Chapter 7 #2
Ray prayed the same prayer he’d prayed her whole life. “Lord, thank you for the food, the hands that prepared it, and the grace you keep givin’ us even when we don’t deserve it. Keep our minds steady, keep our hearts open, and touch Magnolia’s spirit today. Give her a good day. A bright one. Amen.”
“Amen,” Meadow whispered.
Zaire echoed it quietly.
Ray passed the biscuits, then looked between them. “So…how was Mama this morning?”
Meadow shrugged, eyes soft. “She had a…cloudy start.”
Ray nodded slowly. “Talkative or quiet?”
“Quiet.”
Ray sighed. “We’ll bring her outside later. That usually helps.”
Zaire stayed silent but listened.
They ate for a moment before Zaire noticed a speck of grits at the corner of Meadow’s mouth. He reached across the table instinctively, thumb aiming for her lip.
Meadow slapped his hand so fast the table shook. “What are you doing?”
Zaire pulled his hand back, smirking. “Tryna help you, baby.”
“I got it,” she snapped, grabbing a napkin.
Ray laughed so hard he had to put his biscuit down. “Lord…you two gon’ give me a stroke. Boy reachin’ over like y’all married already.”
Meadow’s eyes widened. “Daddy!”
“I’m just sayin’,” Ray chuckled, wiping his eyes. “Ain’t never seen nobody try to clean my daughter’s face but me.”
Zaire shrugged with a half-smile, spreading jelly on another biscuit. “My bad. I wasn’t thinkin’.”
“Oh, you was thinkin’, alright,” Ray teased under his breath.
Meadow kicked her Daddy’s shin under the table. “Can we eat in peace?”
The room settled, but her pulse didn’t. She could still feel the ghost of Zaire’s hand reaching for her like he had some right.
It threw her off more than she wanted to admit.
The man had been in her house for all of twenty minutes and already acted like he belonged at her table, in her space, close enough to touch her mouth without thinking twice.
Ray found it funny. Meadow found it…something else entirely.
And she hated how aware she suddenly was of Zaire sitting across from her, eating slow, eyes dropping to her lips every few bites.
Ray leaned back in his chair, relaxing. “So, son…what you got planned for the rest of the day?”
Zaire hesitated, rolling a piece of bacon between his fingers. “Probably just chill…think.”
Meadow’s fork paused halfway up.
She saw it.
That little flicker in his eyes…the doubt…the weight he tried to pretend wasn’t sitting on his chest.
Ray saw it too.
“Hmmm,” Ray hummed, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Thinking ain’t bad. Long as you don’t drown in it.”
Zaire nodded but kept quiet because his thoughts were everywhere all at once.
Ray cracked his knuckles. “Well, since you ain’t doin’ nothin’…why don’t you come out on the greens with me?”
Zaire looked up. “For what?”
Ray smirked. “To think better.”
Meadow hid her smile behind her cup.
Ray continued, “Ain’t no better place to clear your head than walkin’ them greens. You walk, you swing, you listen to the wind. That land’ll talk back if you let it.”
Zaire leaned back, considering it.
Ray added, “Plus, I could use a hand movin’ some of them markers. My knees ain’t what they used to be.”
Meadow snorted. “Daddy, your knees ain’t ever been good.”
Ray waved her off. “Hush. You gon’ come or what?” he asked Zaire.
Zaire finished his last bite, wiped his mouth, and nodded. “Yeah…I’ll come through.”
Ray grinned proudly, that warm Black father approval. “Atta boy. Meadow, you comin’ with us?”
“No,” Meadow responded quickly. “I have to clean up and check on Mama.”
Ray nodded. “Mmhmm. You do that. Me and Zaire gon’ walk.”
Zaire stood up slow, stretching his back, feeling lighter than when he walked in. “You need help?”
“You clean?” Meadow asked lifting from her seat as well.
“I do anything you need me to do…just tell me what you need?” His thick brows shaped his beautiful brown face like a fancy frame, Meadow wanted to hang up and masturbate to while watching him.
She tried to hide her smile by tucking her lips into her mouth. “I’m good…go on.”
Ray slapped his shoulder. “You ready?”
Zaire looked at Meadow, her eyes already on him though she tried to look away fast.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “I’m ready.”
Ray winked at Meadow on his way out. “He a good one, baby.”
Meadow rolled her eyes so hard she saw her brain.
Zaire hid a smile and followed Ray out into the morning sun.
Ray’s boots crunched through the grass as he led Zaire toward the shed that sat a little crooked on its foundation. The door squeaked when he yanked it open.
“Watch your head,” Ray grumbled, pushing aside an old rake. “This place been leaning since ’09.”
Zaire looked inside, brows lifted. “You keep all this shit?”
“Everything in here is history.” Ray reached behind an old mower and pulled out a dusty leather bag. “Here go the good ones.”
“The good ones?” Zaire coughed, seeing the rust on the zipper.
Ray smacked the bag making dust fly everywhere. “Don’t let the looks fool you. These clubs been used more times than a church tambourine.”
Zaire snorted. “You wild, cuh.”
The word fell out before he could catch it. That Crescent Park lingo stayed tucked under his tongue no matter how many country clubs he stepped into. It wasn’t something he could switch off. It lived in him.
Cuh had been running through his veins long before he ever said it out loud.
