Chapter 15
Preston and I met again at Evelyn’s golf program.
Four years after the bridal suite.
A group of teenage girls practiced on the range.
One held Evelyn’s restored seven-iron.
Not swinging at a person.
Swinging badly at a ball.
She missed.
Swore.
Coach corrected her grip.
I smiled.
Preston stood beside me.
“Naomi says she’s talented.”
“Naomi lies to children.”
He laughed.
First easy laugh between us in years.
Then he looked at the club.
“I still hate seeing it.”
“Then don’t make it about your father.”
He nodded.
“My mother loved golf.”
“Yes.”
“I forgot that.”
That was the tragedy of family myths.
Violence had become the most memorable story attached to the object.
Evelyn had owned it for years before Warren touched it in anger.
Now girls used it without knowing any of that.
Good.
Preston asked whether I had forgiven him.
I thought.
“Partly.”
He accepted it.
“Would you ever trust me again?”
“Not the way I did.”
May you like
Also accepted.
Growth.
