Authors: Linda Francis Lee
Tags: #Women television journalists, #Man-woman relationships, #Single women, #Contemporary, #General, #Romance, #Adult, #Fiction, #Athletes, #Texas, #Love stories
Suddenly Sexy (25 page)
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
     Katherine Bloom
From: Chloe Sinclair
Subject: Weather
p.s. Kate, VeRN was asking for you. He has some videotape he said you
wanted. I told him to put it
on your desk.
Chloe Sinclair
Station Manager
Award-winning KTEXTV
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
     Katherine Bloom
From: Julia Boudreaux
Subject: Worry
p.s. What videotape?
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
From: Julia Boudreaux
Subject: Kate
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
ktextv.com>
From: Chloe
Sinclair
Subject: Busy
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
     Chloe Sinclair
From: Katherine Bloom
Subject: Update
From: Julia Boudreaux
Subject: Kate
back the rain. The employee parking lot was empty except for the
skeletal night shift. The Security guard stood under the eave of the
roof, trying to escape the brunt of the storm.
"Hello, Ms. Bloom," the man said. "Surprised to see you here this late."
"Hello, Mr. Vasquez. I need to pick something up."
"I'm looking forward to the big golf-off tomorrow," he added excitedly.
Kate wished she felt even an ounce of excitement. Instead, all she had
was dread of the impending disaster. Regardless, she had to see the
videotape Vern had left for her, praying it held the answers.
The guard used his key and let her into the building. She waved at the
night crew as she headed for her office. Flipping on the light, she
entered. Her desk was perfectly organized. Books were lined neatly on
the shelves. The videotape was lying on the blotter, Westchester
printed boldly in black Magic Marker
on the label. A stick-um note was attached.
and pressed Play. White, gray, and black static filled the screen
before images whirled to an abrupt start, as if someone had turned the
camera on suddenly, and she was hit with Jesse's image, bouncing, as if
the cameraman was running toward him as he turned on the tape.
It was hard to see anything in the early morning dimness. Just the
black velvet golf course as the sky started brightening to purple. She
realized that Jesse was standing on a driving range, his face ravaged,
shocked, his father there with him. The sight of Jesse always made her
body hum with electricity, but
this time her eyes narrowed, her heart
slamming into her throat. She realized that something had already
happened before the video started to roll.
Her heart raced as she watched the scene unfold, the frantic tension in
Jesse's body. A close-up of his face, his eyes wild. But his voice was
fierce and commanding as he yelled, "
We
need help here!
"
She couldn't see anyone else around, no one to help but his father and
the cameraman.
Kate's stomach clenched as the camera panned down and she saw that a
woman was crumpled at
Jesse's feet. No blood, just her lying there like
she was asleep on the ground next to the golf clubs, a tipped-over
bucket spilling a few remaining brilliant white golf balls onto green
grass, and a perfect pair
of men's golf shoes waiting to be put on. The
scene would have been peaceful if it hadn't been for the odd angle of
the body.
Kate watched, her palms damp, her heart pounding in her ears as Jesse
bent over the woman, his
athlete's body powerful as he started
resuscitation. He worked like a machine, mouth breaths, then
chest
compressions. Again and again.
And his barely audible words. "
Come
on, come on. Come back
."
If sheer will could save her, Jesse could do it. Then suddenly breath
rushed into the woman.
Kate could see the relief that surged into Jesse. Then he swept her up,
his strength clear in every movement, and moved away. The cameraman
followed as Jesse carried the woman to a medic's tent. Then static
after the flimsy door slammed shut.
Kate sat staring at the sizzling fuzz on the screen. This was what had
made Jesse a hero, she knew that. He had breathed life back into that
woman.
Before Kate could absorb it all, the static cleared, and the next image
she saw was the camera panning
up at the dark, stormy sky. It had to be
the next day, when the tournament began, the winds picking up. Then a
pan of the crowd,
golfers, officials. And Jesse.
In the distance, someone yelled, "Yo, Jesse, you're a hero!"
But Jesse hadn't wanted to talk. He was focused, ready to start
playing, he said.
Kate pressed Fast Forward, speeding through the sort of footage a
sportscaster would use to highlight his or her report on the evening
news. Clips of other golfers as they teed off. Putts being sunk. She
didn't slow until Jesse returned to the screen. He didn't joke with the
gallery as was his trademark; he was quiet. Worried. She could see the
stress in his expression. Then he teed up. The sheer perfection of body
and motion as he practiced his swing. Then stepping up to the ball. But
his shot wasn't nearly as perfect. Jesse, the man known for his swing,
shanked the ball off into the rough.
