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10

ERIC

By the ninth hole, Daniel’s lost four balls, Tom’s driven one into the pond, and I’ve stopped keeping score. None of us like golf, though the Crestwood makes that hard to admit. The course winds through acres of perfect grass and old trees, with views across the shoreline from the higher holes. Members wait years to get in, then pay a fortune to spend their weekends pretending this is relaxing.

I could’ve invited my brothers to lunch, but they’d have spent the whole meal waiting for me to explain what I wanted. Golf gives me more time, plenty of space, and easy access to alcohol. I’m hoping a few drinks will put them in a good mood before I bring up the real reason we’re here.

The women driving the two drinks carts are helping with that. Both have stopped by so often that we’ve seen more of them than the group behind us. The brunette seems especially keen to keep Daniel happy. Each time she offers him another beer, he says yes. He’s already on his third.

Tom started with beer and has moved on to something with rum, crushed ice, and enough fruit to count as lunch. The drinks are going down well. My claim that I just wanted to play golf isn’t.

“This is the most effort anyone’s ever made to avoid a conversation,” Tom says as I send another ball into the rough.

“I’m not avoiding it. I’m working up to it.”

“So there is something.”

“I never said there wasn’t.”

“You said you wanted to play golf.”

Before I can answer, Daniel takes his shot. His ball hits a tree with a sharp crack, shoots sideways, and vanishes into the bushes.

“Excellent shot,” I tell him.

“Piss off.”

Tom rests both hands on his club.

“Are you going to tell us why we’re here, or do we have to play another nine holes first?”

I let out a breath. I’d hoped to wait until we were closer to the clubhouse, but I might as well get it over with.

“I’ve arranged lunch at my house in two weeks.”

Tom gives me a blank look. “We played nine holes for that?”

“With the whole family,” I add.

“We are the whole family,” Daniel says.

“I invited the McLeods.”

“There it is.” Tom lowers his club.

Daniel gives a short, flat laugh. “Good luck with that,” he says.

“You’re coming.”

“I’m not.”

“I’ll come,” Tom says.

Daniel turns to stare at him.

Tom shrugs. “Lunch with Mom, the man she left us for, the brother we barely know, and Ava? I’d pay to watch that.”

“That’s not helping,” I tell him.