Page 39 of Putting Out
Kenny shoved his hands in his pockets and looked into the living room even though there was nothing to see. Pop was outside in the barn and Grams was in her bedroom taking a mid- morning nap.
“I refuse to let you two break up over me. I would never hear the end of it. ‘Oh, I might have had a chance for happiness if it hadn’t been for my sister.’ Not going to happen.”
“What happens between me and Erica is not your concern. You, my darling sister, have other things to concern you. Like how you’re going to figure out in the next two and a half months to hit a ball twenty to thirty yards farther.”
“There is that,” she muttered, wincing in mental pain. Pain because her brain knew what her stubborn pride didn’t. There was no way to suddenly hit a ball twenty to thirty yards farther. Not without chemical help.
“You think people might be suspicious if I sprouted a mustache, big muscles, and bad acne?”
“They might,” Kenny said with a smirk, knowing she wasn’t serious. He fell into Pop’s leather recliner and crossed his arms over his chest in deep thought. “You know, Pop was mentioning something last night after you went to bed.”
“What was I mentioning?”
The front door opened and closed behind him. He shook a bit from the transition of outside cold to inside warmth.
“Oh, boy, it’s colder than a grape popsicle out there. Reilly, you make sure you warm up good and right if you’re going to hit balls today. The lake is starting to freeze over, too, but don’t try and walk on it to get your balls back.”
“Funny you mentioned balls, Pop. We were just talking about that, or rather Reilly’s lack of them.”
Pop shook his finger at his grandson. “That’s not a proper thing to say in front of your sister, and you know it. Apologize.”
“Sorry,” Kenny mumbled. “Whatever.”
“I’m talking about adding strength and distance. You had an idea last night, Pop.”
Reilly looked to her grandfather. It didn’t surprise her he would have a solution. He was the most dedicated fan of the game who had ever lived. If there was a trick or a book about a trick that involved increasing distance, Pop knew about it. He knew the best putters, the best drivers, the best swing coaches…
Swing coach. Uh-oh.
Reilly studied her Pop’s expression. He was striving for innocence. Not hard to do with a man who had red cheeks and an even rosier nose, but she saw through his game.
“Oh, no. No way. Not in a million years.”
“Now, Reilly, hear me out.” Pop turned his shaking finger from Kenny to her. “Odie was a very good coach for you. He developed your swing from the time you were twelve.”
“Yeah, right up until I was twenty-one and I fired him, Pop. Remember?”
“I wouldn’t have forgotten a thing like that. You were upset.”
Reilly groaned. A softy at heart, the one thing her Pop had never had the stomach for was the hardcore business of golf. He’d never been a fan of Gus, who had a reputation as one of the more ruthless agents in sports. And he’d always had a soft spot for Odie (the phonetic spelling for O.D., which stood for Oscar Duluth) Manning. Odie was a former golfer turned swing coach. The two men bonded because they were more or less the same age and understood the game as it was backthen. Then - that mystical time when golf was pure and noble unlike today.
“I wasn’t upset, I was piss…teed off and had been for a long time. He met me when I was twelve and continued to treat me as if I hadn’t grown a day. He was condescending and patronizing and he called me ‘lil’ gurl’ in that twangy Texan accent, which made me fantasize about wrapping a three wood around his neck. If you think for one second I’m going to listen to his ‘tech-nah-logy’ speech ever again, you’ve got to be off your rocker.”
He frowned then, the lines creasing deep into his face. “All I’m saying is if anyone can figure a way to milk a few more yards out of your swing, he would be the one to do it.”
“You should listen to your grandfather, Reilly.” Luke jogged down the steps and sat his duffel bag near the door.
“You’re just saying that to suck up.”
“True. How’s it working, Pop?”
“Now, Luke, you know you’re always welcome here. For pie or anything else.”
Luke smiled and Reilly could see Pop give him a wink. She wasn’t sure what the heck that was about, but she sure wasn’t going looking for an explanation.
“Where is Grams?”
“She’s sleeping,” Reilly told him.
