Page 90 of Sweet Spot
“You didn’t need to do this but thank you. It smells delicious.”
Milly doesn’t linger in the dining room while I eat, which makes me insanely grateful. I don’t really feel like talking or thinking about anything except golf. I cried ugly tears last night in front of this woman, letting all my fears about golf, Lincoln, life pour out of my eyeballs.
I eat slowly and manage to finish everything Milly puts in front of me. Now I’m ready, I tell myself ignoring the way my hands tremble as I carry my dirty dishes into the kitchen.
“The rain stopped early this morning, and it promises to be a beautiful day.” She takes the plate and glass from me and hands me a brown paper bag. “Take this with you for later.”
I look inside to see a banana, a sandwich that looks like it might be peanut butter and jelly, and a Gatorade. I reach out with one arm and wrap it around her neck, surprising us both with how tightly I hug her. When I pull back, there are tears in my eyes. “Thank you.”
“I know that there’s no talking you out of playing today, but listen to your body. There’s no shame in taking care of yourself. There will be more tournaments. Your time is coming. I can feel it.”
“I will,” I promise.
“Let me grab my keys, and I’ll drive you.”
“No need, Uber’s on the way.”
She nods. “Good luck.”
Once I’m in the back of the Uber and headed to the hotel, I call my mom.
“Honey, I’m so glad you called. I wasn’t sure how long to wait before I worried. You sounded so tired last night. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I am.” I close my eyes and lean my head against the headrest. “I had a good night’s sleep and a good breakfast. I’m going to try to play today.”
I wait for her to chastise me or tell me that isn’t a good idea, but she laughs lightly and says, “Of course you are. I wish I were there to see you. Bart and I’ll be there at the Open though. He’s already memorizing the course and checking out the local restaurants.”
“You’re coming?”
“Yeah, your coach sent us all the details, booked us flights and hotels. Your dad, too. Honestly, honey, I didn’t know how much you wanted us there, but he said it would make you happy if we were there to cheer you on.”
“He did?” I’m confused as to why Coach Potter would call her and make these plans, but then I realize she’s talking about Lincoln. “When?”
“Last week.”
My heart clenches at the thought of him going to all that trouble for me because he was so certain I was going to make it.
What if I don’t? I keep the question inside for fear that voicing them will somehow make it more likely.
“I can’t believe you’re really coming.”
“Of course. Don’t sound so surprised.”
I nod and wipe a tear away. I’m a freaking faucet lately. “I know it’s hard to get away. You have work and lives.”
“I have some vacation time saved up, and I can’t think of a better way to spend it than watching my baby go after her dreams. Also, I googled the event and I saw that sometimes celebrities attend. Maybe I can trade in Bart for a Ben Affleck look-alike.”
We both laugh, and the weight I’m carrying lifts a little.
“I’m so proud of you, Keira. And I miss you. I don’t know when you got so big on me.”
I hear a page for a doctor in the background and can picture her walking the halls of the hospital in her scrubs. I used to love to curl up beside her on the couch when she’d get home from working late shifts. “Listen, honey, I have to go, but good luck today and call me when you can, okay?”
“I will. Thanks, Mom.”
At the hotel, I shower and dress for the day and then head to the course. It’s still early, but many of the players in the first tee time groups are already warming up. I stretch first, not even touching my clubs for the first fifteen minutes.
I avoid the questions about how I’m feeling and the sad looks from people who are already discounting my ability to play today. Their doubt wears at me, nicking away my confidence one sad glance and soft, condescending word of encouragement at a time.
