and bordered by majestic ancient cedars, the golf course looked green and bright enough to hurt the eyes. And in that moment, it hit him. This was a chance to get back in the game.
“Damn, Red.” Throwing off his doubts, Sean grinned until his face ached. Finally. Sure, Maura would tell him it wasn’t practical to go chasing after a game, and Derek would warn him he wasn’t ready, but Sean didn’t care. This was the break he’d been waiting and hoping for. Another chance at the sport he loved. He’d arrived in the States too late to compete in Q School, in which golfers earned—or requalified for—their PGA card, and he’d resigned himself to waiting another year to go through the process. But Red was one of the best in the business, and he was putting Sean on the fast track.
“Damn is right. I’m having Gail messenger the contracts over, and I’ll call you tomorrow with all the details.”
Sean was still grinning when the clubhouse door opened and shut.
“What’s funny?” asked Greg Duncan, the high school golf coach.
“Did you know there’s a way to make up your porn-star name?” Sean didn’t want to say anything to Duncan about his news. It would seem too much like gloating. Greg Duncan was a damned fine golfer who wanted his PGA card with a hunger that was palpable. He’d competed in Q School a few times but never advanced past sectional competitions. The guy needed a break, but that was golf for you. A heartless game, like Red always said.
“Uncle Sean?” Stomping his muddy shoes on the bristled mat, his nephew, Cameron, called to him from the doorway. “Hey, Coach.”
“Hey, Cameron.” Greg Duncan dropped his spikes in his locker and slammed it shut. “I’m out of here. See you Sunday, okay?” Without waiting for a reply, he headed for the parking lot.
Cameron Holloway bore an almost eerie resemblance to Derek. He had the same sandy-colored hair and intense eyes, the same lanky frame that moved with surprising grace, the same startling talent at swinging a club. He was the best thing that had happened to the local golf team in years. And from the looks of him—cheeks reddened by the wind, hair damp, shoes muddy—he’d been out practicing.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“Um, my mom was supposed to pick me up a half hour ago, but I guess she forgot.” He looked sullen as he said it. “She forgets everything lately.”
Sean bore no love for his former sister-in-law, who had taken Derek to the cleaners and back in the divorce, but it didn’t seem right to let Cameron badmouth her. “She probably got delayed in the rain,” he suggested. There were a lot of things Sean envied about Derek, but he sure as hell didn’t envy his brother’s crazy-ass ex-wife. Crystal was enough to drive anyone bonkers.
“Naw, she just forgot, and she’s not answering her cell phone. Neither is my Dad.”
Sean dug in his pocket for his keys. “I’ll give you a lift.”
“Thanks.”
“Meet me in the parking lot.” Sean told Duffy, the greenskeeper, that he was taking off and went out to his truck. Cameron was loading in his clubs, a set of Callaways with graphite shafts, which were better quality clubs than some of the well-heeled doctors at Echo Ridge played. The clubs were hand-me-downs from Derek, who got a new set every year from his sponsor.
Sean reminded himself that his brother had earned his success, stroke by stroke, tournament by tournament. He deserved every perk that came his way. And Sean…well, he got what he deserved, too.
As they pulled out of the parking lot and headed down the steep, winding road, he said, “Why don’t you call your mom, tell her you got a ride home with me so she doesn’t come looking for you.”
Cameron took out his phone and thumbed in the number. “She still won’t answer.”
“Just tell her voice mail.”
There was a silence, then Cameron said, “It’s me. You were late picking me up, so Uncle Sean is giving me a ride home. See you.”
Sean glanced sideways at him. “That tone was borderline rude.”
“It’s over-the-border rude to leave me stranded.”
“I’m sure there’s an explanation.”
“There’s always an explanation.”
“You shouldn’t be rude to your mother.”
“What do you care?”
Sean ignored the question and turned on the radio. Nickel Creek was playing “Angels Everywhere.” He tried to remember if, at fifteen, he’d been so angry all the time. He was pretty sure he hadn’t. Then again, he’d had nothing to be angry about. He’d been a happy-go-lucky kid, obsessed with golf and girls, in that order. All these years later, a hell of a lot had changed. Maybe he ought to be angry right along with his nephew. But he still had golf and girls on his mind.
“Did you play a round this afternoon?” he asked by way of making conversation.
“Nope. I hit three buckets of balls and practiced chip shots. There’s a tournament this weekend against Portland Prep.”
“So how’s your game?”
“Fine.”
“Just fine?”
“Good enough to win this weekend.” He spoke with confidence, not vanity.
“That’s good, then.”
“I guess.”
Sean wondered why the boy didn’t show a little more enthusiasm, but he figured it wasn’t his business to ask.
As he turned into the tree-shaded, manicured subdivision where Crystal lived, it occurred to him that he’d never been to the house on Candlewood Street. While he was married, Derek had lived here for years, but Sean had never visited the house his brother had shared with his beauty-queen wife. Sean had been overseas, playing on the Asian Tour, and hadn’t come back to the States until circumstances forced him to.
He knew the house, though. It was the biggest and oldest in Saddlebrook Acres, an area of large, elegant houses built in the era of the timber barons. When he and Derek were kids, they used to ride their bikes past this very house, admiring the vast lawn and the gleaming white cupola, the wraparound porch.
“Someday I’m going to live there” became the boyhood vow. Yet oddly, the vow had come from Sean, not Derek. It was a place of permanence and splendor, the sort of place a person could imagine spending a whole life. But somewhere along the way, he’d set that dream aside, finding a far different sort of life as a professional golfer. And somehow, Derek had appropriated the dream Sean had come to see as an impossibility.
For a long time, Sean’s half brother made it all come together—the career, the family, the house, everything. From Sean’s perspective, it all seemed to work like a charm. He couldn’t believe Derek had managed to blow it. You’d think, with all of this at stake, Derek could have kept his pecker in his pants at that tournament in Monte Carlo. But, Sean supposed, that was Derek’s business. Judging by the way she’d cleaned him out in the divorce settlement, Crystal Baird Holloway was no picnic to live with. Still…
Sean flicked a sideways glance at Cameron. He was a good enough kid even as he navigated the rocky shoals of his parents’ split. Sure, he had an attitude these days, but who wouldn’t, being shuffled back and forth between houses on alternate weeks. It was the one issue in the divorce agreement on which Derek would not budge. He wanted his kids fifty percent of the time, and his lawyer, whose fees made even Derek shudder, secured joint custody.
“So how’s school?” he asked Cameron, trying to shorten the gap of silence between them.
“Okay, I guess.”
Sean grinned over the arch of the steering wheel. “Bad question. I ought to know better than to ask how school’s going.”
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