Page 60 of Putting Out
“Why?”
“Why?” Reilly asked, her voice a few octaves higher than normal. “Because you’re my caddy.”
“How does that help you train for this? I can’t do the sit-ups for you.”
“You push me when I stop. You mock me when I fail, so I don’t fail again. Jesus, Kenny. I can’t do this by myself. You’re my goddamn partner.”
“Odie is taking care of your technique. Pierce is handling the physical stuff. Luke can help you with the strategy.”
Reilly’s eyes narrowed. “Where is this coming from?”
“Erica wants me to come see her.”
“Erica wants…” Reilly let her voice trail off. “I’m preparing for the biggest event of my life and you want to fly off for a booty call!”
Kenny put his finger to his mouth and pointed to the back bedroom where Grams was recovering from the earlier excitement.
“It’s not that. It occurred to me there are times I hang around when I’m not necessarily needed. You think every caddy on tour trains with his golfer? No way.”
Reilly climbed a few steps and sat next to him. Sitting where they were it was hard not to think of how often they had done this as kids. Every Christmas morning, certainly, when they would wait for Pop to go downstairs and light the tree and then report back on how generous Santa had been.
This house, her grandparents and most definitely her brother were the best part of every memory she had growing up. It was easy to take for granted she and Kenny would share a life even as adults. For her, golfing was a family business.
Now it seemed he wanted out. The idea appalled her.
“Kenny, what’s this really about? You wanted me to play in this tournament.”
“I still do. I want to be there for you. But did you ever think maybe I spend a little too much living your life and not enough living my own? You did the work when you were twelve. You took your game to the next level. Now you have to go out there every week and hit the ball and sink the putts and make the money.”
“Part of what helps me do that is having you there. You do your work, which helps me do mine.”
“I don’t even read the putts, Reilly. I haul around golf clubs for a living. Sometimes I hold an umbrella over your head. I’m not blaming you. That’s not what this is about. It’s just lately I’ve been wondering what the hell I’m doing with my life. I let it all go. I goofed around in college and relied on my talent to make the team. I never put the work in to take my game to another level. Never buckled down enough to try and really get my PGA card.”
“Is that what you want? To go on tour?”
“No. Which is part of my problem, too. I always knew if I put the time you put into the game I would end up hating it. It was just a game to me. Not the passion like it is for you and Pop.”
“Okay. Maybe it’s being my caddy. Maybe after all these years you’re finally getting sick of your baby sister.”
“You know that’s not true,” Kenny sighed. “We’re friends. You’re moderately tolerable as a boss.”
“Because you don’t listen to anything I say.”
He half smiled. “Absolutely. I’m older. I guess…I don’t know what I’m saying. Maybe it’s a midlife thing.”
Reilly scowled at him. “You’re not forty yet.”
“It goes fast. You think you have all the time in the world to do what you want and suddenly —poof. She’s gone.”
“She? She, meaning Erica? You said she wanted you to come and see her, although I think her asking when she knows I need you here is obnoxious. I plan to tell her that, too.”
Kenny shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. You really want me to go to Savannah with you?”
“Yep.”
“Okay. I’ll go pack and then I’ll help with the equipment. Is any of that tech-nah-logy working?”
Reilly shrugged. “I don’t know. Odie won’t let me hit a ball yet. He doesn’t want me to be discouraged.”
