Page 111 of Putting Out
That morningReilly woke up and knew Luke’s words about it still being there were true. She turned her head toward the French doors and saw the rain falling softly outside. Just like he’d promised.
She reached out to see if his side of the bed was still warm, but found it cold. He’d left much earlier as his tee time was one of the earliest of the day. Part of her was grateful for the few moments of quiet the empty bedroom gave her. She didn’t want to have to speak, or assure people she was fine when she wasn’t. There would be plenty of time for that later.
Going through her routine, she did a shortened Pilates workout, showered and changed into her day-one, shell pink shirt and pants combination. Pulling the hair off her shoulders, she wrapped it into a tight ponytail and found the visor she’d planned to wear. It had been sent to her from a girl’s basketball team in Duluth via her agent. It, too, was pink and had stitched into the brim the name of Ginger Rogers along with words…She did it backward and in high heels.
Staring at herself in the mirror, Reilly tried to find her internal balance with some deep breaths. After two minutes of watching her right eye twitch she figured she would find balance in the hour-long car trip from Savannah up to the course.
Mark had already left for the tournament with Luke, but Pierce, Odie, and Kenny were waiting at the bottom of the stairs for her, their expressions almost as uncertain as she knew hers was.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Not nervous at all. Let’s go.”
Unusually quiet for the group they were, they got into the limousine and drove in near silence to the course. The limo pulled into the player’s parking lot and Reilly got out of the car with a camera in her face. She smiled, but said nothing, afraid she wouldn’t hear her voice over the extreme buzzing sound in her head.
Kenny led her to the driving range for practice where she vaguely registered the feel of the driver he put in her hand. Below her she was able to make out the white balls that seemed impossibly far away.
She swung and missed. She moved her arms in a backward motion to indicate to anyone watching she was still warming up.
Walking up to her, Kenny leaned in close enough for privacy.
“Did you just miss the ball?”
“Don’t worry. I can’t imagine it’s going to happen again.”
“It would help, I think, if you didn’t close your eyes before you swing.”
Reilly tried to smile but couldn’t. Finally, she found the ball, but the first one was a slice, so was the next one, and the one after that. Reilly knew it was a result of pushing her hips but the more she tried to concentrate on correcting it, the farther right it went.
“Okay, enough practice swings,” Kenny interjected.
He had to tug the club out of her hand before she released it. Reilly looked at her brother and listened to her own shallow breaths and came to the immediate conclusion all of this was a bad dream.
“I don’t want to play,” she whispered. “I’m going to W.D.”
“You’re not going to withdraw. You’re going to take a deep breath and get a freakin’ grip!”
Reilly blinked. “Are you yelling at me?” she asked incredulously. “Hello! The American! I can’t do it. I was crazy. I was insane. Do you know where we are? Have you seen Alleluia Corner? Jack’s Creek? It’s all here. I’m standing on golf’s altar and I’m not worthy.”
Her tirade ended with a high-pitched squeak. “Yell at you? I’m going to slap you silly in a few seconds. It’s a tournament. You know what we do at tournaments, we kickass. Now your tee time is up. Go up there and do what you do and kick ass.”
Reilly stared at the path that led to the tee box on the first hole. She walked forward robotically, not turning left or right. The chants and screams of people along with the boos and hisses from others blended into what sounded like a morbid funeral procession.
She heard the announcer calling out the names of her two playing partners. Then it was her turn.
“And from Little Creek, Nebraska… Reilly Carr.”
Again the crowd roared to life but the volunteers with the Quiet Paddles raised them in the air and all noise was squashed.
Reilly could hear her heartbeat. She could trace the trickle of sweat as it fell past her hairline down her neck. She could taste the fear in her dry mouth and tried a few times to swallow.
This was it.
Remember you’re a golf player… and go play golf.
A golf player. It’s what she was. Who she was.
She stood over the ball, addressed it, swung and hit it with all the speed and strength she had in her body.
Again the heavy crowd around the tee area surged back into life and it took her a while to understand they were happy with the shot. The ball sailed through the air high and fast and landed softly in the middle of the damp fairway.
The fear was suddenly gone. The adrenaline pumping through her system seemed to regulate and for the first time since she woke up, she was able to take a full breath.
Luke was right.
She was a player. And it was time to play.
