formed my mouth into an expression of empathy: lips pouted, brows pulled together.
He exhaled and putted the ball in, picked it up and walked toward the golf official. It would now be a sudden-death playoff: playing the eighteenth hole again, where the winner of the hole would win the tournament.
As suddenly as it had arrived, the rain stopped and the sky opened up to a wide blue expanse. I lifted my face, pushed my hair back. I crouched under the tape and went to stand with my family. Daddy put an arm around me. “He’ll pull this off now, Kara. You just watch.”
I whispered, “I hope so.”
Sunlight poured through the wet leaves, splintered off the water at the end of the green as though the light itself were wet. After a solid drive, Peyton stood in the fairway of the par-five hole and slammed the ball; it landed just off the green in the low rough—a beautifully executed shot for a possible eagle.
Phil stepped up and attempted the same shot, but his ball landed in the sand trap on the left side of the green. The crowd gasped.
I stepped forward, leaned over the rope. Peyton’s mouth was pinched together, his eyebrows forced down, his jaw set.
He lined up and hit a chip shot. The ball dropped on the green and rolled toward the hole, then stopped five feet short. The crowd seemed to deflate; this was supposed to be the shot to win, the shot on the front page of tomorrow’s sports section. Peyton could still drop his putt for a birdie.
One of two things could happen now: Phil could hit out of the sand and putt for a birdie and another sudden death, or he could hit a miracle shot from the sand trap to the hole—which is exactly what he did. The crowed cheered, not so much for who won, but for how he’d won. Either way, Peyton seemed to shrink, as though each cheer for his rival made him less.
I scooted under the tape, reached Peyton’s side, and stood on my toes and kissed him. I whispered in his ear, “I love you. Good sportsmanship now, they’re watching.”
An uneven smile spread across his face, and he wrapped his arm around me, then walked us both toward the clubhouse, waving and offering thanks to his fans.
When we reached the men’s locker room, Peyton released me, stared at me and opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
“What?” I said.
A news crew lunged toward us, shoved a camera in Peyton’s face. “Peyton—ESPN here, can you give us a statement? What do you think happened out there?”
“They’re watching,” I mumbled as I walked away, headed out to the back patio to watch the interview on the large-screen TV with the crowd. Peyton’s face filled the screen. “It’s a tough loss, but that shot Phil made from the trap was one of the best I’ve ever seen. He deserved to win with a shot like that.”
A voice came from behind me. “I’m sorry—tough break.”
I turned to Jack Sullivan, nodded at him. “Yeah, this stinks. He really wanted to win this one.”
“You do belong here, Kara.” Jack leaned back on his heels. His eyes hid behind sunglasses so I couldn’t see the implications behind the words.
“What?” I stepped back.
“You’ve found your place, you know that. You’ve built a great life for yourself. You’re surrounded by family and friends and people who love you—a lot. This is the life you should have, the life you were made for.”
I nodded.
He touched my cheek, then withdrew his hand. “I’ve got to go help the band . . . see you around.”
“Yeah,” I said, “see you around.”
Jack turned to walk away, but I didn’t watch; I watched the TV screen, where Peyton smiled and answered questions. “They’re watching,” I said to the TV, to Peyton. “They’re watching.”
The room thrummed with the beat of the guitar and drums, to Jimmy’s baritone voice. Tables were spread in an oval with a dance floor in the middle. Palm fronds stood in vases with sand and starfish spread around the center of each table. Twinkling lights spread at even quarter-inch intervals on potted palm trees flickered around the room. I’d picked out the exact same trees for my wedding reception, and I loved how they looked in the urns.
I walked from table to table greeting players, their wives and guests. I checked every last detail, including who received the vegetarian plate. Jimmy finished his song to loud applause. He