by Mara Jacobs
188
Published by Mara Jacobs
Copyright 2012 Mara Jacobs
Cover design by Kim Killion
Formatting by www.formatting4U.com
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from the author at [email protected]. This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
For more information on the author and her works, please see http://www.marajacobs.com/
ISBN: 978-0-9852586-1-0
Prologue
We were happily married for eight months.
Unfortunately, we were married for four and a half years.
– Nick Faldo, professional golfer
“I’m not sure I ever loved you.”
Wow. She hadn’t seen that one coming.
Still, Katie Lipton supposed, if you’re stupid enough to ask the question, “Don’t you love me anymore?” you ought to be prepared for the answer. Whatever it turned out to be. But she couldn’t believe the words coming out of Ron’s mouth.
She watched as he stood in the bedroom and continued to pack his suitcase. Like picking at a scab, she couldn’t stop herself from pursuing his comment. “What do you mean you never loved me? What were the last seventeen years, then – a crush?”
“Don’t, Katie. Don’t do this to yourself. It’s over.” His look for her was patronizing, filled with false empathy. She wanted to put her fist through his Greek god face. Make his incredible good looks bloodied and bruised, to match her heart.
Her best friend Alison would have done it. Wound up and cold-cocked him right there, right now. Not caring if he bled all over their cream carpeting or their cream comforter in their cream-colored bedroom. Or she would hurt him with the words that wouldn’t come to Katie. Alison’s quick wit and razor-sharp mouth would bring Ron down to size. But Katie wasn’t Alison.
Her other best friend, Lizzie, would probably have seen this coming months ago and had some kind of plan for when the moment arrived. Or, she’d diffuse the situation with her calming, soothing nature. But Katie wasn’t Lizzie either.
While Alison’s smarts and Lizzie’s shining personality would have been so useful now, Katie’s incredible beauty - what she was known for - did her no good in this situation. All she could do was sit on the bed, stunned, and watch as her boyfriend of four years, husband of thirteen, packed his tee shirts and boxers into the his of their his-and-hers matching luggage.
“Ron, if this is about the baby…” her voice trailed off. What? What could she say? Promise not to mention the baby again? Promise to abandon her dream of becoming a mother? Could she do that? If it meant keeping Ron, would she do that?
“See, Katie, you even say ‘the’ baby, not ‘a’ baby, as if one ever existed.” His voice was harsh. “There is no baby, Katie. There never was a baby. There will never be a baby.” He paused. “Not for us, anyway.”
There was something in his voice as he made the last comment. Something cutting and mean. Katie had come to recognize that tone. It had been so foreign just a few years ago, when his voice had always conveyed his love for her. “What do you mean, ‘not for us, anyway’?”
“It means no baby for us, Katie. Just like I said.”
Don’t do it. Don’t ask. Don’t jump at his baiting voice. But she couldn’t help herself. “Is there a ‘but’ at the end of that?” she asked.
Obviously he’d been dying to get to this, knowing she would lead him there eventually.
“Yes, there is a but. There will be no baby for us, Katie, but,” he dragged the word out, emphasizing every letter, “there will be a baby for me. In five months to be exact.”
She wanted to double over, the pain was so great. Her breath totally left her body. But some small shred of dignity made her sit still, not even flinching. In the back of her mind she wondered what hurt more, the knowledge that Ron had betrayed her or the thought that yet another woman would have a child and she would not.
Ron seemed disappointed that she hadn’t crumbled, and that gave her a little bit of strength. Enough to say, “And just who is the mother of your child?”
He turned his back to her, going to a drawer in the dresser and taking out all of his socks. Socks she had bought for him. Socks she had washed. Socks she had picked up off this bedroom floor more times than she could remember.
“Amber Saari,” he said.
Katie couldn’t hide her shock this time as a small gasp escaped her. “Amber Saari? She’s a child herself. She’s one of your students.”
“Was. Was one of my students. She’s twenty,” he said, hurt and indignant. Like how dare she believe he’d ever have anything to do with one of his students at the high school. Oh no, he’d wait until they were out for two years before sleeping with them. A man of honor, her Ron.
“If I recall correctly, she was something of a tramp when she was in the high school. Are you even sure the baby’s yours?” She couldn’t believe she was being so calm when every muscle in her body ached to throw something at him. She was just afraid that she’d throw herself at him. Whether to claw his eyes out or beg for mercy, she wasn’t sure. That thought kept her perched on the bed.
He looked at her as if she were crazy. “Of course the baby’s mine.”
“Oh, I see. You were the only one who was unfaithful.”
“Katie, let’s not do this,” he said. But it seemed that’s exactly what he wanted to do. He wanted her to lose it, to become the shrieking fishwife he apparently had made her out to be. It would justify his walking out on her. It would then be he who left because of her obsession with having a baby, her instability, her shrewish behavior. When in fact, he just didn’t want to be with her anymore. He wanted to be with a twenty-year-old former student named Amber.