Kate continued to watch, but he must not have gotten better because the
rest of the video clips focused on the tournament's top golfers, one of
whom was a rookie who was playing out of his head, gaining the
attention.
The remaining clips on the tape didn't show anything useful. But
something bothered her, and she couldn't leave it alone.
She pressed Rewind, then started again at the beginning. Leaning
forward, her concentration intense,
she viewed the opening sequence
over and over again until she had memorized the images. It was just
before she gave up that she finally understood.
Stunned, Kate pressed Stop, her hand shaking. She sat there, just sat,
until she realized that she had to find Jesse.
After a quick good-bye to Mr. Vasquez, she flew home, careening up and
down the undulating hills. At red lights, she waited
impatiently, praying that Jesse would be there when she arrived. With
every mile she drove, the rain lessened, the storm winding down. By the
time she got home, the stars and moon were trying to work their way
through the clouds. And the Jeep stood in the drive.
Her relief was short-lived when she saw the tree house lying in a
shambles on the ground after all their hard work.
When she banged into the guest cottage, then the house, both were
empty. But she knew where he was.
She all but ran down the drive and across the street. Feeling like she
was twelve years old again, she slipped through the chain-link fence,
careful not to get snagged. The minute she came around the pump house,
she saw him. He stood on the tee box, hidden from the street. He was
beautiful, his driver in his hands, the long seventeenth fairway
stretching out in front of him.
She could have watched him forever.
"I knew you'd find me," he said, the words barely audible, but he
didn't turn around. "You always found me. Ever since you were old
enough to get out your back door."
She could just make out a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth before
it hardened into a firm line. She
took the remaining steps between
them, stopping in front of him.
He crossed both of his hands on top of the club's grip, like he had to
keep himself from touching her.
"I remember when your mom brought you home from the hospital. I wanted
nothing to do with a baby, especially not a girl. I managed to avoid
you for a whileâ hell, a couple of years. But then one day I was
playing in the yard and I heard you crying. My mom was at some meeting,
and when you wouldn't stop
I figured I better check things
out. Even back then I sensed something wasn't right with Mary Beth."
Kate had never heard this story.
"I went to your back screen door and knocked. But no one answered. So I
got myself inside and
followed the noise."
"Wasn't my mother there?"
"She was. Sitting on the floor in your bedroom, crying just like you."
This time Kate looked away.
"Somehow it didn't scare me," he added. "I walked over to where you
were on the bed and sat down
next to you." He reached out on the dark
golf course and turned her chin back toward him. "Little imp, you
stopped crying the second you looked up and saw me. You stared up at me
with these gigantic eyes, and hell, you even smiled."
"Why didn't you ever tell me that?"
He shrugged. "I hated to add proof that your mom didn't know the first
thing about raising kids. Besides,
I never wanted to admit that maybe
we were bonded somehow. I especially didn't want to admit it to you."
"I guess I was kind of tenacious."
"Very. Do you remember sneaking into my room?"
She cringed. "Which time?"
"Exactly. There were dozens."
He was right. She knew it. But he had always been her refuge from her
mother's instability.
"I'm talking about the time I'd had a big fight with Dad," he
explained. "You came marching into my room. When I told you to go away,
you didn't so much as flinch. You laid down next to me, dressed
in jeans and a Too Cool
T-shirt, and told me to scoot over."
"I don't remember the Too Cool part."
"The next thing I know I'm telling you all about it, about how I had to
work harder if I was ever going
to be a truly great golfer, but my dad
didn't believe I could do it. Me, fourteen, you ten, and I'm spilling
my guts to a little girl."
"I do remember that," she stated. He had been serious about golf from
the beginning. "You were number one on the varsity golf team at
fourteen, but you said you weren't good enough."
"I wasn't. But I didn't know that until I played in the junior
tournament in Albuquerque. There were guys there who were incredible.
And they made me realize I wasn't good enough. If I wanted a
scholarship, I had to be better. So I asked my dad to help me. When he
said he was too busy, I asked to take lessons from the pro. He said no
to that, too. But do you remember what you said?"
"Not exactly."
