he had a different perspective and a new way of listening to himself. Somehow, understanding the things that really mattered eased the pressure to perform, and the game he played was wholly his own, not influenced by expectations or advice from outside.
Sean worried about the kids, about money, about the future, all the time. But when he was on the golf course with his niece, everything fell away, everything but a little girl and the game.
On Friday afternoon, he saw Cameron dressed like a convict and hard at work on the pond. All three boys were supposed to be working off the expense of fixing the green, but the others were nowhere to be seen. Sean still hadn’t figured out what demons had possessed Cameron and made him vandalize the golf course that had meant so much to his father. Or perhaps, he reflected, that was precisely the point.
At any rate, rebuilding the things he’d ruined seemed a reasonable occupation for him. Since the vandalism episode, the kid had kept his nose clean. Or so it seemed. If he was still screwing around, it didn’t show.
“Cam,” Ashley called out, waving both hands at him.
He wasn’t alone. That girl was with him…Becca? No, Becky—in muddy gloves and gardening clogs, her ponytail pulled through the back of a baseball cap. They were putting in a large bed of impatiens.
She hadn’t been involved in the vandalism, but she didn’t seem to mind helping Cameron with his community service.
“Hi, Ashley,” she said, smiling broadly. “Hi, Mr. Maguire.”
“Hey, Becky.” Sean could tell they were both surprised he remembered her name.
“Be really quiet,” Cameron instructed them in a whisper. “I need to show you something.”
He took Ashley out of her seat and carried her down the bank to the edge of the pond. “We’ve been watching them all afternoon,” he said. “They just hatched.”
A female mallard glided out of the reeds, followed by a line of eight tiny brown-and-yellow ducklings.
Cameron set his sister down at the edge of the pond and she chuckled with delight. “Want ducks.”
“We have to leave them alone,” Cameron told her, “so they’ll feel safe.”
“Want ducks.”
He kept hold of her hand and they stood together on the bank, just watching while the breeze tossed their hair. The image struck at Sean. They looked so vulnerable, just the two of them linked by her hand in his. Sean was seized by a now-familiar feeling. How will I do this? How will I protect them? He was all that stood between these kids and disaster. Unlike most families, there were no spare parents or stepparents or blood relatives to fall back on. He was it. He hoped like hell that was enough.
He felt Becky watching him and they shared a strange moment. They didn’t exchange a word, but he had the impression she knew exactly what was on his mind.
Eventually, Sean lured Ashley back to the cart with the promise of a cracker. He wondered if Cameron was really doing better or if he was just getting better at acting normal. Since the vandalism incident, he seemed less angry and troubled. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking on Sean’s part.
He decided not to argue with fate when things were going all right.
“Come on, caddie,” he said. “Let’s go post this score. I think it might be a club record.”
Actually, he knew it was. If he brought in a superb score like this in tournament play, he would be the recordholder. And the score he’d just beat was his brother’s.
He wouldn’t turn in the card, because he’d played alone. Because of what had happened in Asia, his scorecards were suspect. And honestly, it didn’t matter. He’d spent the day with one of his favorite people—his niece—and had played a great round.
Finally, he trusted the new development enough to talk about it. That evening, he found Maura on the living room sofa with bound printouts and textbooks surrounding her like a fortress. With one look, he could tell she’d had a rough week. She had that too-much-indoors pallor, the droopy posture, the distracted air about her.
“What do you mean, you turned a corner in your game?” she asked after he explained how his week had gone.
“He means he’s reaching the next level,” said Charlie, looking up from the puzzle she was putting together. If golf were schoolwork, she’d be a straight-A student. She had applied herself to learning the game like the most dedicated scholar. Then she turned her attention back to SpongeBob on the