“Tell me about it,” she muttered into his chest. It occurred to her he was having the same sort of issue. She looked up at him. “So what about you? I’ve been complaining about my family for so long that I forgot to ask how it’s going for you.”
“The knee is feeling pretty good. Probably need to knock out eighteen holes and test it out.”
“That’s great news.” She was truly happy for him if his knee was healing. But if his knee was healing to the point that he was ready to play again, it raised other questions. Personal, private, and potentially devastating questions. “So…you’re going to Scotland?”
“I don’t know about that.”
“No?”
He sighed. “I don’t know. I don’t feel as if I know myself right now. I never thought I’d be staring down the barrel at fifty and notknowmyself. But I don’t know what I want.”
“Maybe you know yourself too well, and it’s the choices that aren’t living up to the game. Or maybe I am projecting.”
He chuckled. “Project away. Maybe I’ll find a kernel of an idea that will lead me to an answer.” He sat on the cot, caught her hand in his. “I think I’m grappling with a fear of failure, which is sort of strange, as I’ve spent several years learning to accept failure. But it feels to me that going to Scotland is pretty much admitting I’m aging off the tour. On the other hand, if I could play a tournament late next month instead, I’m saying I still want to play at a high level. I don’t know if I do. The knee aside, thereare some young guys coming up who can outdrive me, can outputt me. It takes a lot of time and effort to play at peak. But then again, I don’t want to go out with an injury, you know? I want to end my career on top. But to be at the top, it takes a village, practically. Which means people depend on me. People like my caddy, Jake, and that son of a bitch Clay. And now, the village is starting to complain.”
“What would you do if you didn’t play on the tour?”
“That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? I don’t have a clue. It’s easier to flit around and do some knee rehab and avoid phone calls about it.”
But he knew that eventually, he had to answer the phone, and that’s when he’d pack a bag and give her the old, it-was-great speech.
She sat down beside him on the cot.
“Neither of us are making much progress, are we?” he asked.
Amy shook her head. “We suck at progress.”
“We’re like the world’s worst at making decisions.”
“Complete morons.”
He put his hand on her knee and squeezed it. “We’ve got a week left in this paradise your family is now calling home.”
“Yeah.”
“How about this…what if I’m able to figure out a way for us to make our decisions in peace and quiet?”
“You have my full attention,” she said. “But what on earth do you mean?”
“I mean without an audience, as originally planned.”
She smiled sadly at him. “Oh, Harrison, you’re so cute. Many men have tried and failed to get out from under the Bossy Posse. Once they are calling you H…you’ve pretty much lost the fight. But if you think you can figure it out, there ought to be a Congressional Medal of Honor in your future.”
“I’m not that good,” he said. “I was thinking more along the lines of escape.”
Amy could feel hope rising up. “Escapeis my favorite word. How?”
“I don’t know. What’s that look? Trust me. And if you can’t do that, at least give me this afternoon.”
Amy looked at the open door. “It’s sleeting. It’s also very cold.” She pulled her jacket around her. “What could you possibly do this afternoon?”
“Well, for starters,” he said, and stood up, walked across the studio, and closed the door. He came back to the bed and sat next to her, his arm going around her shoulders. “I will remind you that if there is a will, there is a way. Now, I don’t know what happens from here. But what I do know is that I have really enjoyed this time with you.”
“Same,” she said, and rested her head on his shoulder.
“And I’m not ready to give it up. Are you?”
If only he knew. “Not even a tiny bit.”