"You said that with or without my dad's help, I was going to be the
greatest golfer who ever lived." His expression grew intense. "You and
those damned eyes, always making me believe I could be anything
I
wanted to be."
"Because it was true. It still is."
He stood there forever. "Every kid deserves to have someone who
believes in themâreally believes and proves it. I wish I could have
figured out how to do that for Travis."
"You did."
"Not in a way that makes a difference. Not in a way that will sustain
him his whole life."
"Then you will. You still can." She could tell that he didn't believe
her. "You're a good man." She hesitated, searching for a way to make
him understand what he had at the core. "Don't give up on
Travis, or
yourself."
"Give up?" He laughed bitterly. "My game has fallen apart. Can you
believe that, Katie? Me, who has
had a club in my hand since I was a
kid? Now I break out into a cold sweat whenever I'm on a tee box.
That's why I can't play in the golf-off tomorrow."
"I know."
The mixture of clouds and stars trying to break through lit the night
enough that she could see Jesse flinch. Then he pivoted around to look
at her. "What are you talking about?"
"I saw some videotape of Westchester."
She had never seen any man look so vulnerable. His jaw worked, the
cords in his neck bulging with tensionâand maybe with a little hope
that he didn't have to keep his secret anymore.
She couldn't do anything else when she tucked herself close to this
strong man, hugging him tight. For
half a second, he let her hold him,
though his arms hung at his sides. His breath was ragged, dragged in
sharply, harshly expelled. After an eternity, a haunting groan broke
out of him loudly enough to startle
a small flock of sleeping birds out
of the overhanging tree. Then he wrapped his arms around her and buried
his face in her shoulder.
"Oh, Jesse," she whispered, and pressed her palms to the broad planes
of his back as if she could somehow heal him. "Why won't you talk about
it? You saved her life. I saw how you wouldn't give
up. You really are a hero."
He broke away from her. "I'm not a hero. Davis was right. She never
should have needed to be saved."
"He also implied that you hit her with the club."
"Fuck."
"Tell me what happened, Jesse. I want to hear the truth from you."
He grabbed her arms desperately, like giving in, finally letting the
words rush out of him. "It was nearly dark and she came out of nowhere,
screaming and screaming at me.
Jesse!
She ran onto the driving
range
right in the middle of a swing. The club caught her in the chest and
she went down."
That was what the camera hadn't captured, the moments that led to the
collapse.
"You said yourself that
she
ran out, Jesse. She got in the way. You
can't blame anyone for that."
He closed his eyes, no doubt remembering.
"Jesse, you
did
save her."
"Again, like Tommy said, she never should have needed to be saved. Then
the next thing I know, everyone's calling me a hero. But for the first
time I really saw who I had become. Who I was. I
watched news report
after news report showing me and my life. Thirty-second spots.
Sixty-second
spots. Three- and four-minute exposes on Jesse Chapman
over the years. It was like I saw myself crystallized, distilled down
to the essence of who I really was. The bad boy, the wild guy. And I
didn't like who I saw. On top of that, I realized I was everything
Derek says I am." He shook his head. He
even half laughed, a bitter
sound wrenched from his chest. "Derek
is
right. I have been drinking and screwing women for longer than I
can remember."
"Maybe that's really why you're a hero."
He looked at her as if she had gone crazy. "What are you talking about?"
"Despite the life your father led you to, you survived. And despite
your dad being anything but a father, you've done lots of things right.
Heck, look what you've done for Travis when you easily could have given
Belinda money and washed your hands of the situation. Or take me. You
have always tried to do right by me. And that woman, no matter what
happened, you saved her ... and you're willing to let
people believe
you hit her when it wasn't you at all."
His entire body went still.
"Your father hit her, not you, but just like you've been doing for
years, you protected him."
He started to pace. "You can't know that."
"Sure I can. You're not saying a word about what happened to the press
or anyone because if you did, you'd have to say that your father hit
her. You're protecting him just as you protected him when you were
young and people were concerned that he wasn't being a good enough
father. When teachers questioned you, you said how great he was. You
made up all sorts of great, normal, father-son things
that you said the
two of you did together, instead of admitting the truth. I remember,
Jesse. I heard you say plenty of stuff about your dad that I knew
wasn't true. And just minutes ago I watched that video
of Westchester
over and over again. Then it finally dawned on me. Your father was
holding the club.
Not you."
