Chapter 29
Mary peered in the window outside the pro shop, watching Dean. Yellow and gray bruises and angry red scratches marked his handsome face. Still, he laughed as he leaned against the counter, talking to two men in their thirties wearing Titleist hats. Using his index finger, he drew a cross over his heart. Mary’s chest squeezed at the familiar gesture, and she mouthed the words she knew he had just said: Swear to God . Her Dean.
Three days had passed since he’d tumbled off his bicycle. She’d waited to come to the golf course to give him time to cool off and hoped he wasn’t still angry at her. During that time, she’d thrown herself into her job, even working over the weekend with Carl, doing everything she could do to earn that promotion in case her interview with Dean didn’t pan out. Keeping busy was also the only way to prevent herself from slipping down a black hole of despair. Doing her job didn’t make her forget her situation. If anything, reporting on stories that pointed out the evil in the world reminded her of all the love she’d lost. She also knew that to earn the promotion and reclaim her old life, she had to be at her best, so she put on a brave face and did the work. Even Carl had commented on the improvement in her reporting, telling her she was finally covering stories with substance.
As a way to apologize to Dean, she’d baked chocolate chip butterscotch cookies for him. The version of him whom she had known loved them.
She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and pushed the door open. A bell chimed, announcing her presence. Dean and the two men looked toward her. One of the men smiled; the other nodded. Dean bit down on his lip and shook his head. “What are you doing here?” Contempt dripped off each word. Mary imagined it spilling onto the floor in front of him, creating a dangerous, slick path that she had to cross to reach him.
She slunk toward the counter, stopping next to the register beside a display of decals, Sasquatch with a golf bag slung over his shoulder. “I came to apologize and brought homemade cookies as a peace offering.”
Dean’s hostile expression didn’t change. The two men he’d been talking to shook his hand.
“Looking forward to celebrating your career at the fundraiser next week,” the taller of the men said.
“I’d rather think of it as a celebration of the game,” Dean said.
The two men made their way outside toward a parked golf cart.
Mary inched toward Dean and placed the dish down in front of him. “Chocolate chip, butterscotch, your favorite.” She winced, realizing she wasn’t supposed to know that.
He cocked his head. “I’ve never had a chocolate chip cookie with butterscotch in it.”
Of course he hadn’t. Mary’s grandmother had given her the recipe. Dean had never tried them until he met Mary. “I meant your soon-to-be favorite.” She lifted the tinfoil off the plate.
“I don’t like butterscotch.”
He’d said the same exact thing the first time she’d made them for him. “You do.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “I don’t.”
“Try one.” She pushed the plate closer to him.
The rich scent of caramelized brown sugar filled the air between them. Dean took a deep breath in. He licked the corner of his mouth.
Mary smiled, knowing he was about to give in. “I guess I’ll bring them to work with me then.” She pulled the dish toward her.
Dean’s hand shot through the air toward the plate. He snatched a cookie and lifted it to his mouth. Mary watched his face as he bit into it. He swallowed, and his dark eyes lightened. She’d always been able to read his mood by their color, almost black when he was angry and a warm brown, like coffee with lots of cream, when he was happy.
He reached for another. For a split second, they were standing in the kitchen in their Hudson home, Dean snatching up cookies as fast as they came out of the oven. Mary sighed, savoring the moment.
“Not bad,” Dean said.
“Not bad? Really? That’s all I get?” Teasing him made her feel like her old self.
Dean slid the dish toward him. “They’re good.”
“Good enough to accept my apology?” She gave him a sheepish grin.
“For almost killing me.”
Her knees weakened. He could have died in that accident. If he had, she would not only have lost the love of her life, but her daughter too. “You have no idea how happy I am that you weren’t badly hurt. I’m truly sorry for causing you to crash.”
“Apology accepted.” He re-covered the cookies with the tinfoil and moved the plate to a shelf behind the counter. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a lesson to teach.” He stepped toward a side door behind the counter.
“Before you go ...,” she called to his retreating back. “I need to ask you something.”
He spun to face her.
“I’m a reporter for the Independent Cable News Network, Channel 77. Mary Mulligan.” She extended her hand.
