Page 23 of Summer Ever After
She points at me. “I think you’re scared of failing.”
Not making the cut at a tournament is the surest sign of failure.
“It’s like you believe if you fail at golf, you’ll have nothing left in life.”
My stomach coils, but I cloak it perfectly with another stunning smile. “Aw, that’s not true. I’ll always have you.”
My joke falls on deaf ears.
“Do you really want the sum of your life to come down to how well you played a game?”
No, but that’s how things are shaking out.
I glance across the lawn, avoiding her gaze. I’m not saying anything that incriminates me. I never do.
This is how my relationship with Grandma Deedee goes. She prods and presses, always trying to get me to open up, but I avoid it. It’s easier to mask how I feel than to face it head-on. Instead, I channel everything into being the best golfer I can be. My talent is all I have.
She huffs at my silence. “Walker, face what’s left of your golf career or build your happiness on something else, but don’t hide. Your mother raised you better than that.”
I finally glance in her direction, covering my mouth with another smile. “And you wonder why I don’t come visit you more.”
“Yes, let’s discuss why you don’t visit me.” The seriousness in her eyes melts to something softer, easing the tightness squeezing my core. “Am I not good enough company?”
My grin widens as I tease. “You’re alright.”
“I’m more than alright. I’m a goldmine for gossip. Try me.”
“There’s nothing about Seaside Oasis I want to know.”
“That’s ridiculous.” She waves my disinterest away. “Let’s start with the juiciest piece of information. Marge Wentworth was seen coming out of Les Erikson’s room the other night at 10:24 p.m.” She wags her brows up and down.
“Maybe they were just talking.”
“That late at night?” she scoffs. “Don’t kid yourself.” A knock at the door inside makes her jump to her feet. “Oh, I forgot about my physical therapy.”
“Physical therapy? Are you okay?”
“My heart has never felt better.” She slides the patio screen open.
“I’ll let you go so you can focus on your therapy.” I begin to stand.
“Stay put!” She waves me back down. “It’s just five or so minutes. I’ll be right back.”
I run my hands down my thighs as I take my seat again. I’m glad we’re over the part of the conversation where she grills me. Maybe now I can relax.
My eyes drift around, taking in the green grass, the blue water, the boat marina where Stan’s boat waits in a slip for me to pick it up, and…Jane? I lean forward, suddenly interested in everything happening at Dax Miller’s shop thirty yards away.
Dax sits on the back of a boat, his head leaning over the open sundeck. He’s working on something with the engine, but it’s Jane I’m fascinated by. She hides around the corner of his shop, staring at a pink paper as if memorizing it. She folds it and puts it in her cross-shoulder purse, bringing out a tube of lipstick and smearing it over her lips. Even from here, the vibrant red stands out—a different look than the pale pink she wore last night.
She flips her long, brown hair over to one side—likewayover—and pulls her shoulders back as she emerges from herhiding spot. Even her walk toward Dax has a different feel from her behavior last night.
My lips spread into a smile. “What are you up to, Jane?”
She struts her stuff until she’s beside the boat where Dax works. Her face lights up as she works to get his attention. Dax glances at her with furrowed brows, then buries his head back in the engine. The way she sticks her hip out and twirls the end of her hair gives me the impression this conversation has nothing to do with work. She says a few more things as she points at him, then lifts her sleeve, pointing at her own arm.
Man, I’d give anything to hear what she’s saying. I have the feeling it’s something good.
Dax barely answers. He’s knee-deep in engine repairs, and nothing Jane does seems like it will change that.