"Dad with a club doesn't prove anything."
"Doesn't it? I'm willing to bet that you never even picked up a club
that morning." Her toned softened. "What professional golfer hits
almost an entire bucket of balls in street shoes?"
He stared at her hard, cornered.
"Once I realized that, I went through the tape one last time, and
that's when I finally looked at your fatherâ standing there, holding
the club, his face white, scared. He was the one hitting balls that
morning. He was the one who hit her, Jesse. Not you. And you can't
spend the rest of your life trying
to protect him."
"Is that how you plan to save your career? By reporting that? If that's
the case, let me add to your story. Carlen was furious because I hadn't
acknowledged him at a players' dinner the night before. His dream was
of being like Tiger Woods's father, getting the gratitude, getting the
kind of hug Tiger gave his dad after he won the Masters. How many times
has the world seen that video clip? How many times has my father said
that would be us one day? But that night when I got up to speak, when I
had a chance to acknowledge him, he was drinking, making a scene as
usual. I stood there at the podium and all I felt
Â
     Katherine Bloom
From: Chloe Sinclair
Subject: Weather
I can't
believe it's raining. It
can't be raining. Or if it's going to
rain, it has to stop by tomorrow morning. Everything is set. Promos
running every hour. The phone lines are ringing off the hook. Kate, you
were absolutely right. It's like every citizen of El Paso wants to be
at this event. So it
has to stop raining.
Chloebelieve it's raining. It
can't be raining. Or if it's going to
rain, it has to stop by tomorrow morning. Everything is set. Promos
running every hour. The phone lines are ringing off the hook. Kate, you
were absolutely right. It's like every citizen of El Paso wants to be
at this event. So it
has to stop raining.
p.s. Kate, VeRN was asking for you. He has some videotape he said you
wanted. I told him to put it
on your desk.
Chloe Sinclair
Station Manager
Award-winning KTEXTV
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Â
     Katherine Bloom
From: Julia Boudreaux
Subject: Worry
Chloe,
darling, you worry too
much. Though I suppose that's what you
get paid for. Regardless,
you know how these summer storms are. They
blow themselves out by evening. Tomorrow is
going to be glorious.
Everything is perfectly in order on our end. How about you, Kate?
Everything set?
xo, jdarling, you worry too
much. Though I suppose that's what you
get paid for. Regardless,
you know how these summer storms are. They
blow themselves out by evening. Tomorrow is
going to be glorious.
Everything is perfectly in order on our end. How about you, Kate?
Everything set?
p.s. What videotape?
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Â
From: Julia Boudreaux
Subject: Kate
Have you
seen or heard from Kate?
She's doing her disappearing act
again. I'm a little worried
that something has gone awry.
Jseen or heard from Kate?
She's doing her disappearing act
again. I'm a little worried
that something has gone awry.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Â
ktextv.com>
From: Chloe
Sinclair
Subject: Busy
Kate, I
know you have your hands
full. But please give me an update.
Chloeknow you have your hands
full. But please give me an update.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Â
     Chloe Sinclair
From: Katherine Bloom
Subject: Update
Everything
is fine. I'll see you
both at the course in the morning.
Kis fine. I'll see you
both at the course in the morning.
Â
Â
From: Julia Boudreaux
Subject: Kate
Why do I
get the feeling that
everything isn't so fine?
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------get the feeling that
everything isn't so fine?
Â
TWENTY-TWO
It was dark when Kate pulled up to the station, her wipers slashingback the rain. The employee parking lot was empty except for the
skeletal night shift. The Security guard stood under the eave of the
roof, trying to escape the brunt of the storm.
"Hello, Ms. Bloom," the man said. "Surprised to see you here this late."
"Hello, Mr. Vasquez. I need to pick something up."
"I'm looking forward to the big golf-off tomorrow," he added excitedly.
Kate wished she felt even an ounce of excitement. Instead, all she had
was dread of the impending disaster. Regardless, she had to see the
videotape Vern had left for her, praying it held the answers.
The guard used his key and let her into the building. She waved at the
night crew as she headed for her office. Flipping on the light, she
entered. Her desk was perfectly organized. Books were lined neatly on
the shelves. The videotape was lying on the blotter, Westchester
printed boldly in black Magic Marker
on the label. A stick-um note was attached.