He folded his arms across his chest. “I should have known you were with the press. Only a reporter or the paparazzi would be crazy enough to follow me like that.”
“It’s a local cable station. I’m just starting out. Hardly a threat,” she said.
His arms remained pinned to his chest.
She slid the charm on her necklace back and forth across the chain. The rhythmic motion calmed her nerves. This wasn’t going to be easy. She took a deep breath in and slowly released it, remembering Darbi’s advice to be honest—well, as honest as she could be, given the circumstances. “My lifelong dream is to be an anchor for a national newscast. If I can convince you to grant me an interview, I’ll get a big promotion, leading me one step closer to my dream.” Saying those words now made her shudder the same way she did when she saw a creepy-looking bug. Being a news anchor, even the world’s most trusted broadcaster, didn’t hold one iota of the appeal as being Dean’s wife and Kendra’s mom. If only she’d realized she had been living her dream, she wouldn’t be in this mess.
“I don’t talk to the press.” He said it slowly, as if talking to a small child.
Undeterred, she pasted on her biggest smile. “Please. Just this one time.”
He smiled back at her. His dimples even made an appearance. Ha! She felt the same joy she had on her wedding day when he’d smiled at her as she made her way down the aisle toward him. She knew he wouldn’t let her down. Tension seeped out of her shoulders.
“Not going to happen.” He turned on his heel and stepped toward the side door.
She’d been so certain he was going to say yes that she didn’t immediately understand that he had not only turned her down but he was also leaving. When the door shut behind him, adrenaline surged through her veins. She had to stop him. She lunged toward the door, intending to follow Dean, but it suddenly swung toward her. Anthony waltzed into the room, whistling and unwrapping a Snickers bar. “You’re not supposed to be behind the counter,” he said.
“I need to talk to Dean.”
He squinted and tilted his head as if something had dawned on him. “You’re that girl on the news.” He waved the candy bar in her direction. “Channel 77, right? Thought you looked familiar the other day.”
Like an unattended pot of water on a hot burner, Mary’s anxiety threatened to boil over. She needed Dean’s help. “He just went back there.” She pointed behind Anthony to the door.
“I can’t let you back there. Staff only. Besides, once Dean finds out you’re with the press, he’s not going to want anything to do with you.”
“I need to talk to him.” She lost the battle to control her despair. Her voice cracked and her eyes welled up.
Anthony looked at her with such empathy that Mary feared he somehow knew she would never make it back to her old life. No! That couldn’t be true. There was a buzzing in her head. She had to get back.
“Why do you need to talk to him?” he asked. “What’s so important?”
“My promotion depends on getting an interview with him.”
“Well then, you’d better kiss that promotion goodbye.” He kissed his hand and made a throwing motion.
Mary eyed the bag of golf clubs in the sale section and fantasized about beating him over the head with one. She needed him to help her, not tell her how impossible the task was. “If I can just get some time alone with him to talk, I can convince him.” She had to reach deep within herself to put conviction in her voice because she had an overwhelming fear that Anthony was right. There was no way Dean would do an interview with her, an unknown reporter just starting her career at a cable news station who’d almost killed him. After all, he’d already refused the most notable names with the biggest platforms in the industry.
Anthony tapped one of the decals in the display. “Honey, you have a better chance of interviewing Bigfoot than my brother.” He leaned toward the computer on the counter, one hand on the mouse, scrolling. “But if you think you can convince him, I can give you an opportunity to talk to him. Your timing is perfect. His lesson on Thursday night just canceled. He has an opening at six. That’s the only one for the rest of the summer.”
“I’ll take it.”
“It’s $175. Paid in advance. Half goes to charity.”
Mary fished her credit card out of her wristlet and slid it into the machine. The screen lit up with the message Transaction processing . She swayed from side to side, waiting. Anthony bit into his candy bar. A piece of chocolate smeared the corner of his mouth.
The machine beeped, and the message on the screen changed: Declined .
“No, no, no.”
“Try again,” Anthony offered.
Mary’s throat burned, and her eyes filled with tears. There was no point in trying again. She’d been charging almost everything.
“I’ll hold the spot for you until tomorrow at six,” he said in a gentle voice. “After that, I have to release it.”