Thinking of the questions Will had asked her earlier that day, Phyllis had to wonder if he’d ever find the answers he was looking for.
Because he wasn’t asking the right questions.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
JOHN STRICKLAND and Will were out on the golf course the next day, in spite of the more-than-hundred-degree heat. Will’s off-white golf shirt clung to him; dust from the course clung to it. His shorts, a dark tan color, were not quite so badly off, but he figured it was only a matter of time. He was sweating like a pig.
And still determined to knock that little white ball clear to Africa. Or as close as he could get. Setting his cleated shoes firmly in the ground in front of the tee, he positioned his body, tested his stance, then positioned again.
“So what’s this about you and Becca going to childbirth classes together?” John asked just as Will was preparing to swing. His club hit the ground with a thud.
“Yeah,” Will grunted. They’d had their second class the night before, and seeing Becca had only confused Will more. He missed her so damned much—had been almost desperate for the opportunity to touch his wife, if only to place a pillow beneath her swollen body.
Will swung, knocked the ball onto the green within two feet of the pin.
“Good shot,” John said, stepping slowly up to the tee. “I’m thinking about moving to Shelter Valley.”
Will grinned. Finally some good news. “I’ll be damned.”
“Yeah,” John said, getting off a beautiful shot, as well.
They gathered their golf bags and started the trek toward their golf balls once again.
“This isn’t just because you’ve taken a liking to Martha, is it?” Will asked.
“No,” John said, so matter-of-factly Will knew it was the truth. “She’s still too raw from the breakup of her marriage, and while we’ve enjoyed the little bit of time we’ve spent together, neither one of us is ready for anything more. But I know that soon I’ll be ready to settle down again, to have a home and someday a family. I loved my wife deeply, but I think I need to move on now. Who knows? If Martha and I still like each other after her divorce is final, maybe I’ll ask her out.”
Will was delighted to hear it.
And a bit put out. His friend was on the brink of discovering what he himself was in the process of losing.
“How did you know you loved your wife?”
Settling his heavy bag more firmly on his shoulder, John half turned toward Will. “You’re asking me that, old man? You’ve been at this love business a lot longer than I was.”
His eye on the little white ball still several yards ahead of him, Will strode along. “Time means nothing. It’s what you do with it that counts.”
“What’d you do with your time?”
Will shrugged. “Obviously I didn’t pay enough attention to my wife. Funny how you can live with someone for twenty years and not even be sure you know them.”
“Keeps life exciting.”
Will harrumphed. If this was excitement, he could live an entire lifetime without it.
Another couple of holes, a missed shot, and Will and John took shelter from the sun on a bench beneath a canopy set up for that purpose, sipping water from little paper cups.
“So tell me what you loved abou
t Becca back in college,” John said into the silence that had fallen. Midafternoon on a sweltering day, the two men had the back half of the course to themselves.
“Her body, of course.” Will gave the expected—and true—response.
“From what I can tell, she’s still got that going for her.”
Will was kind of proud John had noticed—once he’d suppressed the initial instinctive need to kill any other man who looked at his wife.
“That’s it? Her body?” John asked.