She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
“You’re right, Ron, let’s not do this.” She sat up straight on the bed as he zipped up the suitcase. She summoned every prideful gene she possessed and waited for him to leave. To leave her and their home.
To leave her alone for the first time in her life.
He stopped and looked at her, surprised by her tone and composure. His gaze raked across her face. “Jesus, you’re beautiful, Katie.” His voice was soft and tender, and for a moment it reminded her of the Ron she had fallen in love with. The Ron who had pursued her relentlessly their freshman year at Michigan State. The Ron who was the most handsome man at the enormous university, who had wooed her and caught her with that same soft, tender voice he was using now.
“So fucking beautiful,” he whispered and reached out to touch her face.
She winced, not sure if it was from the prospect of his touch or his language, which he knew she hated. Either way, her flinch broke whatever spell her splendor had just woven over him and he stepped back, dropping his hand.
“You keep the house. I’ll keep the Hummer. The rest we can figure out later.”
He set his sealed suitcase on the floor, stacked the smaller bag he’d packed earlier on top of it, and pulled up the handle, wheeling them both out of the room behind him.
Funny, the thoughts that go through your head, she mused. Here her husband had just walked out on her and all she was thinking was that it would have been so much more manly, so much more dramatic, if he’d picked both bags up by the handles and walked out instead of wheeling the bags behind him like a flight
attendant traveling through an airport.
After she heard the front door close and the roar of that monstrosity leaving the driveway, Katie rolled over onto the bed, her knees to her chest, pulling one corner of the comforter over her. She finally let the pain of the knife he’d plunged into her heart wash over her.
Her husband had left her for some young tramp he’d knocked up.
Katie Maki Lipton. Known as the prettiest girl to ever come out of Hancock High. The most stunning woman in the Copper Country. They said she was a true original. A unique beauty.
And she was now nothing more than a bad cliché.
Chapter One
Give me golf clubs, fresh air, and a beautiful partner and
you can keep my golf clubs and the fresh air.
-Jack Benny
“You’re right. I am glad you talked me into this, but six a.m.?” Katie said through a yawn. She secured her long hair into a ponytail and put a Michigan State baseball cap on, pulling her hair out through the back opening of the hat.
“I know. Sorry. But this guy’s tee time is 7:10 and I want to make sure he sees that I’m there not only to watch him tee off, but to hit some balls first, too,” Lizzie said.
They had set their hotel alarm for five to make sure they had time to shower, dress, and get to the course before six-thirty. Precious moments Katie would like to have back so she could have slept on. Getting good sleep had become so hard lately.
“Besides, they flip-flop tee times on Thursdays and Fridays, so he’ll play in the afternoon tomorrow and you can sleep as late as you want,” Lizzie said, trying to placate Katie.
They parked their rental car ridiculously close to the country club door – Lizzie had some kind of pilfered VIP parking pass – and put on sunscreen. Back home, in the Copper Country of Michigan, the May sun was neither hot nor abundant enough to elicit a need for the protection. But here in Texas, the heat was already hanging in the air, threatening to be stifling by mid-afternoon. Bring it on, Katie thought, as she covered every inch of her fair, Finnish skin with SPF forty-five. She dared the sun to sink into her soul, to thaw the chill in her bones that had taken up residence since Ron left and the long, Upper Peninsula winter began.
Katie followed Lizzie behind the clubhouse. Lizzie seemed to know where she was going, although it was her first time here as well. Blooming flowers in glorious colors bordered the walkway to the driving range. Katie was astounded by the many different shades of green that adorned the golf course and its surrounding foliage.
“So this is what May looks like in the rest of the world,” she murmured, aware that lowered voices seemed to be the norm based on the conversations of the scattered people they passed. There weren’t many spectators at the course yet – it was too early – but those who were there, spoke with hushed reverence. Katie and Lizzie walked to the driving range where fifteen or twenty golfers were hitting balls.
“I know, isn’t it beautiful?” Lizzie said. “Hard to believe that back home we had a snowstorm two weeks ago. It’s like we don’t even live in the same country or something.”
Lizzie led Katie to the bleachers that overlooked the driving range. They settled onto seats in the first row and both started to look at the day’s pairing sheet that they’d taken from the attendant at the gate.
“The U.P. might as well be a different country, Lizard,” she said, with just a touch of disdain in her voice.
Lizzie caught the tone though, as Katie knew she would. Lizzie - and Alison too, for that matter - had been hyper-sensitive to her every intonation the last seven months, watching as Katie went through phases of disbelief, then self-doubt and then rage.
The last two months had been the worst.
Being the features section editor at The Copper Ingot, it was among her myriad duties to do the final proofread of the living section of the daily paper. Of course, at a paper the size of The Ingot, the living section was only a page, but still, Katie proofed it diligently every evening before she left. That’s when she’d seen it: the birth announcement of little Crystal Lipton, daughter of Ron Lipton and Amber Saari.
That had been two months ago, and she had been in a deep depression ever since. So much so, that Lizzie and Alison brooked no arguments when they sent Katie to Texas for two days where Lizzie was meeting a new prospective client.
