Chapter 19
Despite all the reasons he should not have, Harrison had a good time today.
These women were fun. Not the sort of fun he normally chose for himself, and honestly, he didn’t know if he’d think it was a good time tomorrow.
But today had been entertaining. Moreover, he didn’t feel so restless as he had the last couple of days, puttering about, hoping Amy would quit painting soon.
They had given him something to do.
The one part of this odd house party he was growing weary of was Hillary.
Nothing against her—whatever she was doing to him physically was helping.
But he didn’t think he could go another day hearing about Tony Cho and the running commentary about what every text has meant.
And now, Harrison wasn’t sure, but he thought maybe Hillary had moved in.
She was back again this late afternoon, helping June make some changes to the big Christmas tree in the living room.
“Too many bows,” June declared.
“That’s not your tree,” Carol pointed out, lest there was any confusion.
She was swaying around the living room in a caftan, singing along with “Winter Wonderland.” At the bar was Melissa, who was mixing a batch of something so strong, Harrison could smell the alcohol across the room.
Happy hour, he discovered, started at four when the Posse was on vacation.
“Five, otherwise,” Melissa had said with a wink when he’d mentioned it.
“I’ll put the tree back to its original, overwrought bow decor before we go,” June said. “But while we’re here, I want to look at a good tree. Not with all these damn bows.”
“No bows,” Hillary added cheerfully, having apparently drunk the Kool-Aid.
“Come give us a hand, H,” June suggested.
“Ah…I’ve got to make some calls,” he said, and jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward his room. He liked the ladies, but not enough to redecorate a Christmas tree.
“What, now?” June asked. “What about happy hour?”
Happy hour had been going all day, but he didn’t think he should point that out. “I’ve got three calls from my manager waiting to be returned. I better do that before he gives himself an aneurysm.”
“That happened to my uncle,” said Carol. “He was sitting there talking and then poof, he was gone, just like that.” She snapped her fingers as she swayed her hips to the music.
“Just like that?” Melissa asked. “No warning?”
Harrison went out before he was dragged into a conversation about aneurysms.
He showered then called Clay.
“Harrison!” Clay shouted into the phone when he picked up. “How’s that knee?”
“Improving.”
“I knew Hillary would get the kinks worked out. When can we expect you in Scotland? This time of year, what with the weather, you need to give yourself plenty of time. Come before Christmas. That will give you time to acclimate.”
“I haven’t decided about Scot—”
“Don’t be an idiot, my man. You could make bank. I haven’t even told you how much, but trust me, you will be very happy.”
“How much?” Harrison asked.
When Clay told him, Harrison had to think a moment.
He didn’t really need the money, but it felt foolish to turn down that amount.
Anyway, he hadn’t decided to leave competition behind.
Not yet, anyway. He’d rather make his money on the course.
Wouldn’t he? A doubt popped into his head.
Just a small thing, sort of like a gnat.
But it was there, the idea that he didn’t want to make money on the course anymore.
Did he even want to make money? What else would he do?
“Come on, man, I thought you were in Texas to have a think and make some decisions,” Clay said, the enthusiasm gone from his voice.
“I did. I am thinking,” Harrison insisted. He just hoped Clay didn’t ask him about what, because so far, all he’d managed to think about with any clarity was Amy. In a this-is-nice-and-I-like-having-someone-around way.
“Look, I’m going to be straight,” Clay said. “You’re fifty years old. That’s pretty long in the tooth for the tour these days. This thing in Scotland? That’s going to be the way of making money in the future.”
“Wow, that hurts. I was playing at a top level before the accident. I was ranked at thirty.”
“Sure, but you’re not a spring chicken. You’ve been off the tour for more than a year.
And you haven’t won a tournament in, what, six years?
You know your sponsor, FLYJETS, called me a week or so ago wanting to know when you’re going to be back on tour.
You’re going to start losing big endorsements, man. ”
That stung even more. “Just because I haven’t won one in a while doesn’t mean I won’t. Phil Mickelson won a major at fifty.”
“He did, he did. Go ahead and name someone else who won a major at fifty years old. I’m just saying, golf is a young man’s game, and these gigs can keep you in the money while you ease back into tour shape.”
“Wow. I had no idea you think I’m so old and out of shape.”
“Dude, don’t pout. If you don’t get some tournaments under your belt, you won’t have the points to get back on the tour when your exemption ends. And we all know, the longer you’re off the course, the duller you get and the more money you lose.”
