Page 28 of Sweet Spot
“How’s school? Busy schedule this semester?”
I give her a quick summary of my classes and then tell her about golf. I play down my disappointment in not being with Abby and the others at the tournament this weekend and give her my standard cheerful line, “I’ll just keep putting in the work until I get my spot back.”
“You will. I know you will,” she says.
“How’s everything else? Any boyfriends I should know about? Or girlfriends,” she adds quickly.
I snort. “No, Mom. No boyfriends or girlfriends.”
“Well, you’ll find someone.”
“I’m not worried.”
“When I was your age, I was already married. Not that I’m rushing you.”
I snort again and stop myself from pointing out the obvious—that it ended in divorce, but her thoughts must drift there anyway. “How’s your dad?”
“Stubborn.” I check the time. “Speaking of, I need to run so I can take him to the doctor.”
“All right, honey. Call me if you need anything.”
“I will.” I pause before saying goodbye. “I miss you.”
“You too, baby.”
Dad’s waiting on the curb when I pull up outside his house.
“You’re late.” Sweat beads on his forehead.
“I’m right on time. Your clocks are fast. I keep telling you that.”
“If you aren’t five minutes early, you’re late.”
“I don’t think that counts for doctor’s offices since they’re going to make us wait at least fifteen minutes.”
I get him in the passenger seat and drive over to the hospital.
“Wait here, and I’ll grab a wheelchair to take you in.”
“I don’t need a wheelchair.” He opens his door and swings his good leg out.
I hurry to help and bite down on my molars. Five very long and very exhausting minutes later, the sliding doors open and the air conditioning blasts my sweaty body. “We made it,” I say breathlessly.
My dad’s leaning on me, and my shoulder aches from the pressure, but he seems completely oblivious to my exertion. Damn, stubborn man.
“Mr. Brooks.” One of the nurses rolls a wheelchair in front of us, shoots me a sympathetic smile, and then bats her eyelashes at my dad. He grins at her and lowers himself into the chair without complaint, and I try not to roll my eyes as I go to the reception and sign him in.
When I take a seat beside him in the waiting room, he finally looks more at ease. Depending on me and not being able to get around like he used to is harder for him than it is for me, and I feel guilty for all the frustration I felt. “I’m sorry I was late.”
His mouth twists into a half smile that says bullshit. “You’re a good kid. I know you have better things to do than cart your old man around. Hopefully this is the last appointment you need to drive me to.”
“Optimism . . . I dig it.” I raise my fist for him to bump, but he just stares at me confused.
He grabs my hand and squeezes tenderly. “Love ya, sweet pea.”
* * *
Since Coach Potter is with the team travelling to the tournament, it’s a pleasant afternoon at the golf course. We divide into two groups and play eighteen holes and then work on some individual drills.
