Chapter 25
Mary returned to work the next day, a woman on a mission her life depended on, because it did. She would never be happy in this alternate world knowing she’d sacrificed her family to be here. Her assignment today was to interview a navy combat veteran, Todd Bacco, who ran the Baystate Veterans Foundation, a nonprofit to help prevent suicides among veterans. He was planning a July Fourth 5K fundraiser, and Mary was determined to make it the best story she’d ever done.
She and Carl stood with Todd on a quiet street in Worcester in front of a yellow two-story house. “Suicide is the second-leading cause of death for post-911 veterans,” Todd said. Behind him, Old Glory fluttered high on a tall pole. “More than four times as many Global War on Terrorism veterans have died by their own hand than in combat. We need to get them the help they deserve.”
“What kind of resources does Baystate Veterans Foundation provide?” Mary asked.
“Our mission is to create a sense of community, connect veterans to others with similar experiences, but we’re here to give help wherever they need it. Building ramps or doing other home renovations, raising money for food or heat, providing access to mental health. Whatever we can do.” Todd gave examples of veterans his organization had helped, and his stories both warmed and broke Mary’s heart. Our veterans deserve so much more from us, she thought.
They wrapped up the interview with talk about the race route, which would start and end in Green Hill Park. She hoped her viewers would be as moved as she was by the interview and donate to his cause. It was the kind of story she enjoyed most, examples of people helping others.
“How do you think that went?” she asked Carl as they drove back to the station. She sat ramrod straight in the passenger seat, all her muscles tight, wanting him to say it was her best work yet. It had to be.
Carl snapped the piece of peppermint gum he was chewing. “Fine for what it was, I guess.”
Mary felt herself deflating. That wasn’t nearly good enough. “What do you mean ‘for what it was’?”
He lowered the radio. “If you want to be taken seriously as a journalist, you need to cover bigger stories. Most of the stories you cover end up as kickers because they’re all fluff pieces.”
“That story on Todd was not fluff. We’re bringing attention to a serious problem.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not the kind of story that’s going to get you a promotion.”
Mary felt her entire body go still as Carl’s words registered. Even her blood seemed to stop flowing. Viewers liked sensational stories, people hurting others or doing them wrong in another way. They didn’t want to hear about people helping each other. In a way, she understood that. People helping people should be the default, the ordinary. There should be no need to report on it because kindness shouldn’t be news. The problem was that the news reported on so many horrible crimes and dirty politicians that those stories seemed to be the norm, making viewers forget that man was kind. She didn’t like reporting on all the bad in the world. She wanted to help people see the good in life, but because she hadn’t been able to see the good in her own life, she was going to be forced to report on horrific things to get back to Dean and Kendra.
Maybe Carl could help her think of another type of story to cover. “What kind of story will?”
“The one Nash is doing on the Harrison murder.”
Mary winced. While she’d been home miserable about Dean and Kendra for the past three days, Kimberly had been covering the most talked-about trial in New England. “I don’t like covering stuff like that.”
Carl glanced over at her. “Stuff like what? News?”
“I like human interest stories. Help me think of one that’s compelling. In your experience, what do viewers get excited about?”
He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Interview someone people want to hear from who doesn’t ordinarily talk to the press.”
“Like Liz Collins.”
Carl shook his head. “She only has local appeal. Think bigger. Beyoncé or Taylor Swift.”
Mary made a face. “They won’t talk to me.”
“Probably not,” Carl agreed.
Back at the station, Mary sat at her desk with her head in her hands, trying to come up with a story that would help her get the promotion. She came up with nothing and considered explaining to Kimberly that getting the promotion meant life or death to her. Still, Mary wasn’t guaranteed to get the promotion even if Kimberly bowed out of their competition. She had to earn it.
Mary put her head down on her desk, Carl’s advice replaying through her mind: interview someone people want to hear from who doesn’t ordinarily talk to the press. She jerked upright. Dean! In all the articles she’d read since the controversial call at the US Open, he’d refused to talk to the press.
She ran through the newsroom to find Carl. “Dean!” she shouted.
Carl looked at her blankly.
“What if I interview Dean Amato? Would that get me the promotion?”
Mitchell’s voice came from behind her. “Assuming you do everything else right, it would certainly help, but I wouldn’t count on getting one.”
“Yeah, good luck with that,” Carl said. “Rumor has it he said no to Oprah.”
Dean wouldn’t say no to her. Somehow he’d feel their connection. She was sure of it and couldn’t stop smiling. Dean was her ticket back to her other life. It was too perfect. Early in their marriage, she and Dean had gone to a Halloween party dressed as Wonder Woman and Superman. Now she imagined Dean in that costume, red cape flapping in the wind as he swooped in to save her and carry her back to their family.
