“We can do all that after the golf course,” Gio replies.
I look at my father for some assistance. Surely he agrees with me that playing golf isn’t the right move. But he doesn’t step in to assist me. Instead, he pats Gio on the back as if agreeing with him.
I roll my eyes. It’s not that I have anything better to do. I do need to study, but I’ve been studying, and my mind isn’t in the game. All I’m going to do if I go upstairs and crack a law book is stare at the page. I won’t be able to focus, and I know it. So why not go play golf? At least then I’ll be out in the sunshine and moving around. Who knows, maybe that might jog something loose in my brain and I’ll be able to figure out what I need to do about Sofia.
“All right,” I agree reluctantly.
“Great,” Gio says. “Meet you in the car in five minutes.”
Five minutes isn’t a lot of time. I look longingly at my sandwich, knowing that I won’t be able to enjoy it. Walking away, I take the stairs two at a time. Back in my bedroom, I glance at Sofia’s shoes. They’re still sitting beside my bed as if waiting for her to return.
I pick them up and throw them in the trash. It’s a small move, and it does nothing to make me feel better. The girl deserves a much steeper punishment than the loss of a pair of heels. But nothing’s coming to mind at the moment.
I opt for a pair of slacks and a white shirt. I know the dress code at the golf club only applies to some people. I could arrive in blue jeans and an undershirt, and they wouldn’t care. Everyone knows who my father is, and they wouldn’t risk offending the Corello family by demanding that I change. But I’m too well trained to push that boundary.
I arrive downstairs dressed and ready to go golfing. It’s not my first choice, but maybe it will grow on me. I can use this time to consider what I want to do about Sofia. My father is waiting for me in the foyer, along with Marlena. I feel like I’m about to ship off to war.
“You didn’t have to come down here,” I tell my stepmother.
She puts a hand on her belly and gives me a sympathetic smile. “I can occasionally make it downstairs for an important event,” she teases.
I give her a kiss on the cheek, trying to keep my frustration in check. She’s just being kind, and my sour mood isn’t going to help. “I doubt this rises to the level of an important event.”
“Frankie,” Marlena says, grabbing my arm.
“What?” I snap.
“I’m sorry,” she replies.
“It’s not your fault,” I say.
Dad gives me a slight nod. I know that he has a ton of things he would like to say, but he’s being respectful of my situation. I can see pride in his eyes, which hurts. I don’t feel pride in myself. In fact, I feel just the opposite.
I’m the one who introduced a reporter into the family. I potentially opened up the entire business to danger. I need to come up with a way to remedy the situation, and that’s going to require some extensive thought.
I get into the car with Gio, allowing him to drive. I think I’m going to use the time to mull over my problem, but Gio has other plans. He talks nonstop about golf, as if I’ve never accompanied him to the club before.
“When we get there, we’re going to want to go to the driving range first,” he says.
“Why?” I ask. Since there doesn’t seem to be much of a choice, I decide to play along.
“We can see who’s there,” Gio replies.
I can’t tell if he has a specific person in mind, or if this is just something that he does. My father drilled into me the fact that the golf course is a great place to do business. I know he’s talkingabout networking, but I also suspect that there are times when formal meetings are conducted over the green. So which one is it today? Are we going into a regular meeting, or are we just there to talk to anyone?
Not that it matters. I’m in no mood to enjoy myself. The whole thing is going to try my patience anyway, so I decide to just keep my head down. Gio pulls into the club after driving for a little more than fifteen minutes. Instead of parking, we aim for the valet.
Gio gets out, handing his keys to a high school student. “Take care of her,” he instructs.
“Yes, sir,” the kid says.
I follow my uncle through the clubhouse, past the welcome desk. Before hitting the driving range, Gio decides to get some complimentary breakfast, even though it’s past the time for breakfast. I’m not feeling very hungry anymore, so I limit myself to fruit.
The place is a social person’s paradise. We’re instantly surrounded by men who want to talk to us. I plaster a smile on my face and do my best not to give my thoughts away. I tell myself that it’s likely some of these other people have equally stressful things going on in their lives, although mine seems more threatening. Maybe they aren’t worried about their entire family going to jail, but maybe they are. I don’t know what kinds of deals these people are involved with, and I don’t care. We talk about the stock market and the weather on the golf course, nothing more.
“Ready to go play some golf?” Gio asks after about half an hour.
“Please,” I respond.
