Page 50 of The Leaves In Autumn
“I’ll work on it. Watch me next hole. Tell me if I’m doing it.”
I see how that response settled. David liked it. And Van knows he handled it well. I think being a stepfather has taught him a lot. He’s having a sort of preview of that age. But still.
We climb into the golf cart and press ahead.
“Why do you always get to drive?”
“You can drive next time.”
“Mom! Aargon isn’t letting me have my turn!”
Images from past stupid arguments resurface. Now they are funny.
“What boobs.”
“You don’t really care, do you?”
“Fuck no. I like being the passenger.”
“That’s what I thought.”
There’s a pause before he pretends something just occurred to him.
“So how’s the therapy going? She any good?”
I take a sharper turn than I need to, and he grabs ahold of the roof.
“No need to freak! I’m just asking!”
I chuckle, knowing I landed that one perfectly.
“What? I didn’t do anything.”
He doesn’t press anymore, so I give him what I am willing to share.
“She’s alright.”
“High praise.”
“It is. Every time I leave there, I feel …like I unloaded a truckload of shit.”
He sits straighter but keeps looking ahead. Bet he doesn’t want to ruin the fact I am talking about it at all.
“Good. Good.”
“It isn’t easy though. We’re going deep.”
“I guess you have to go there to come out the other side.”
He drops it. That works for me.
On our right, Sam and Teddy’s cart pulls up, and holds its place, like a hot rod at a drag race. Wasn’t born yesterday, guys. I’m accessing the situation. Looking for advantages. They are off the path and tilted slightly to the right on the incline.
“Hey you old farts! Wanna race?”
Them’s fightin’ words. And, an opportunity to school the little assholes. I don’t need to ask if Van agrees.
“You fuckers would piss your pants if we did!”