Kate,
This is the file footage the local
Westchester station took. An old
friend from my days at NBC got
it for me. There's not much here
relating to Chapman. It wasn't one of his better tournaments.
But the
whole hero episode is on it, which happened the day before the
tournament started. Then
there's some footage of him teeing off for the
tournament. Not much, but that's the best I could do.
Let me know if you need anything else.
Vern
Taking the cartridge, Kate went to the video room, popped the tape in,This is the file footage the local
Westchester station took. An old
friend from my days at NBC got
it for me. There's not much here
relating to Chapman. It wasn't one of his better tournaments.
But the
whole hero episode is on it, which happened the day before the
tournament started. Then
there's some footage of him teeing off for the
tournament. Not much, but that's the best I could do.
Let me know if you need anything else.
Vern
and pressed Play. White, gray, and black static filled the screen
before images whirled to an abrupt start, as if someone had turned the
camera on suddenly, and she was hit with Jesse's image, bouncing, as if
the cameraman was running toward him as he turned on the tape.
It was hard to see anything in the early morning dimness. Just the
black velvet golf course as the sky started brightening to purple. She
realized that Jesse was standing on a driving range, his face ravaged,
shocked, his father there with him. The sight of Jesse always made her
body hum with electricity, but
this time her eyes narrowed, her heart
slamming into her throat. She realized that something had already
happened before the video started to roll.
Her heart raced as she watched the scene unfold, the frantic tension in
Jesse's body. A close-up of his face, his eyes wild. But his voice was
fierce and commanding as he yelled, "
We
need help here!
"
She couldn't see anyone else around, no one to help but his father and
the cameraman.
Kate's stomach clenched as the camera panned down and she saw that a
woman was crumpled at
Jesse's feet. No blood, just her lying there like
she was asleep on the ground next to the golf clubs, a tipped-over
bucket spilling a few remaining brilliant white golf balls onto green
grass, and a perfect pair
of men's golf shoes waiting to be put on. The
scene would have been peaceful if it hadn't been for the odd angle of
the body.
Kate watched, her palms damp, her heart pounding in her ears as Jesse
bent over the woman, his
athlete's body powerful as he started
resuscitation. He worked like a machine, mouth breaths, then
chest
compressions. Again and again.
And his barely audible words. "
Come
on, come on. Come back
."
If sheer will could save her, Jesse could do it. Then suddenly breath
rushed into the woman.
Kate could see the relief that surged into Jesse. Then he swept her up,
his strength clear in every movement, and moved away. The cameraman
followed as Jesse carried the woman to a medic's tent. Then static
after the flimsy door slammed shut.
Kate sat staring at the sizzling fuzz on the screen. This was what had
made Jesse a hero, she knew that. He had breathed life back into that
woman.
Before Kate could absorb it all, the static cleared, and the next image
she saw was the camera panning
up at the dark, stormy sky. It had to be
the next day, when the tournament began, the winds picking up. Then a
pan of the crowd,
golfers, officials. And Jesse.
In the distance, someone yelled, "Yo, Jesse, you're a hero!"
But Jesse hadn't wanted to talk. He was focused, ready to start
playing, he said.
Kate pressed Fast Forward, speeding through the sort of footage a
sportscaster would use to highlight his or her report on the evening
news. Clips of other golfers as they teed off. Putts being sunk. She
didn't slow until Jesse returned to the screen. He didn't joke with the
gallery as was his trademark; he was quiet. Worried. She could see the
stress in his expression. Then he teed up. The sheer perfection of body
and motion as he practiced his swing. Then stepping up to the ball. But
his shot wasn't nearly as perfect. Jesse, the man known for his swing,
shanked the ball off into the rough.
Kate continued to watch, but he must not have gotten better because the
rest of the video clips focused on the tournament's top golfers, one of
whom was a rookie who was playing out of his head, gaining the
attention.
The remaining clips on the tape didn't show anything useful. But
something bothered her, and she couldn't leave it alone.
She pressed Rewind, then started again at the beginning. Leaning
forward, her concentration intense,
she viewed the opening sequence
over and over again until she had memorized the images. It was just
before she gave up that she finally understood.
Stunned, Kate pressed Stop, her hand shaking. She sat there, just sat,
until she realized that she had to find Jesse.
After a quick good-bye to Mr. Vasquez, she flew home, careening up and
down the undulating hills. At red lights, she waited
impatiently, praying that Jesse would be there when she arrived. With
every mile she drove, the rain lessened, the storm winding down. By the
time she got home, the stars and moon were trying to work their way
through the clouds. And the Jeep stood in the drive.
