully, winking at his wife getting up to head into the kitchen.
“And photos.” Blain went on.
“Y’all are made for each other.” Meadow waved her middle finger between Tia and Blain.
Tia tapped her chin. “Oh, and probably has to shower.”
“I don’t care!” Meadow snapped. “I just want to make sure he’s okay.”
From the corner of the sectional, Brent sipped his drink like he was watching a show.