Lizzie looked at her. “I know everybody’s a little sick of the weather at home this time of year, Kat, but you love the Yoop,” Lizzie said in a soft, coaxing voice.
“No, you love the U.P., Lizard. I just put up with it.” She had never said that before, had never really even thought it. She didn’t know where it had come from, but realized it was the truth.
Not wanting to get into it with her friend right now, not willing to do anything to detract from the warm feeling the sun was bringing her, she perused the pairings sheet for something she could use to change the subject.
“What’s the name of this guy you’re pitching, again?”
“Chad Curtis,” Lizzie said. At Katie’s blank look, she continued, “You probably haven’t heard of him. He just announced he’s skipping his senior year in college to turn pro. This is his first tournament as a pro. He’s here on a sponsor’s exemption because he’s from Irving. Hometown boy making his pro debut. Remember, we watched him on TV at the Masters? We were all excited that an amateur had done so well, placing in the top ten.”
Katie vaguely remembered. She loved watching professional golf, and she and Ron had always hosted a brunch on the Sunday of the Masters. This year she had gone to Lizzie’s home to watch, not wanting to be in her empty house.
Lizzie’s husband of three months, Finn, spent most of the time asking questions, knowing nothing about golf. His kids, Stevie and Annie, had cheered Phil Mickelsen on to another green jacket, and Lizzie and Alison had hovered over Katie, aware of her precarious state.
“Chad’s supposed to be pretty good, a real up-and-comer. I think he’d be just the player to branch Hampton PR into representing golfers,” Lizzie said.
Katie nodded and looked through the sheet to find Chad Curtis’ name. She knew he had an early tee time, and she found him near the top of the list. “Oh, he’s paired with Darío Luna. I love him.”
“You do?” Lizzie asked. “That surprises me.”
“Why does that surprise you? He’s been around forever, he’s won three majors.”
Lizzie shrugged. “I know, but you usually go for the really handsome guys, the pretty boys.”
More like the pretty boys always went for her. And she’d always let them. Then Ron – the prettiest pretty boy she’d ever seen - went after her and the rest of them all just fell away, feeling they were unable to compete. She’d never looked beyond Ron. Had never wanted to.
Her gaze scanned down the line of early golfers warming up on the range. There were little placards with each player’s name in front of them, presumably so the fans would know who was who. It also probably helped the bleary-eyed caddies find their employers on early mornings after late nights. The golfers looked refreshed and neatly pressed. The caddies looked rough and badly wrinkled.
Katie didn’t need the placard to know Darío Luna. She’d been watching him play for years. He had played in his first Ryder Cup at twenty. Katie and Ron had watched it together, cuddled on the couch in the apartment she shared with Lizzie and Alison. They’d dated for two years by then, both also twenty, and juniors at State.
Darío won his first major, the British Open, at twenty-two. Katie and Ron had awakened at the hotel on their honeymoon and watched the early overseas telecast as they ate their room service breakfast. While Darío lifted the Claret Jug in victory, Katie and Ron lifted their champagne glasses and toasted their new life together.
This past April, as Katie wallowed in her haze of self-pity, and Ron was probably playing with his new daughter, Darío Luna missed his first cut at a Masters – a tournament he’d won twice – since he’d turned pro.
They were both having
bad seasons.
She spotted him at the far end of the range. It would be a stretch to call him handsome, his bit of a schnozz saw to that. But there was something about him that drew her eye. He was smaller than most the other golfers. Katie suspected that he wasn’t much taller than her own five foot nine. His body was compact but muscular, almost coiled, like he could strike at any moment. He had the dark skin of his native Spain as well as the requisite black hair and brown eyes.
He was wearing a coral Lacoste shirt and perfectly tailored trousers. Katie knew that several of the Spanish players on tour wore Lacoste and figured the gator must make his home not in the Everglades, but in Spain. She hadn’t worn a golf shirt with a reptile on it since her preppy days back in high school.
Katie had always liked watching him play and rooted for him when he was in contention, so she was excited that she’d spend the day following his threesome.
She sat, mesmerized, and watched as he warmed up, going through what was obviously a well-established routine. Lizzie was chattering beside her, talking about this player or that and pointing things out to her, but Katie wasn’t paying attention. She couldn’t take her eyes off Darío.
He and his caddy worked together in an easy rhythm, the caddy ready to throw him a ball as soon as Darío turned to him. At his side to clean the club Darío was done with and hand him the next one. After so many balls, Darío taped his ring finger and his pinky on his right hand. Katie chuckled, and Lizzie asked her what was so funny, following Katie’s gaze to Darío Luna.
“You’d love this guy, Lizard, he’s just as anal as you are. He’s counted his clubs twice, making sure he’s not carrying over the limit. Oh, look, now he’s having the caddy count them too,” she said, laughing. Lizzie harrumphed and tried to respond with some kind of witty comeback, but didn’t. Katie figured it was because Lizzie knew it for the truth. Her friend probably even admired Darío for his foresight and planning.
