“I understand,” Bob said. “Happens to me during club tournaments. I play pretty well the front nine, but if I’m even close to winning, on the back nine, I get too antsy and start missing my putts.”
Harrison gave him a thin smile.
“I remember that drive on the seventeenth hole you made on the last day. So wild and off course. You reallyshankedit.” He chuckled.
“I sure did,” Harrison agreed. He had to get out of here. The last thing he needed was Amy’s dad reliving his worst professional moments. The decision he was trying to make was hard enough without being reminded of all the times he’d doubted himself.
There was suddenly a commotion upstairs, the sound of Kevin’s voice drifting down over the music. “I thought you were my mom!”
Suddenly Hillary was fleeing downstairs in a bathrobe. “He walked in on me! No one told me he was up there!”
“Kevin, what have you done?” Bob Anderson demanded.
“Nothing!” Kevin shouted down the stairs.
“I was hardly dressed!” Hillary wailed.
This seemed like the best time for Harrison to slip out, and he did just that while everyone converged at the bottom of the stairs to assess the damage, if any, to Hillary.
He hightailed it down the hall and to his room, grabbed his keys and his phone, and was out of the gates probably before they even turned around.
As he headed to the strip mall, he noticed he had a call from Clay. He did not hit play, he did not return the call. He still had a few days before he had to give Clay a definitive answer.
Next to the pizza parlor was a small brown office with a sign that said simply,Vacation Rentals. The light was on, so Harrison pulled up and jogged through the sleet to the door.
Inside turned out to be a one-room operation. The interior color scheme was as brown as the exterior. One long counter divided the room, and behind the counter, an older guy sat in an office chair that creaked with the slightest movement. He was wearing a Titleist golf cap, one of Harrison’s sponsors.
“Hello,” Harrison said.
The man looked up. If he recognized Harrison, he didn’t give any indication.
“I’m looking for a rental for this week. I know it’s short notice, but I figured it was worth a shot.”
“That’s short notice all right,” the man said. “I don’t know if I can help you. Lots of people come out this way for the holidays. What do you have in mind?”
“Something small and self-contained.”
The man sat up and used his feet to roll himself in his chair to an ancient computer that looked like a box. He hit a couple of keys and squinted at the screen. “How small we talking?”
“One bedroom?” Harrison ventured. Certainly not more than two. Nothing that could accommodate even a single Posse member.
“Nobody builds one-bedroom houses anymore. Everyone wants as many beds and baths as they can get. But give me a minute.” He tapped some more keys.
Harrison looked around. On a table between two chairs beneath the window was a stack of severalGolf Digests.
“Not seeing much,” the man said. “Nothing anyone would want.”
“I don’t care about amenities,” Harrison said. “Just a place to rest up.”
The man snorted. “You in the witness protection program or something?”
“In a manner of speaking.” Harrison leaned across the counter. “Do you follow golf?”
The man’s head snapped up. “Sure, yeah. Why do you ask?”
“I’m Harrison Neely.”
The man stared hard at him. “I’ll be, it is you,” he said at last. “I thought you looked familiar. But you look a lot younger on the TV.”
