Page 59 of Summer Ever After
“Hey, buddy.” I ruffle his hair.
His big eyes look up at me. “Are you here to play golf with me?”
“You bet.” I smile, surprised by how much I want that too.
I’ve never really pictured myself as the dad type. I guess I just figured since I didn’t have a dad all through my teenyears, I didn’t really know how to do it. But with Jack staring up at me, a flood of memories of my own father takes over my thoughts.
We never golfed together—I wish more than anything that I could’ve shared that with him—but we did play catch, go fishing, go surfing, and had late-night basketball games under the spotlights in our driveway.
It’s unfair of me to push out those memories and tell myself I didn’t really have a dad. Because I did, and he was great—probably why it hurt so much when he died. Right now, it feels like the best way to honor him is to be like him. Do what he would do if he were still here.
I bend down, grab Jack by the waist, and flip him up over my body so he’s facing the other direction, his bony butt sitting on the edge of my shoulder.
“Let’s go see what you got, kid.” I kick the front door shut and carry Jack through the house as he squeals with delight.
Tala pops her head out of the kitchen. I can’t say I blame her for the look of confusion on her face. I don’t recognize myself either. I went from never caring about her children to playing with themtwice…in one week. Life is weird.
“Should you be carrying him like that after your back surgery?”
I toss her a smile as I continue to the back door. “We’ll be golfing in the backyard if you need us.” I push the screen door open, hearing her last words before it slams shut.
“Movie starts in an hour!”
I place Jack back on the ground, glancing around. “Where’s the golf club and the bucket of balls?”
“They’re in the garage.” He takes off running, and within thirty seconds, he’s back with everything we used on Sunday, including an orange cone that we tipped on its side to be ourhole. Pete wouldn’t mind if I took him next door to putt on his green with a real hole, but this will work for now while I’m still teaching Jack the basics, and then next week, maybe I can take him to the Belacourt driving range and teach him how to hit the ball far.
Wait.
Am I still going to be here next week? The plan was to stay only as long as it took Pete to help me improve my golf game. But if Pete says my problems are all in my head, why am I still in Sunset Harbor?
The answer is simple.
I’m here for Jane.
NotforJane, but for the golf fundraiser I promised her I’d do. And if I’m honest, part of me kind of wants to stay for Jane too. It’s stupid, I know. Half the time, she’s running away from me, but maybe it’s the running that makes her so fun to chase.
Jack sets up the cone just like we had it the other night, then skips back to me with his club.
“Alright, let’s see how many balls you can get into the cone.” I place the first one in front of him. “Do you remember what to do?”
“Feet apart. Line up with the ball.” His little hands grip the club, interlacing his pinkies. He holds it up to me for a check-off. “Like this?”
“You’re a pro.”
“I’m going to hit a hole-in-one.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me, buddy.”
He pulls back, but the result is a swing and a miss.
“It happens.” I laugh as he dramatically face-palms himself.
“I got it this time.” He repositions, swings, and connects, but the ball goes way left of the target. He turns to me with agiant smile—not the reaction I was expecting. “Look how far that one went!”
“You must have some big muscles.”
I drop another ball in front of him. This one ends up five feet short of the cone.
