Page 1 of Putting Out
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“Right now she’s eyeing up this very tricky twelve- foot putt to save par. Not that it matters, Judy.”
“Not really, Steve. She’s got a pretty substantial lead on the field, but if I know Reilly, she’s not going to want to bogey the final hole of what’s been a nearly perfect round.”
“Let’s see how she handles her first real tester of the day.”
Reilly turned her head in the direction of the gallery and scowled. Someone had brought a portable TV to see what was happening on the prior seventeen holes. She didn’t begrudge their laziness for parking at one hole rather than walking the course; it was hot out here today. But she didn’t need to listen to the commentators discussing her while she was over the putt.
It was sort of freaking her out.
Still, they were right. She wasn’t going to miss this. She’d made a hash of her iron shot coming into eighteen because she’d been thinking ahead to her plans for that night rather than on her swing. A sixty-three wasn’t a fifty-nine, but it would make a statement to the rest of the field, letting everyone know she was picking up where she’d left off last year.
On top.
Reilly covered the bridge of her baseball cap to shield the California sun that beat down on the green. With the sweat trickling down her neck and the stickiness under her arms, it was easy to forget it was winter back home in Nebraska.
The idea of home hit her like a blast of cool air. A weird feeling shivered through and she thought about Pop and Grams. Neither of whom were getting any younger.
She needed to see them and she would bring Kenny, too.
“Yo, Reilly, what are you doing?”
Her brother’s voice snapped her back into the present.
Focus. Just until this is over.
“I’m lining up the putt. What do you think I’m doing? Come over here and take a look. What do you think?”
Kenny made his way over to where she was still crouched behind the ball.
“Why do you do this to me?”
She shrugged. “You’re my caddy. You’re supposed to help me read putts.”
“That’s funny because in thirteen years you’ve never once taken my direction on a putt.”
“There’s a first time for everything.”
“That’s what Lucy told Charlie,” he mumbled. He leaned over her, his long body parallel to hers as he studied the green.
“Just at the edge of the cup I think it’s going to break a little to your right. I’m sure of it.”
Reilly sighed as she stood up.
“I think it’s going to break left.”
“I hate you.”
Reilly patted her older, albeit not that much wiser, brother on the cheek.
“But don’t you see? By telling me right, I now know left is the best way to go.”
“If there weren’t a hundred people gathered around this green right now along with a couple of television cameras I would seriously pop you.”
“You can’t hit me. I’m a girl.”
“You’re a brat. There are very clear rules about brothers being allowed to hit brats. Now will you sink this thing so we can get out of here?”
