He takes a seat in his chair and mutes the basketball game. “Proud of you.”
“I thought I’d make dinner for us.”
“Already ate,” he says, not quite meeting my gaze.
“You didn’t?” I ask and move toward the pantry. When I see the empty frozen meal box in the trash, I groan. “Dad, no one should eat those. Ever. Ever, ever.”
“The Suns are playing. I didn’t want to bother with cooking. Besides, they really aren’t that bad. Tell me about golf. When’s your next tournament?”
He’s deflecting, but golf is always a good way to distract me. I tell him about the upcoming tournament. “I’m not going. Coach still hasn’t moved me back to top five.”
“You’ll get there.”
I shrug, not wanting to think too hard on what it’ll take to get Coach to see that I deserve another chance. I change the conversation to school and fill him in on my class schedule this semester. He pretends to be interested while I take out ingredients for his favorite casserole.
My schedule, outside of golf is pretty short and uninteresting, and within a few minutes, we fall silent. With the exception of the occasional outburst at the television, neither of us speaks again until I cover the top of the dish in tin foil and set it in the fridge.
“Put it in the oven at three hundred fifty degrees for about thirty minutes. I’ll be by later this week to take you to your doctor appointment.”
He makes a dismissive grunt of acknowledgment. He hates feeling like he can’t do stuff for himself, but since his accident, he needs me more than he’s willing to admit.
A fall from a roof left him with a broken leg and a knee that needed extensive surgery to repair. It left me with a grumpy parent who is arguably the worst patient in all of history.
I tried to move back in with him at the end of last semester, but he wouldn’t have it. He even went as far as to block my entry into the house when I’d arrived with an overnight bag.
I drop a kiss to his cheek. “Bye, Daddy. Stay away from the frozen dinners.”
“You stay away from the junk food,” he fires back.
I’d say it’s unlikely either of us is going to heed the other’s advice.
7
Lincoln
Gram hands me a New Balance shoebox. “Here are all his old client records, like you asked for.”
I lift the top and laugh even as I cringe. “This is how he organized them?”
Index cards that don’t appear to be in any kind of order take up most of the box. Underneath those are a yo-yo, a half-empty pack of Big Red gum, and a notebook my grandfather carried to jot things down during client sessions.
I shuffle through the cards, admiring his familiar handwriting. Some include addresses or phone numbers, but most don’t. I take one out and read it aloud, “Mary Lou always wears purple.”
I raise my eyes in question, and my grandmother smiles. “I remember Mary Lou. She was a snowbird and came down every year January through April from Wisconsin, I think. She passed a few years ago.”
“Wears purple?”
She nods. “Always. Without fail.”
I don’t bother throwing out her card. My guess is they’re all about as helpful.
My grandfather was a great teacher. People came from all over Arizona for lessons with him, sometimes farther. He was patient, encouraging, and smart, so freaking smart. And I’m not just biased because I looked up to him my entire life. He taught me the game, so I can attest to how much his teachings have stayed with me over the years. Everything I know about golf leads back to him in some way.
He wasn’t as good of a businessman, it seems. Guess he didn’t need to be. He was satisfied with the life he and my grandmother built here. If he were still alive, he’d probably balk at how much I’ve expanded the idea behind his small business. Reeves Sports is a tribute to the man I loved and a motivation to push harder, find success for myself, and ultimately, solidify my grandfather’s legacy.
“These ought to be good for a laugh, if nothing else,” I say and drop the box onto the dining room table. It’s formally set with placemats, napkins, and dishes. And just like always, there is a bouquet of fresh flowers in the center. My gaze drops to the third setting. “Are we expecting someone else?”
Gram smiles. “I invited Patty’s granddaughter, Autumn. You remember Autumn, right? She graduated and moved home.”
I sigh. “Yeah, Gram, I remember her.” I also remember that she dated my brother Kenton for two years. I use the word dated loosely, but either way—that’s a hard limit for me. “I’m not interested in dating right now.”
“Oh, you don’t mean that. You’re just scared after the way your marriage went up in flames.”
I chuckle against my better judgment. Leave it to Grams not to pull any punches. “It isn’t just that. I’m busy. The travel and long hours . . .”
“The right girl will make all of those excuses seem silly. You’ll see.”
No matter how many “right girls” Gram sends my way, I’ll never be the right guy to be what they need. But I don’t have the energy or headspace to try to convince my stubborn grandmother of that, so I accept defeat. “What can I do to help?”
“She’ll be here in ten minutes, so go freshen up and let me worry about everything else.” She cups my cheek lovingly and then darts off to the kitchen with more energy than I’d expect from someone her age. Energy that has been dead set on getting me a new wife since the day I signed the divorce papers a year ago.
Right on time, the doorbell rings. Gram shoos me to the door, and I drag it open with a forced smile.
“Hey, Lincoln.” Autumn holds a bouquet of flowers in one hand and steps inside slowly.
“It’s good to see you,” I tell her and offer an awkward one-arm hug.
“You too.” She looks around as if she’s expecting someone else. “When your grandma invited me over to have dinner with her grandson, I assumed she meant Kenton.”
Ah, well this makes more sense. No wonder she agreed to a setup.
“Sorry about that.”
She smiles, and it eases some of the tension for the night ahead. Gram appears, and Autumn steps forward. “Hi, Milly. These are for you.”
“Oh, how lovely.”
“I remember how you always had fresh flowers out. I used to love that.”
Grandma’s eyes sparkle, and her gaze slides over to me. “Isn’t that nice, Lincoln?”
Good lord, I’m sure she’s already imagining the flowers at my and Autumn’s wedding. Pump the brakes, Gram.
“It sure is.” I reach for the flowers. “Let me take care of those.”
“Nonsense, you don’t know what you’re doing. You kids grab a drink. Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes.”
We do as Gram instructed and head out on the patio. Maybe the fresh air will help me feel less like I might suffocate at any moment.
Autumn is exactly like I remember her. Tall and thin with long blonde hair. Back when we were kids she was all tomboy, but if her dress and high heels are any indication, I’d say she’s given up playing in the dirt and chasing lizards.