Her relief was short-lived when she saw the tree house lying in a
shambles on the ground after all their hard work.
When she banged into the guest cottage, then the house, both were
empty. But she knew where he was.
She all but ran down the drive and across the street. Feeling like she
was twelve years old again, she slipped through the chain-link fence,
careful not to get snagged. The minute she came around the pump house,
she saw him. He stood on the tee box, hidden from the street. He was
beautiful, his driver in his hands, the long seventeenth fairway
stretching out in front of him.
She could have watched him forever.
"I knew you'd find me," he said, the words barely audible, but he
didn't turn around. "You always found me. Ever since you were old
enough to get out your back door."
She could just make out a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth before
it hardened into a firm line. She
took the remaining steps between
them, stopping in front of him.
He crossed both of his hands on top of the club's grip, like he had to
keep himself from touching her.
"I remember when your mom brought you home from the hospital. I wanted
nothing to do with a baby, especially not a girl. I managed to avoid
you for a whileâ hell, a couple of years. But then one day I was
playing in the yard and I heard you crying. My mom was at some meeting,
and when you wouldn't stop
I figured I better check things
out. Even back then I sensed something wasn't right with Mary Beth."
Kate had never heard this story.
"I went to your back screen door and knocked. But no one answered. So I
got myself inside and
followed the noise."
"Wasn't my mother there?"
"She was. Sitting on the floor in your bedroom, crying just like you."
This time Kate looked away.
"Somehow it didn't scare me," he added. "I walked over to where you
were on the bed and sat down
next to you." He reached out on the dark
golf course and turned her chin back toward him. "Little imp, you
stopped crying the second you looked up and saw me. You stared up at me
with these gigantic eyes, and hell, you even smiled."
"Why didn't you ever tell me that?"
He shrugged. "I hated to add proof that your mom didn't know the first
thing about raising kids. Besides,
I never wanted to admit that maybe
we were bonded somehow. I especially didn't want to admit it to you."
"I guess I was kind of tenacious."
"Very. Do you remember sneaking into my room?"
She cringed. "Which time?"
"Exactly. There were dozens."
He was right. She knew it. But he had always been her refuge from her
mother's instability.
"I'm talking about the time I'd had a big fight with Dad," he
explained. "You came marching into my room. When I told you to go away,
you didn't so much as flinch. You laid down next to me, dressed
in jeans and a Too Cool
T-shirt, and told me to scoot over."
"I don't remember the Too Cool part."
"The next thing I know I'm telling you all about it, about how I had to
work harder if I was ever going
to be a truly great golfer, but my dad
didn't believe I could do it. Me, fourteen, you ten, and I'm spilling
my guts to a little girl."
"I do remember that," she stated. He had been serious about golf from
the beginning. "You were number one on the varsity golf team at
fourteen, but you said you weren't good enough."
"I wasn't. But I didn't know that until I played in the junior
tournament in Albuquerque. There were guys there who were incredible.
And they made me realize I wasn't good enough. If I wanted a
scholarship, I had to be better. So I asked my dad to help me. When he
said he was too busy, I asked to take lessons from the pro. He said no
to that, too. But do you remember what you said?"
"Not exactly."
"You said that with or without my dad's help, I was going to be the
greatest golfer who ever lived." His expression grew intense. "You and
those damned eyes, always making me believe I could be anything
I
wanted to be."
"Because it was true. It still is."
He stood there forever. "Every kid deserves to have someone who
believes in themâreally believes and proves it. I wish I could have
figured out how to do that for Travis."
"You did."
"Not in a way that makes a difference. Not in a way that will sustain
him his whole life."
"Then you will. You still can." She could tell that he didn't believe
her. "You're a good man." She hesitated, searching for a way to make
him understand what he had at the core. "Don't give up on
Travis, or
yourself."
"Give up?" He laughed bitterly. "My game has fallen apart. Can you
believe that, Katie? Me, who has
had a club in my hand since I was a
kid? Now I break out into a cold sweat whenever I'm on a tee box.
That's why I can't play in the golf-off tomorrow."
"I know."
The mixture of clouds and stars trying to break through lit the night
enough that she could see Jesse flinch. Then he pivoted around to look
at her. "What are you talking about?"
