“Text next time,” she says. “It’s not difficult.”
No. I guess it’s not.
“I know you think I’m a hard-ass,” she goes on. “And maybe I am. But only because I worry about you.”
“I get it,” I say, bringing my cereal to the table.
“I don’t think you do. How would I get by if something happened to you, Piper?”
This is getting real deep, real fast. “Nothing’s going to happen to me.”
She gives me a look that says,You can’t know that for sure.
She’s got a point. Who could’ve imagined that our parents would be taken so suddenly?
“I feel better,” she says, “knowing you’re out with Henry.”
“Because he’s such a hunk?” I’m joking, trying to lighten the mood, but I’m also remembering the way the muscles in his back contracted under my hands on the beach last night.
“Because as far as I know, he doesn’t make bad decisions,” she replies.
With the exception of yesterday, anyway. Acid rises in my throat as I recall his fear while we were hiding. He never would’vesnuck onto private property if I hadn’t pressured him. Tati thinks he’s a positive influence, and he is.
I’m aterribleinfluence.
That feels…really awful.
“He’s a good egg,” I say, flipping my curls like I haven’t a care in the world. “Thank god for Henry Walker.”
Tati, who’s reanimating thanks to her coffee, grins. “Let’s send up thanks for Davis Walker while we’re at it.”
I gag like the thought of my sister happy with a man disgusts me, but truly, I couldn’t be more grateful. I appreciate her better moods and her more relaxed expectations. It’s nice not having to tiptoe around the apartment, worried about some task I didn’t complete or some choice that was less than responsible.
I like having my big sister back.
Henry
Gulf Coast Links is a bitch.
There’s no way I could suck more at whacking a small ballinto a small hole.
My dad tosses out pointers. “Focus on your knees when you swing—that’ll give you more power. You’re too tense, buddy. You’re getting tied up in the mechanics.Feelthe swing.”
A couple of weeks ago, his tips would’ve irritated me. The sun would’ve broiled the life out of me. I would’ve been desperate to get back to the Towers and into a cool shower.
Today, not so much. I mean, I’m sweating my balls off and playing like shit, but I’m having an okay time. My dad’s trying to help, yeah, but he’s not smothering me with bro-hood. Being with him is like it used to be when I was a kid, before he left Spokane, when we’d hit the snow and he’d help me with short turns and carving.
I’m pretty sure the change has to do with Tati.
When I suggested setting them up, I was hoping for somethingcasual to help him burn off energy. But he sees her every day now, and when he talks about her, his face becomes a high-watt bulb. It seems like they’re getting serious.
We’re finishing up the fourteenth hole, a gauntlet with a couple of sand traps and a water feature that’s home to a legit alligator. Somehow I’ve gotten my ball onto the green without a lot of trouble. Grumbling, Dad has to chip his out of the sand. Still, he putts easily into the hole, earning a fifth stroke. I choke and spend three strokes on the green while he suggests I relax my stance and drop my hands.
We take a break after that, pulling off to the side, letting the golfers behind us pass while we cool off on a shaded bench. A refreshment cart cruises by, and Dad flags it down. He buys a couple of sodas, which are so cold the bottles immediately start sweating. I pop mine open and guzzle almost half. Dad roots through his golf bag until he unearths a flask. He opens his soda, downs about a third, then tops it off with whatever he brought along. He doesn’t offer me any, to his credit, but come on. I get that recreational golf and drinking often go hand in hand, and I guess it’s nice to have something to take the edge off, especially if you’re out on the course with your buddies. But it’s midmorning, and I’m his kid.
I almost say something, but then I hear Piper telling me to go wild, and Whitney telling me to live a little, and Mom telling me to give Dad a chance.
He doesn’t need me to lecture him about day drinking.
