Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 111959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Josephine exhaled and stepped back, studying the faces of her parents. They weren’t the type to lay the guilt on thick, but they were guarded this afternoon. Hurt. And frankly, she deserved that reaction from them after being back in Palm Beach for a full week and avoiding the Big Conversation. “I’m not only sorry that I haven’t come to the house. I’m so sorry about the rest of it, too.” She wanted to rub at the discomfort in her throat, but her hands were covered in muck. “I don’t know what exactly you’ve heard on TV, because I can’t bring myself to watch. But . . . you’ve probably realized by now that I’m caddying for Wells because I . . . we need the money to repair the shop.”
“You should have told us, Joey,” Jim said quietly. “We have savings. You didn’t have to shoulder all this responsibility on your own.”
“I like the responsibility,” Josephine rushed to say. “I want it. And it might seem as if you’ve misplaced your trust in me, but I promise, I’m going to build the shop back better than ever. All right? I won’t make the same mistakes again.”
Evelyn sighed. “You know the shop isn’t the part we worry about most.” She looked up at the ceiling and blinked several times, as if holding back tears. “It’s you. You’re a diabetic. You need health insurance. It’s not some optional luxury—”
“Mom, I know. Can you please just trust me?” Josephine gave up on staying clean and massaged her aching throat. “I’m handling it. All of it. One problem at a time.”
“How can I trust you when you lied?”
“Technically, she didn’t lie,” Jim interjected. “She just omitted the truth.”
Josephine’s shoulders slumped in relief. “Thanks, Dad.”
He grunted, took a turn around the shop. “Do you have supplies? Sensors for your CGM? Insulin?”
“Yes. Enough to get me through until I can get a policy up and running. I’m not . . .”
“Rationing?” Her mother spat the word like an epithet. “You can’t do that. We’d sell the house before letting you do that.”
“I know! I know. That’s why I didn’t say anything.” Immediately, she regretted her outburst, but her parents were staring at her, stunned, the words lingering in the air. She had no choice but to qualify them. To explain. With a sigh, Josephine turned over the crate she’d been using to transport cleaning supplies and sat down heavily. “What happens with the shop is one thing, my diabetes is another. I’m an adult, guys. I find my own solutions. I’m the one who has to live with this condition. It’s mine. I don’t want caretakers, because it makes me feel like I . . . I need them. It makes me feel sickly—and I’m not. I’m strong.”
It occurred to Josephine that she’d been avoiding this conversation for years.
Smiling through the well-meaning warnings and advice. Nodding. Agreeing.
One tournament with Wells and she was no longer avoiding the uncomfortable topics. Maybe . . . she’d learned something from him? Or gotten used to facing problems head-on—bluntly and loudly. Whatever the reason, her short time with Wells had changed her for the better, hadn’t it? Reminded her exactly how capable she was.
And that made her miss him even more.
Romantically, yes. Her gooey heart and sex feelings for the big jerk were undeniable.
But it was more than that. She missed her friend and fighting partner.
“You are strong, Joey,” Evelyn said, voice quivering. “It was never my intention to make you feel otherwise. Sometimes I just can’t shut off the worry.”
“I know. I’m sorry you have to live with that, Mom. It’s not fair.”
Jim settled a hand on her shoulder. “You’re worth ten lifetimes of it.”
“Thanks.” A watery laugh bubbled out of Josephine. “This conversation is getting way too heavy.” She used the edge of her shirt to swipe at her eyes. “Quick, somebody say something funny.”
“Good idea,” Jim said quickly.
Her parents searched each other’s faces for a moment until finally Evelyn snapped her fingers. “Oh honey, what was it Wells said this morning that had you in stitches?”
Wells? This morning? Josephine’s mouth fell open.
Jim slapped his knee. “He told me there’s a tree at the ninth hole at Torrey Pines where all the golfers go to drain the weasel. It’s tradition! They call it the Pissing Tree. And it’s the fastest growing tree on the course—he swore up and down!”
Josephine couldn’t even begin to process that. They were going to be at Torrey Pines next week, though, so she pocketed the valuable information for future use. “Why were you speaking to Wells?”
“He calls your father every day, dear.”
“He what?”
Jim crossed his fingers. “He’s trying to wrangle me a ticket to the Masters.”
“What do you talk about?”
“Golf. What else? Although . . . ,” Jim hedged.
“What?” Josephine prompted.
“Well, he usually manages to sneak in a few questions about you, Joey-Roo.” He paused, looking sheepish. “Come to think of it, that might be the real reason he’s calling.”