He was probably floating through Lesha’s belly while his Pops walked around talkin’ slick, saying ‘cuh’ a thousand times a day.
Zaire felt it every time it slipped out…
that reminder of where he came from and who raised him.
A little bit of home leaked into every conversation whether he meant to let it out or not.
Ray wasn’t tripping on the word. He was old but he’d lived a life that his elders would turn their noses up at. Dragging the bag, Ray tossed it at Zaire’s feet. “Go on now. Pick one.”
Zaire unzipped the bag. His brows raised as he pulled out a 7-iron so old it looked like it survived segregation. “Damn… you ain’t never thought about retiring these?”
“Why would I? They work.” Ray lined up a ball. “Here, let me show you.”
Zaire stepped back respectfully.
Ray’s worn arms swung with precision. It was clean and effortless like he’d done it a million times. The ball flew straight for what felt like forever before dropping onto the far patch of green.
Zaire blinked in astonishment, an impressed smile dancing on his face. “…Aight - bet.”
Ray wiped his hands on his shirt. “Go ‘head.”
Zaire grabbed the 7-iron, squaring up behind the ball, adjusting his stance out of habit. The grip felt weird. It was lighter and unbalanced, but he didn’t complain. He pulled back and swung.
CRACK.
The ball sailed into the sky before it arched like a rainbow and hit the ground. He watched it disappear into the daylight, until it was a small white dot he couldn’t track anymore.
Ray slapped him on the back. “See? You still got it.”
Zaire blew out a deep breath. “Some days it feels like I did…this shit is like playing a game of hide and seek and I can’t find it in the daytime with a flashlight.”
Something about it tugged at him…the quiet…the open field…the reminder that his talent used to show up for him before the world started looking for reasons to say he didn’t belong.
Truth was, Zaire missed feeling certain…missed that cocky ‘I know I’m my ancestors’ wildest dreams’ feeling…missed the days when a swing was just a swing and not a statement.
Ray wasn’t about to let him get too deep inside himself. “Everybody got days like that.”
“Not like this,” Zaire muttered, staring at the ball on the ground. There was no tee, just a worn slab of concrete with grass begging to break through.
Ray passed him another club. “You think you the only Black man who ever doubted his own talent?”
Zaire’s jaw tightened.
But Ray kept talking. “Pressure hits us different. Stress hits us different. Losing hits us different. And success?” He pointed at Zaire. “Success hits us the hardest.”
Zaire leaned on the club. “I just…I don’t know, man. When I’m out there, it feels like I’m playing for everybody. Like if I mess up, I embarrass us all.”
Ray hummed. “You ain’t embarrassin’ nobody. You human, son.”
“It don’t feel like it,” Zaire said, his eyes going low.
Ray nudged another ball toward him. “Swing again.”
Zaire squared up, swung, and sent it flying.
“See that?” Ray asked. “That’s you! Not them cameras…not them critics…not them jealous ass White boys. That’s all you.”
Zaire didn’t respond. He just watched the ball disappear into the distance.
Ray took a deep breath and scanned the land around them. “This place saved a lotta people. Saved me…saved Meadow…saved my wife, long before you ever knew your name.”
Zaire swallowed. “She…” He hadn’t been introduced to the lady of the land and didn’t want to overstep or come off as too nosey.
Ray continued “…had a quiet morning.”
Ray nodded, eyes sad. “We deal with it one day at a time. Magnolia ain’t gone, she’s just…somewhere else inside her head. Meadow holdin’ her down and I’m holdin’ them both down. But Meadow?” Ray chuckled softly, “that girl carry the sun on her back like it don’t burn.”
Zaire looked toward the house. “She got a lot on her shoulders.”
“She do,” Ray said. “And she ain’t gon’ tell you she tired. Meadow don’t break in front uh nobody. She break in private then comes out like she ain’t been cryin’. But I know…I always know.”
Zaire rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah…I can see that. It reminds me of my Mama.”
“How so?”
“Hard to explain but when I’m ready to sit down and build a family, I know it gotta be with a woman that’s like my Mama…like Meadow.” Zaire looked away. “Hypothetically,” he added.
Ray turned to him with a serious expression. “So if you gon’ be around… Don’t just flirt with her…don’t just take her to the city. You lift some of that weight…you steady her…you make life easier, not harder…that’s for any Black woman. They deserve to just be big ol’ soft barrels of cotton.”
Zaire’s throat tightened. “I hear you.”
Ray placed a ball down and handed Zaire the club again. “Good. Now hit it.”
Zaire swung harder this time. The ball exploded off the club, cleaner than anything he’d hit in weeks.
Ray smiled like he already knew the outcome. “There you go.”
Zaire inhaled, his shoulders releasing the tension he didn’t notice he’d been carrying.
Ray clapped him on the back. “You gon’ be alright, son. You sittin’ in the eye of the storm right now but storms pass, they always do.”
Zaire nodded quietly. “Appreciate you.”
Ray fixed his cap. “Now help me pick up these balls. You too young to be leavin’ me out here doin’ manual labor by myself.”
Zaire snickered and followed Ray farther down the green, the late morning sun warming his skin, the land finally feeling peaceful every time his feet pressed into it.
It grounded him in a way he didn’t expect, made everything in his chest unclench a little.
He wasn’t fixed, wasn’t healed…yet.
But walking the green with Ray, filling a bucket one ball at a time, he felt something settle inside him…something just enough to hold onto.