In truth, I hadn’t swung a club in years. Golf was Pete’s thing. When I left my husband, I left the game. My handicap was probably a forty-two.
The woman to our right was claiming six strokes.
“Would you like to hit a few bal s?” I asked.
Since Pete and I had never legal y terminated our marriage, technical y I was stil a spouse and could use the facilities at Carmel Country Club.
Whyhadn’tI done the paperwork? I wondered for the zil ionth time. Pete and I had been separated for years. Why not cut the cord and move on?
Was it a cord?
Not the time, Brennan.
“Could be fun,” Ryan said, reaching across the table to place his hand on mine.
Definitely not the time.
“Of course, Hooch wouldn’t like being left out.”
“His name is Boyd.” My voice sounded as though I’d inhaled helium.
“Hooch must learn to enjoy the serenity of his own inner beauty. Maybe you could get him started on yoga.”
“I’l mention that to Pete.”
The waiter returned with our drinks, explained the menu. Ryan ordered the sea bass. I went for the veal Marsala, careful y leaving my palm on the table.
When the waiter departed, Ryan’s hand came back to mine. His face showed a mixture of concern and confusion.
“You’re not nervous about tomorrow, are you?”
“No,” I scoffed.
Real y, no.
“You seem tense.”
“I’m just disappointed about the beach.”
Ryan tiptoed his fingertips up my arm.
“I’ve been waiting these many years to see you in a string bikini.”
The fingers spidered back down.
“Wewil get to the beach.”
If goose bumps can burn, mine did.
I cleared my throat.
“There are scores of unmarked graves on these old farms. Those hand bones have probably been underground since Cornwal is crossed Cowans Ford.” At that moment the waiter placed salads between us.
We switched gears during dinner, talking about everything but ourselves and our work. Not a word about bones. No reference to tomorrow.
No reference to later tonight.
It was after eleven by the time we’d finished coffee and tiramisu.
Hooch/Boyd greeted us at the door of the annex. When I unpegged his leash, the chow yelped and bounded around the kitchen.
“Hooch does appreciate the smal things,” Ryan said.
Again, I pointed out that the dog’s name was Boyd.
“And he’s flexible,” Ryan added.
The night smel ed of petunias and mown grass. A light breeze ruffled the periwinkle. A mil ion crickets performed a summer symphony in the round.
Boyd led us from tree to tree, tail and nose working double-time, now and then flushing a bird or squirrel. Every few seconds he’d loop back, as though reminding us to stay focused on him.
I wasn’t. My mind was in countdown to plunge.