of comfort.
And this woman was going to be their new stepmother? The air pressure felt different after she left. Lily shivered again, then composed her face before turning to Cameron. “How are you doing?”
“How am I supposed to be doing?” His voice was edged by annoyance.
“You think I have the answer to that?” Then she caught herself. “Look, I’m sorry. The last thing we need is to fuss at each other.”
“Nobody says ‘fuss’ anymore.”
“I do. I’m a third-grade teacher, remember? I fuss at people all day.”
He almost smiled. Then he flung himself on the living room sofa, draping it with loose limbs. “This sucks,” he said.
She sat down next to him. “Yes,” she said, “it does suck.”
“It sucks hind tit,” he added.
“Yes, it sucks…what you said.” She bopped him on the head with a pillow.
He gave a small, desperate chuckle. “You’d never make a golfer. You’re too uncomfortable with the language.”
He picked up the remote and switched on Conan O’Brien. “I’m going to kill them as soon as they get home.”
“Good plan,” said Lily.
chapter 13
Saturday
4:45 a.m.
Sean was thinking up ways to commit fratricide as he drove along the deserted, unlit roads of western Oregon. And ex-in-law-icide, too, whether or not it had a name. What were they thinking, ditching their kids like this?
They weren’t thinking of the kids, that was for sure. They were thinking of themselves. That was Derek’s specialty.
And it usually worked for him. By looking out for Number One, he had kept himself at the top of his game. He had never been a beloved player. He was no John Daly, no Craig Stadler. But he was definitely respected and admired. Respected for his ability to focus on winning and getting ahead, and admired for his sheer athletic talent.
Sean was one of the few who knew where that talent came from, and it wasn’t exactly a gift from heaven. It came from hitting a thousand balls in a single practice session. Or from putting until your kidneys ached from bending. Or practicing chip shots and pitches until the club face wore out. Like the most successful players in the game, he knew better than to rely on luck and talent.
Ah, but those could take you far, Sean thought, reflecting on his own checkered career. He’d milked both luck and talent for all they were worth, but ultimately he’d walked away from the hard work involved. Now, of course, he was paying the price. But at least he hadn’t been taken to the cleaners in some screwed-up divorce.
Sean eased up on the gas pedal as he took a curve in the road. The headlights pierced through wisps of fog shrouding the low spots in the landscape. The phone call from Red about the upcoming tournament didn’t even seem real anymore. If it was real, Sean would be home asleep right now. He’d get up early and practice, thinking of nothing but his game. Now the opportunity was as far from his mind as an unremembered dream.
He picked up the thermos and lifted it to his lips. There was only one swallow of coffee left, and it was cold. The clock in the dashboard read 4:58. He blinked, and the rectangular blue-green numbers blurred, then came back into focus, changing to 4:59.
In the headlights, a huge shape flashed, inches from the front bumper.
Sean swerved, the truck nearly clipping the guardrail. The tires whined sideways on the wet pavement as he dialed the steering wheel with both hands. The motion spun him in a complete one-eighty-degree turn, and he didn’t stop. Like a carnival bumper car, the truck spun out, careening toward the rail again, slinging him close enough to see its rotted-out posts. Below the edge of the roadway, the rocky cliff formed a sheer drop into the sea.
He braced himself against the dash, his feet now pumping the brakes. He heard the sound of breaking glass and gritted his teeth, expecting a bone-crushing impact. Seconds later, he realized it was the thermos being flung to the floor with hurricane force, the glass lining shattering on impact.
The truck groaned to a stop, shuddering like an exhausted animal.
Very slowly, he turned his head and looked out the side window, half expecting to find himself hanging off a cliff.
He wasn’t hanging. The left side of the truck hugged the guardrail.
In the rearview mirror, bathed in the red glow of brake lights, a full-grown buck paused, then loped up the bank beside the road and disappeared.
“Damn,” Sean said, breathing hard. He was