As much as he would have liked to, there was nothing Clay said that Harrison could argue with. Why did Clay have to be right all the time? Harrison opted for petulance instead of argument. “You know what, Clay?”
“Yeah, I know, I’m the asshole. But you pay me to be truthful with you, Harrison, and I’m telling you it is time to put up or shut up. I need to know in a few days if you’re going to Scotland.”
Clay was right again. But he knew, better than Clay, that he couldn’t keep dithering about his future.
He wanted to keep playing golf, despite the little niggle of doubt.
But he also didn’t want to be alone anymore.
He wanted to have one place to hang his hat.
He wanted to finish tournaments and have someone to go home to. He wanted tournaments to come to him.
He vowed that tomorrow he would make some decisions.
But for now, it was almost time for the lake taxi, and he was looking forward to spending some time with Amy.
He stood up to grab some shoes and a coat, and thought he heard a dog sniffing at his door.
When he opened it, Duchess wandered in, nose to carpet, until she found him.
He squatted down to give her some belly rubs, and gradually became aware that someone was talking and moving closer.
It was Barb, he realized. He figured she was in the mudroom that led to the garage.
“You shouldn’t sit more than thirty minutes at a time, you know. It’s not good for your circulation.”
“Thanks for the advice.”
That was Amy. He paused, his shoes in hand.
“You’re welcome,” her mother said airily.
“What else you got, Mom? I know your advice doesn’t end there.”
“If you’re asking—”
“It was a joke—”
“I wish you’d get out more. Meet some new people. Have fun.”
“Who says I don’t have fun?” Amy asked. “I have fun. But is that you projecting? Is that what you’re doing?”
“What am I doing?” Barb asked.
There was a moment of silence in which neither spoke.
“You mean why I am here with the Posse? They’re my best friends and we are having fun.”
“I’m asking about Dad, and you know it. Why are you having fun without him?” Again, a long silence. And then Amy said, “He keeps calling me, Mom.”
“That must be annoying. I’ll tell him to stop.”
“I just…what is going on?” she asked pleadingly. “I thought you and Dad were rock solid. Aren’t you? Should I be worried?”
Another long silence. Harrison winced. He shouldn’t be listening to this. He bent down and put on one shoe, then the other.
“Mom?” Amy sounded so young just then.
“We’re not seeing eye to eye, that’s all.”
“Seeing eye to eye about what?”
“Life.”
“But—”
“Your father has a way of not seeing what is right in front of him, and I guess I got a little tired of it.”
“But what is right in front of him?”
“Life, as I said,” Barb answered, sounding impatient.
“His idea of retirement is to sit in his recliner and switch channels all day long. I can’t bear it.
My idea is to get out there and enjoy what time we have left.
You never know how long you’ve got. Remember Susan Trimble?
She thought she had all the time in the world, then got cancer. ”
“Did you talk to him about it?”
“What do you think? Of course I did,” Barb said with a bit of a huff.
“What did he say?”
“What he always says. That he will try and do better. But then he doesn’t do anything.
He says that he worked for a lot of years and would like to relax a little and doesn’t want to go go go all the time.
I never asked him to go go go. I just asked him to get out of that damn chair.
How is it that two people can weather all the trials and tribulations of a lifetime of marriage and raising children and reach this point only to find they are so incompatible? ”
“You’re not incompatible,” Amy said. “You and Dad love the same things.”
“You’ve been putting too much pressure on yourself, Barb.”
Harrison’s brows rose. Carol had entered the chat.
“What pressure?” Amy asked.
“To be a good wife,” Carol said.
“Carol,” Barb said, her voice full of warning. “Amy, honey. Let’s just enjoy our little break from family. I have to say, this has been one of your better ideas.”
If that hadn’t been so wildly offensive given the circumstances, Harrison might have laughed. Her mother seemed to truly not understand how she’d affected this opportunity for Amy. He decided it was time to rescue her. He picked up Duchess and walked the few feet to the mudroom.
Carol, Amy, and Barb were crowded in the small space. “Hello there,” he said to the group. “Are you ready, Amy?”
“Ready?” Barb looked from Harrison to Amy. “Ready for what?”
“We’re going to try the lake taxi,” Amy said.
“Oh?” Barb’s brows rose and she looked again at Amy.