Back at her computer, she typed Addison Heights Golf Club in the search bar, hoping his brother worked there in this version of her life because he would know how to get in touch with Dean. She didn’t have to call Anthony, though, because there was a post on the home page telling her exactly where Dean was:
Dean Amato Teaching at Addison Heights Golf Club
(Boylston, MA)—Addison Heights Golf Club is pleased to announce that former PGA golfer and all-around good guy Dean Amato will be working at the Club this summer as a visiting pro. He’ll be giving lessons from June 15 through Labor Day weekend. On Saturday, July 1, Amato will host the Club’s fifth annual American Idol show in the Ballroom, and we’ll celebrate his career to kick off the festivities. The cost of a single lesson is $175, with sessions of four available for $625. Tickets for the show are $150 per person. Half of all proceeds from the lessons and banquet will be donated to the Jimmy Fund. Anyone who would like to compete in the event should complete this form and send it and a short video to [email protected].
Amato, who grew up in Boylston, holds the record for winning the Club’s junior championship for eight consecutive years.
“Addison Heights is where I spent most of my childhood. I learned how to play here and have so many fond memories on this course. My dad, brother, and I often played 36 holes over a weekend,” Amato said. “I’m excited to be working here this summer, teaching the world’s greatest game to a new generation. It’s good to be home.”
Amato retired three years ago after a controversial call stripped him of a first-place finish at the US Open. His older brother, Anthony, has been the head pro at Addison Heights for nine years.
Mary had met Dean at Addison Heights all those years ago. She was attending a bridal shower in the function room, and Dean was there playing in a charity tournament for Ken, his friend who had died of cancer at the young age of seventeen. Trying to find the banquet after his round, Dean mistakenly walked into the room where the shower was being held. Instead of leaving, he dashed to the table with the decadent-looking cake, chocolate with raspberry filling. Standing there to get her own slice, Mary watched him help himself to a piece and assumed he was the groom-to-be, who was supposed to stop by to open gifts with his fiancée, Melissa.
“Hello,” Mary said, surprised by how good looking he was. Melissa had described him as a tall Dustin Hoffman, but to Mary, with his wavy dark hair and chiseled cheekbones, he more closely resembled Richard Gere. And what was with his eyelashes? She used several coats of mascara and a curling wand, and hers still didn’t look as good as his. She extended her hand, thinking Melissa was a lucky girl. “Mary Mulligan.”
“Mulligan.” Dean seemed to consider the word. “Meeting a girl with the name Mulligan at a golf course. That has to be some kind of sign.” He held on to her hand for a beat too long.
“What kind of sign?” She shifted her weight from one leg to the other, uncomfortable with the way her friend’s fiancé was looking at her.
“That I shouldn’t give up dating.”
Mary’s face flushed. Could he tell she was attracted to him? Was that why he was flirting? She glanced around the room, hoping no one was in earshot. “So inappropriate.”
Dean’s smile slipped off his face. “What did I do?”
“You’re coming on to me at Melissa’s bridal shower.”
She’d expected him to be embarrassed or ashamed, but her words seemed to embolden him. He leaned in so their shoulders touched. “Right, not the best place to get to know each other. We should grab a drink sometime.”
She shoved her hand in her pocket to stop herself from slapping him and stepped backward to create more space between them. “You’re a jerk.” The words came out louder than she’d intended. Across the room, Melissa and her mother stared at her with twisted mouths.
“Sorry if I’ve somehow offended you. It’s just, you have the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen. They remind me of a fairway.”
“A fairway?”
Dean stepped toward her. “A fairway as in a golf course,” he said. “My favorite place to be.”
For a split second, she reveled in his attention. Her cheeks flushed and her heart fluttered. After all, it wasn’t every day an extremely handsome man found her attractive, but then the grim reality struck. This man was off limits. Way off limits. Guilt washed over her. She wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole as Melissa crossed the room.
“What’s going on over here?” Melissa asked.
Mary wrung her hands. She couldn’t tell her friend that her fiancé was hitting on her during the bridal shower, could she? Yes, she could. Melissa had to know.
One of the bridesmaids clanked a fork against a glass. “Time to open the gifts.”
Nope. This was definitely not the time or place to tell Melissa. She would talk to her later.
“Who’s your friend, Mary?” Melissa asked.
Mary’s eyes widened. “My friend?”
Dean cleared his throat. “Dean Amato.” He flashed a smile so beautiful that Mary’s knees buckled. “I stumbled into the wrong room looking for the tournament banquet and couldn’t resist the cake.” She could have sworn he batted those fabulous eyelashes of his.
Melissa laughed. “It’s amazing, isn’t it?”
“Delicious.” Dean stuffed the last bite on his plate into his mouth.
“You’re welcome to sit down and have another piece,” Melissa said.
And he did. He sat down next to Mary and watched the bride-to-be and her soon-to-be-groom open gifts, oohing and aahing at all the appropriate times. When Dean finished his second slice of cake, he quietly excused himself, but he left with Mary’s phone number scribbled on a napkin that he’d folded into fours and slipped into his back pocket. He called her that night, and the following afternoon they drove to Woodman’s on the North Shore for lobster rolls and clam chowder.
Remembering their first meeting now, the tension headache that Mary had had ever since she’d learned she might be stuck in this world vanished, and the muscles in her back relaxed. Dean would agree to an interview with her. She was sure of it. She grabbed her keys and ran out the door, headed for the golf club.