To what, say he’s sorry? Trey heard it already. The ball’s his to play.
At the first hole, Greg hangs to the left of the tee, where he used to stand while Mr. Johns swung so he wouldn’t be in the golfer’s line of vision. Trey plays the same side, his back to Greg as he lines up his club with the ball. After a moment’s deliberation, he turns and signals Greg with a slight hand gesture that has the caddy running to his side. “Too windy for a driver, do you think?” he asks.
All golf. There’s no smile, no wink, nothing flirty at all about his demeanor today. Greg clears his throat and resolves to be just as stoic. Lifting his face to the sun, he squints as he mentally assesses the wind. “You should be fine,” he says. “Those trees on the right block most of it farther down the green. It’s par
