Harrison looked at her, suspecting it was a joke. But her smile was warm. So was Bob’s. He could feel himself smiling inside. He could feel the warmth in the idea that he could be a part of the group. “I have something for you, too,” he said to Amy, and pulled out an oddly wrapped gift. Amy laughed. “Is it a kettlebell? Did Hillary make you give this to me?”
He laughed.
Amy examined the gift, then unwrapped it to reveal a snow globe. Inside was a rural setting, with a decorated Christmas tree and a couple on ice skates in the middle of the lake. Snow swirled around them as they went round and round.
“It’s not our lake, but as close as I could get,” he said.
She held it up and looked at it, a fond smile on her lips. She slowly lowered it. “I love it,” she said. “It’s the best Christmas present. I have something for you, too.” She reached under the tree and pulled out a package that looked like a twelve-inch square, wrapped in plain brown paper.
“For me?” he asked as she handed it to him. “But how?”
“Just open it.”
He could tell it was a painting, and slowly unwrapped it, a little afraid he was going to have to hang a Bossy Posse painting in his condo somewhere. But to his delight, it was something else. It was the run-down cabin he and Amy had stayed in. He would recognize it anywhere. She’d gotten every detail right—the missing slat in the stairs, the crumbling chimney. And there on the porch was Duchess, curled up to sleep.
Her eyes were sparkling. “It reminds me of the time we spent at the lake. You had one, and I wanted one.”
“Then you have to keep it,” he said instantly, but she was shaking her head.
“I can paint another one. I’m an artist, remember?” she said, grinning. “Also, I didn’t get the chimney quite right, and I want my painting to have the chimney right.” She leaned over to look at it again.
“It is exactly as I remember it,” he said. “It’s perfect. Thank you.” He leaned over, caught her chin, and kissed her in front of everyone. He heard her ex gasp loudly then mutter under his breath, her kids shoutEewee, and her brother advise them to get a room. Duchess was barking somewhere, probably at a wall.
Amy laughed against his mouth then turned a glorious smile to her family. “Mind your business,” she said to them, and laughed.
Later that evening, when Harrison was lying on the couch, waiting for the boys and Kevin to go to bed so he could slip into Amy’s room—she’d sent him a text of herself naked under the sheets, followed by a text regretting it and asking him to please delete—he decided this was the best Christmas he’d ever had.
It wasn’t his family, it was a found family. But it worked the same and, in some ways, even better.
And then he decided then and there that every Christmas after this would be even better.
He realized, as he lay there, listening to Duchess wandering around and bumping into things, that maybe he had finally decided what was next for him.
Epilogue
Harrison left for Scotland the day after Christmas. He had a successful clinic, and it was written about in the local papers. His swing was good, his knee even better.
From there, he’d gone to the invitational, where he sank a massive, forty-foot putt uphill with a terrible lie and finished third. He watched the ball drop in the hole, heard the crowd roar, and looked up. The sun had just broken through the clouds. He considered it a sign. He was back.
His fiftieth birthday rolled around, and he flew Amy out to join him in Phoenix, where he was scheduled to play the next week. She reported that Kevin had gotten a new job and had moved out, Jonah was looking forward to college, and Ethan and Connor were playing baseball. She said Connor had an arm.
A few days after his birthday, the World Wide Web decided it was a good time to remind him he was older, and a few articles began to pop up. “When the Body Goes Before the Desire to Play,” “How Long Is Too Long on the Professional Tour?” And “The Senior PGA Sees a Swell in Ranks.” He played Phoenix and finished in the top twenty-five. Clay saidhe was “cooking with grease” and was “showing those bros how the game is played.”
Amy said they would love to see him in Willow Valley, that his family wanted to celebrate his turning fifty. He didn’t tell Clay where he was going, but flew to Dallas on his way to Orlando to play in the Arnold Palmer Invitational.
The Casey family thought it would be great fun to host a party for him at Centennial Park. The Bossy Posse showed up with a piñata in the shape of the Grim Reaper. Harrison swung at it with abandon, and considered it a small victory that he didn’t reinjure his knee.
He finished in the top ten at the Arnold Palmer Invitational. That night, he called Clay and said he wasn’t going on to play The Players Championship in Ponte Vedra.
“What the hell?” Clay cried. “You’re playing lights out right now.”
“Yeah,” Harrison said, smiling to himself. “And that’s the way I want to go. On top. With my game in top shape. Not when I’m down and out. I’m ready to move on, Clay.”
“Listen, listen, listen,” Clay said. “Take some time. Think about it.Reallythink about it. Keep up with your game and in a month or so, we’ll get you back on tour. You’re not going to want to give this up, man.”
“Okay,” Harrison said. He didn’t want to argue, but in his heart, he’d already given it up.
He called Jake next and told him to talk to Thad Villeroy again. Thad had come in second in California. His game was hot.
