Friday night had been especially fun, because the Tidewater wasn’t nearly as crowded as usual. Not after Abee showed up, anyway. People couldn’t get out of there fast enough. He’d stayed at the bar, though, and for a while, it was downright… pleasant. He could talk to Candy and she actually seemed interested in what he was saying. Of course, she was flirty with all the guys, but he’d kind of gotten the sense that she liked him. He’d been hoping for more of the same on Saturday, but the place had been a zoo. The bar was packed three deep and every table was filled. He could barely hear himself think, much less talk to Candy.
But every time he’d called out an order, she’d smiled at him over the other guys’ heads, and that gave him hope for tonight. Sunday nights were never crowded, and he’d been working up the courage all morning to ask her out. He wasn’t sure she’d say yes, but what did he have to lose? It wasn’t like she was married, right?
Three hours to the west, Frank stood on the putting green at the thirteenth hole, drinking his beer as Roger lined up for a putt. Roger had been playing well, much better than Frank. Today, Frank couldn’t hit a shot to save his life. His drives were slicing, his chips were falling short, and he didn’t even want to think about his putting.
He tried to remind himself that he wasn’t out here to worry about his score. It was a chance to escape the office and spend time with his best friend; it was a chance to get some fresh air and relax. Unfortunately, the reminders weren’t working. Everyone knew that the true joy of golf lay in hitting that wonderful shot, that long arcing drive straight down the fairway, or the chip that ended up two feet from the hole. So far, he hadn’t hit a single shot that was worth remembering, and on the eighth hole he’d five-putted. Five! He might as well have been trying to putt the ball through the windmill and into the clown’s mouth at the local putt-putt place, considering how well he’d been playing today. Even the fact that Amanda was coming home couldn’t lighten his mood. The way things were going, he wasn’t even sure he wanted to watch the game afterward. It wasn’t like he was going to enjoy it.
He took another pull from the beer can, finishing it, thinking it was a good thing he’d packed the cooler. It was going to be a long day.
Jared loved the fact that his mom was out of town, since he could stay out as late as he wanted. The whole curfew thing was ridiculous. He was in college and people in college didn’t have curfews, but apparently no one had ever informed his mom about that. When she got back from Oriental, he’d have to get her to see the light.
Not that it had been a factor this weekend. When his dad fell asleep, he was dead to the world, meaning that Jared was free to come in as late as he wanted. Friday night he’d been out until two, and last night he hadn’t come in until after three. His dad had been none the wiser. Or maybe he was, but Jared had no way of knowing. By the time he’d gotten up this morning, his dad was already at the golf course with his friend Roger.
The late nights had taken their toll, though. After foraging in the fridge for something to eat, he figured he’d lie down in his room and take a nap. Sometimes there was nothing better than crashing in the middle of the afternoon. His little sister was off at camp, Lynn was up at Lake Norman, and both his parents were gone. In other words, it was quiet in the house, or at least as quiet as it ever was around here during the summer.
Stretching out on his bed, he debated whether to turn off his cell phone. On the one hand, he didn’t want to be disturbed, but on the other hand, Melody might call. They’d gone out on Friday night, then gone to a party together last night, and though they hadn’t been dating long, he liked her. Actually, he liked her a lot.
He left the phone on and crawled into bed. Within minutes, Jared was asleep.
As soon as Ted woke, he felt a flash of pain in his head, and though the images were fragmented they slowly began to come together. Dawson, his broken nose, the hospital. His arm in a cast. Last night, waiting out in the rain while Dawson had kept his distance, playing him…
Dawson. Playing. Him.
He sat up gingerly, his head pounding as his stomach did a flip-flop. He winced, but even that hurt, and when he touched his face the pain was excruciating. His nose was the size of a potato, and nausea washed over him in waves. He wondered if he could make it to the bathroom to take a leak.
Ted thought again about the tire iron smashing into his face, he thought again about the miserable night he’d spent in the rain, and he felt his anger begin to rise. From the kitchen, he heard the baby wail, the high-pitched whine rising above the blare of the television. He squinted, trying and failing to block out the sounds, then finally staggered from the bed.