Page 123 of Summer Ever After
Not themostimportant person.
But part of me hopes she’ll watch on TV back home.
Jane
Pelting rain stabs me as I run from my golf cart back inside the city building. Once indoors, I push the hood of my rain jacket off my head.
Mayor Barnes whistles, looking past me out to the road. “This storm is a doozy!”
“Let’s just hope it hits the island as a tropical storm, not a hurricane.” A worried look pinches Betsy’s brows.
I shake the excess water off my coat as I talk. “I heard on the news that it’s already weakening, so we’ll probably be okay.”
“I just worry about you. All alone in that big house.” Betsy moves her pinched expression to me. “Are you sure you don’t want to come ride out the storm with us?”
“I’ve lived on this island my whole life. Hurricane season is nothing new. I’ll be fine.”
“Do you have enough food? Batteries? Flashlights?” Mayor Barnes asks.
“Yes.”
“And you pulled your boat out of the water?”
“Yes.” I smile, trying to reassure them. “I promise I’m all set. I sent out the city evacuation plan to all residents, and there are extra sandbags by the nature park in case we need them for flooding.”
“Jane”—Mayor Barnes shakes his head in awe—“I know I say it all the time, but I really don’t know what this island would do without you.”
I give the same answer I always do. “You’ll never have to find out.” I take a step, putting my hood back on. “You’ll lock up the city building?”
“We’re right behind you.”
“Okay, be safe.” I wave before stepping out into the storm.
I run to my golf cart and lift up the cart all-weather tarp, ducking inside where it’s dry.
My plans are to go home and hunker down in my house until the storm passes. I might take a bath and read a book.
You know, things you do when you’re all alone.
Completely alone.
The one thing I’m not going to do is turn on the television for round one of the British Open.
I don’t need to rip my heart to shreds like that.
It already hurts enough.
Walker
I just finishedmy last putt of the day on Friday afternoon in round two of the British Open.
Mick and I agreed I should use my seven-iron to chip the ball to the green. It was a nice recovery shot that landed seven feet from the pin to save par. I needed a birdie on this hole to stay in a three-way tie for first place. But the fact that I’m even remotely close to first place is incredible. I wasn’t sure I’d make the cut, so I’m fine to end the first two rounds tied for second.
After the interviews, I gather my stuff from the locker room and head back to the hotel.
As soon as I walk into my suite, the mood shifts to something tense. My mom is on the phone, and Stan leans in close, as if he’s trying to listen too.
“I’m just glad everyone is okay and safe. Tell Grandma Deedee I love her, and tell Heath thanks for checking on our house. Okay, I will. Thanks for calling. Love you. Stay safe.”
