“You’re getting better,” he tells me, tucking the flask back intohis bag.
“If that’s true, it’s thanks to your coaching.”
He chuckles. “Were you not paying attention back there when I was kicking up sand?”
“Oh, I was paying attention.” I pull our scorecard out of my pocket and toss it on the bench between us. “According to this, though, you’re the superior golfer.”
“You run six-minute miles.”
“You own your own business. A pretty successful business, at that.”
“Averysuccessful business,” he says, bumping me with an elbow. “I’d say you could run it with me someday, but you’ve got different plans, huh?”
“West Point.”
“West Point,” he repeats with a nod. “Like your pop.”
I wonder if it bothers him that my aspirations were inspired by my maternal grandfather. I hope not. Dad has plenty of qualities I’d like to emulate, like his confidence and his people skills. His drive. His mellow temper. But I don’t want to live in a beach town, serving beers and fried cod. That’s the right path for him, but mine veers in a different direction.
“You’ll come visit me in New York next year, right?”
“Whenever I can get away. I want to run something else by you, though.” He props an ankle on his knee, then gives me a solemn look. It’s like he’s nervous or something. “You don’t have to give me an answer today. But it’s something to think about, okay?”
Shit—this ought to be good.
“Yeah. Okay.”
“What if you stayed in Sugar Bay for your senior year?”
I shift on the bench, trying to make sense of his question. “Like, live here full time?”
“Why not?”
“Because I can’t just pick up and move.”
“Sure you can. The high school here is real good. Their cross-country team’s exceptional.” He laughs, thumping a hand against my shoulder, knocking what’s got to be a dumbstruck expression off my face. “I looked into it. I’ll do what it takes to keep you around.”
“But Mom—”
“Your mom and I talked about it. She doesn’t think it’d be so bad for you to take a longer break from Spokane. She’s okay with whatever you want to do.”
“Wow. Really?”
Mom and I are tight. All my life, she’s been present and protective. It’s surprising to hear that she’s not itching to have me back home.
“Yeah, really,” Dad says. “She misses you—of course she does—but it upset her, what happened this past spring. She doesn’t want to see you hurt all over again. Neither do I.”
I pull my hat off and run a hand through my hair, looking out over the golf course. It’s a big ask: moving across the country, changing schools, getting settled in a new town, all for only a year. I’d have to give up living with Mom, and I’d have to giveup my role as captain of the cross-country team, a spot I busted my ass for. Hell, I’d have to start all over with a new cross-country program. On the flip side, staying in Sugar Bay would mean three thousand miles from Whitney and the space I need to finish healing.
Better than that, I’d get to spend the year with Dad.
And Piper.
If Dad had made this suggestion at the beginning of the summer, I would’ve laughed in his face. It would’ve been an immediate no.
But now…
“I don’t know.” I peel the label of my soda. “It’s something to consider.”
