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)
“Traveling?” Her mother lost some of the color in her face. “Where?”
Jim patted his wife’s hand. This was going to be hard for Evelyn. Sudden changes to the daily routine of a diabetic meant adjustments up the wazoo. Mainly meal planning, but the change in time zones also meant rearranging her long-acting insulin schedule and preparing for big fluctuations in her blood sugar numbers. Diabetes was a bucking bronco of a condition and it didn’t like change, which made traveling a challenge. While Josephine was growing up, they’d rarely gone anywhere outside of Florida as a result.
“This week, I’ll be in San Antonio. Texas.”
“Oh, I see.” Jim beamed. “She’s going to watch the tournament. Good for you, kiddo.”
“Well,” Josephine drew out. “I will be watching it in a sense. But I’ll also be caddying for Wells Whitaker.”
Evelyn and Jim looked at each other. And how they laughed.
“You really had us going for a second there, Joey-Roo,” said Evelyn, dabbing tears of mirth from her eyes.
Josephine had seen this reaction coming. “Guys, I’m serious.” She shook her phone at them. “Look, he’s texting me right this second.”
“Sure, he is,” her father said with an exaggerated wink. “Ask him how he managed to birdie the fifth hole at Pebble Beach back in ’21. Did he go into the rough on purpose?”
“Wells doesn’t like questions.”
Evelyn and Jim fell back against the plastic couch cushions, laughing.
“I knew you weren’t going to believe me,” Josephine called over their guffaws.
“She brought a suitcase as a prop and everything!” Evelyn hiccupped, before turning slightly serious. “Oh, Roo. It’s not that we don’t think you could caddie for Whitaker, but how in the world would that ever happen?”
Josephine debated telling them he’d arrived at the Golden Tee out of the blue, but they wouldn’t believe that, either. Frankly, she was still trying to decipher the logistics of his unannounced arrival at Rolling Greens. “Just watch the tournament kick off on Thursday morning, okay?” She pointed at their entertainment center, which was used primarily to hold plants, but there was a television somewhere among all the greenery. “You’re going to see me on TV. It’ll be live coverage, so I won’t be able to answer phone calls. Okay?”
“You’re too much.” Jim chuckled. “Where are you really going?”
“Did you pack an extra test kit?”
“Yes.”
“What about your emergency shot? Are you traveling with someone who knows how to use it?” Her mother stood, hands clasped beneath her chin. “Are you meeting Tallulah somewhere? She’s always so good about making sure you have a sugar stash for lows.”
“Tallulah is in Antarctica, remember? And I’m good, Mom,” Josephine called over her shoulder, already wheeling her baggage to the front door. If she stayed, Evelyn would inevitably beg her to open the suitcase so she could perform a medical supply checklist and it would never suffice. Packing an actual doctor in her carry-on wouldn’t be enough to make Evelyn stop worrying. “Don’t forget. Thursday morning.”
“Ohhhh-kay!” Evelyn and Jim singsonged simultaneously.
“You betcha,” tacked on her mother.
Josephine gestured to the Uber waiting for her at the curb. “I’m leaving for Texas now. As soon as I stop at home to get a dress, I’m going to the airport.”
“To caddie for your idol, Wells Whitaker,” Jim said, with an exaggerated wink.
“That’s right.”
She closed the door of the Uber on the sound of their laughter.
Chapter Eight
Wells had done it.
Somehow, he’d convinced the golf gods to bring him back on tour.
When Josephine arrived at the resort in San Antonio, she went straight to the clubhouse with her carry-on—now containing a dress and heels—because she wasn’t going to bother checking in to her room if Wells hadn’t succeeded. The ornate, Spanish-style building with high-domed ceilings was a hive of activity when Josephine walked in, sports reporters everywhere, caddies she recognized from television commiserating in groups—all of them men.
Imposter syndrome blocked her progress and she almost turned around and ran straight back out the door. It helped to remember that she’d yelled you suck at some of those caddies at one time or another while watching them on television. And she’d meant it. Thoroughly.
Garnering her courage, Josephine moseyed up to the desk clearly marked caddie check-in, relieved when the woman behind the computer monitor gave her an open, friendly smile. “Hello. How can I help you?”
“Hello.” Josephine pushed down the handle of her carry-on suitcase. “I’m checking in. I’m caddying tomorrow for Wells Whitaker.”
A good half of the conversations in the room seemed to die at once.
The woman’s kind expression froze on her face, her eyes ticking to the rest of the room briefly, before landing back on Josephine. “Wells Whitaker. I just want to make sure I heard you correctly. The acoustics in here can be a challenge.”
“That’s all right. Yes, I said Wells Whitaker.”
“Oh.” A jerky nod. The poor woman was probably pressing a button beneath the table to alert security. Silence was spreading in the room like a ripple in a pond and all Josephine could do was stand there, bite the inside of her cheek, and let the fire climb the back of her neck. What had she done? Flown all the way to San Antonio after two text messages? To caddie for a highly unreliable man? “Okay, let me just pull up his information . . .” The woman reared back in her seat. “Oh! Here he is. I thought . . . well, I didn’t know he was competing.” She scanned the screen for a moment. “You’re Josephine Doyle?”