"I saw some videotape of Westchester."
She had never seen any man look so vulnerable. His jaw worked, the
cords in his neck bulging with tensionâand maybe with a little hope
that he didn't have to keep his secret anymore.
She couldn't do anything else when she tucked herself close to this
strong man, hugging him tight. For
half a second, he let her hold him,
though his arms hung at his sides. His breath was ragged, dragged in
sharply, harshly expelled. After an eternity, a haunting groan broke
out of him loudly enough to startle
a small flock of sleeping birds out
of the overhanging tree. Then he wrapped his arms around her and buried
his face in her shoulder.
"Oh, Jesse," she whispered, and pressed her palms to the broad planes
of his back as if she could somehow heal him. "Why won't you talk about
it? You saved her life. I saw how you wouldn't give
up. You really are a hero."
He broke away from her. "I'm not a hero. Davis was right. She never
should have needed to be saved."
"He also implied that you hit her with the club."
"Fuck."
"Tell me what happened, Jesse. I want to hear the truth from you."
He grabbed her arms desperately, like giving in, finally letting the
words rush out of him. "It was nearly dark and she came out of nowhere,
screaming and screaming at me.
Jesse!
She ran onto the driving
range
right in the middle of a swing. The club caught her in the chest and
she went down."
That was what the camera hadn't captured, the moments that led to the
collapse.
"You said yourself that
she
ran out, Jesse. She got in the way. You
can't blame anyone for that."
He closed his eyes, no doubt remembering.
"Jesse, you
did
save her."
"Again, like Tommy said, she never should have needed to be saved. Then
the next thing I know, everyone's calling me a hero. But for the first
time I really saw who I had become. Who I was. I
watched news report
after news report showing me and my life. Thirty-second spots.
Sixty-second
spots. Three- and four-minute exposes on Jesse Chapman
over the years. It was like I saw myself crystallized, distilled down
to the essence of who I really was. The bad boy, the wild guy. And I
didn't like who I saw. On top of that, I realized I was everything
Derek says I am." He shook his head. He
even half laughed, a bitter
sound wrenched from his chest. "Derek
is
right. I have been drinking and screwing women for longer than I
can remember."
"Maybe that's really why you're a hero."
He looked at her as if she had gone crazy. "What are you talking about?"
"Despite the life your father led you to, you survived. And despite
your dad being anything but a father, you've done lots of things right.
Heck, look what you've done for Travis when you easily could have given
Belinda money and washed your hands of the situation. Or take me. You
have always tried to do right by me. And that woman, no matter what
happened, you saved her ... and you're willing to let
people believe
you hit her when it wasn't you at all."
His entire body went still.
"Your father hit her, not you, but just like you've been doing for
years, you protected him."
He started to pace. "You can't know that."
"Sure I can. You're not saying a word about what happened to the press
or anyone because if you did, you'd have to say that your father hit
her. You're protecting him just as you protected him when you were
young and people were concerned that he wasn't being a good enough
father. When teachers questioned you, you said how great he was. You
made up all sorts of great, normal, father-son things
that you said the
two of you did together, instead of admitting the truth. I remember,
Jesse. I heard you say plenty of stuff about your dad that I knew
wasn't true. And just minutes ago I watched that video
of Westchester
over and over again. Then it finally dawned on me. Your father was
holding the club.
Not you."
"Dad with a club doesn't prove anything."
"Doesn't it? I'm willing to bet that you never even picked up a club
that morning." Her toned softened. "What professional golfer hits
almost an entire bucket of balls in street shoes?"
He stared at her hard, cornered.
"Once I realized that, I went through the tape one last time, and
that's when I finally looked at your fatherâ standing there, holding
the club, his face white, scared. He was the one hitting balls that
morning. He was the one who hit her, Jesse. Not you. And you can't
spend the rest of your life trying
to protect him."
"Is that how you plan to save your career? By reporting that? If that's
the case, let me add to your story. Carlen was furious because I hadn't
acknowledged him at a players' dinner the night before. His dream was
of being like Tiger Woods's father, getting the gratitude, getting the
kind of hug Tiger gave his dad after he won the Masters. How many times
has the world seen that video clip? How many times has my father said
that would be us one day? But that night when I got up to speak, when I
had a chance to acknowledge him, he was drinking, making a scene as
usual. I stood there at the podium and all I felt
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