Page 77 of All Bets Are Off

“But?” I prodded.

“But I’m terrible. Something tells me, when Edgar has to watch me hit the ball fifteen fricking times each hole, he’s going to get over those rules he’s so desperate to cling to.”

“Ah.” I nodded in understanding. “Yes, that makes sense.”

She patted my cheek. “Let the games begin.”

I leaned in for a quick kiss. “Don’t get too close to him. Once you miss six putts in a row, he’s going to want to club you to death with his wedge. Then I’ll have to kill him if he hits you. It will turn into a whole big thing.”

She laughed, as I’d intended. “I’m faster than I look.”

“Then have at it.”

“Just watch and learn.”

WE BEAT THE HARTS. IT SHOULDN’T HAVEbeen possible—Olivia really was bad—but she was so bad that Edgar started drinking. He was tipsy by the eighth hole and hammered by the twelfth. Then he was passed out by the sixteenth hole, which meant we automatically won.

“In your face,” Olivia taunted as Miriam followed the country club workers carrying her husband to the private lounge one floor below. She was smiling so widely when she turned to me I was convinced somebody had turned on the sun after twenty years of shadows. “What?” she asked when I didn’t say anything. “Was that too much?”

“That was way too much,” I assured her. “I liked it, though.” I leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “How does it feel to be a winner?”

“I don’t think I’ll really feel like a winner until I have my trophy.”

“Really?” I choked on a laugh. “You know we were still dead last of everybody who finished, right?”

“But we were ahead of that guy.” She pointed in the direction they’d disappeared with Edgar.

“I guess that’s worth a trophy.” I slid my arm around her shoulders. “I’m probably going to have to be the one who buys you that trophy, but I bet I can arrange it.”

“Think rhinestones,” she effervesced, holding up her hands and pushing them outward.

“I’ll get right on that.” I opened my mouth to direct her toward the lady’s locker room, but my words were cut off when my mother appeared. “Hey.” I straightened. I wasn’t drunk or anything—alcohol had been unnecessary because I was high on life these days—but I still felt as if my mother was judging me from afar.

“Hello.” Mom immediately put her hand on my arm, then smiled at Olivia. “I’m sorry to interrupt.”

“It’s fine,” Olivia replied. “We weren’t doing anything important. Did you hear we didn’t finish last, though?”

Mom looked confused by the question. “I didn’t but … okay.” She smiled in a way that made me realize she was actually trying. She might never get Olivia’s sense of humor—that was okay, because I did—but she really was trying. I appreciated it. She was also worried, and that didn’t sit right with me.

“What’s going on?” I asked. “Is something wrong?”

“Do you need help with something?” Olivia volunteered. “I still have to change for the party, but I can totally help light candles on the tables or whatever.”

A puzzled look washed over Mom’s face. “That’s what the banquet center employees do.”

“Right.” Olivia’s cheeks turned red. “Of course.”

There it was again, the privilege I was so nonchalant about. Of course a party in Olivia’s world wouldn’t include employees lighting candles. In our world, it was seemingly obscene to suggest we do it ourselves. In Olivia’s world, though, it wasn’t even a consideration that somebody else would do it.

“Mom, what do you need?” I asked in a low voice. Suddenly, this was the last place I wanted to be. I wouldn’t abandon my mother, though.

“Your father is in the men’s locker room,” she replied in a low voice. “He’s … disturbed.”

“Like … he’s seeing things that aren’t there in anAmerican Psychosituation disturbed?” Olivia asked innocently.

Under different circumstances, I would’ve laughed. I knew what my mother was referring to, though. “How bad did he lose by?”

“Two strokes.” Mom looked momentarily angry.

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