Worth the Drive (10 page)

Katie covered the flash of envy and hurt quickly. “Oh, Lizard, that’s wonderful. You are happy about it, right? I didn’t even know you guys were trying. How far along are you?” The questions tumbled out, and to get a hold of herself, she turned away from her best friend and once again began applying makeup. Her hand shook as she brought the mascara wand to her face and she steadied her other hand on the sink.

“I’m ecstatic about it. We started trying the minute we set a wedding date
, knowing it was goi
n
g to be a very short engagement, and I’m no spring chicken
. I’m just over three months, so we think it’s safe to start telling people.” Lizzie got up from the seat and stepped behind Katie, wrapping her arms around Katie’s waist, making her meet her eyes in the mirror. “
Finn
knows, of course, and the kids, but we haven’t told anyone else. I wanted to tell you first, KitKat, an
d yet, I didn’t want to have to tell you at all
. Does that make sense?”

Katie put the makeup down and leaned back into her friend’s embrace, allowing the hurt to now show on her face. She tried her best to answer Lizzie, trying to keep the tremble she felt out of her voice. “I understand, Lizard. And you do know that I really am happy for you, don’t you? And
Finn
too, of course.” Lizzie nodded and touched her head to Katie’s.
Their
hair melded into a strange zebra pattern, Katie’s so white and Lizzie’s so black. “It’s just….” Katie sighed.

“I know, KitKat, I know,” Lizzie whispered.

They stood that way for a minute before Lizzie said, “I have to get going. Are you going to be okay?”

Katie stepped out of the warm embrace and pushed her friend to the bathroom door. “Of course I’ll be okay. You go out there and sign that client, Little Mama.”

Lizzie gave Katie one last, questioning glance. Katie gave a bright, reassuring smile and waved her friend off. She heard the hotel room door click shut.

The hurt came in waves, suffocating her. Lizzie would be a great mother, but she’d never cared about kids before getting together with
Finn
. Katie, on the other hand, had wanted children
for
forever it seemed. She slowly turned to the mirror, preparing to do her makeup all over again, as she watched the tears begin to roll down her face.

The restaurant
Darío
took her to was a far cry from the Armadillo. It was just as small, and off the beaten track of downtown Irving, but it was full of warmth and charm. And Spanish cooking, as Katie found out when she barely recognized a word on the menu.

“You
don’t
care for Spanish food? We could go someplace else?”
Darío
asked.

“No, I love Mexican, I’m just not familiar with too much on the menu,” Katie said.

Darío
smiled, “That is because it is Spanish, not Mexican.”

Katie thought of okra and grits, neither of which she’d ever tasted, and the pasties she was so used to in the U.P. “Point taken,” she said. “Why don’t you order for me? I like spicy, but not too spicy. I love beef, but not pork. And I prefer rice to beans.”
Darío
nodded, perused the menu for a moment and gave their order to the waitress when she arrived.

They talked of the day’s play. Besides
Darío
’s great round, Chad made the cut in his first tournament as a pro – no
small feat
. Neither one of them expressed any regret in seeing Barclay head home, missing the cut by four shots.

Over a wonderful dinner that Katie readily admitted was one of the best she’d ever had, the conversation flowed comfortably.

“You don’t play poker with Binky on Friday nights?” she asked.

He shook his head, wiping his mouth with his napkin. “No. It is a game for caddies only.”

“I’ll bet that’s quite a picture. A room full of Binkys knowing they’ve got an extra paycheck to burn. I see a dark room with cigar smoke, empty beer bottles, and lots of foul language. Quite a boy’s club, eh?”

Darío
smiled. “Not
entirely. There a
re a few women caddies on tour. More on the smaller, training tour. In those cases, it is usually the players’ wives, as they cannot yet afford to pay a regular caddy.”

“Surely that’s not the case at this level?” Katie asked.

“No. The caddies at this level have been doing this a while. And they get paid very well, though they do have to cover their own travel expenses. The women caddies are not the players’ wives on the Tour.”

“I saw one on the practice range yesterday. She had a long ponytail, sort of petite, incredible legs, about my age,” Katie said.

Darío
nodded. “
Sí
, that was Franny. She’s been on the Tour with Rick for over ten years.”

Katie noticed he didn’t mention anything about her description of Franny. Did he like petite women? With great legs? She knew her legs could stand the comparison, but did she seem like an
A
mazon to him? He was her height. Maybe he was one of those men who liked to tower over their women.

Maybe she should get her mind back to the subject! “Rick? Rick
Donaldson
? She’s
his
caddy?”

“Yes. For at least ten years now, probably more. You’ve heard of Rick?”

“
Yes of course I’ve heard of Rick
Donaldson
. I know of his – what? – four majors?”
Darío
nodded. “He’s known as Prick
Donaldson
on Tour, isn’t he?” Her embarrassment at using the word in front of
Darío
about a man she’d never met was obvious as she felt the blush creep up her cheeks.

Funny, she’d always been known as something of an Ice Princess, and she’d probably blushed more in front of
Darío
in two days than she had in the past ten years combined.

He seemed amused
at her discomfort. “Yes, that’s
his nickname,” he said.

“Do you know him very well? Is he…is he,” she couldn’t ask it.

“Is he really a prick?” he chuckled. Katie nodded. “I
t depends on who you ask. I’
ve been on several Ryder Cup teams with Rick. He is just a few years ol
der than I am
. He was very generous and helpful to me during my first Ryder Cup experience. For that, I will always be grateful.” He hesitated, then smiled. “But yes, he can be a prick.”

“And this Franny, she’s his caddy?”

“Yes, for many years now they have been a team. She may possibly be the only person who would put up with Rick so long.”

“And are they a couple also?”

Darío
shook his head. “No. Rick is currently going through his second divorce.”

“So, there are
two women out there who agree with the nickname,” Katie said.

“At least,”
Darío
said. “He tried to
steal Binky from me years ago. T
hat’s when Binky introduced him to Franny. She was new on the Tour and Rick had gone through several caddies. No one would stay with him. I think Binky has always had a
soft
spot for Franny, so he saw that she got on with a relatively stable player.”

“Two marriages is relatively stable?”

He grinned and Katie felt a flutter in her belly. “A relatively stable player on the Tour. The other,” he waved his hand, “I can not speak to.”

Katie smiled. “Well, I can hardly talk about stable when it comes to marriage.” She refused to fall into some kind of maudlin funk. Not when she was enjoying
Darío
’s company so much. “So, Binky and Franny play poker together on Fridays, eh?”

“
Sí
. Most caddies socialize together and most players socialize together. There are exceptions of course.”

“Oh, so last night was a fluke? You and Binky going out together?”

“No. We have dinner together eve
ry Wednesday and Thursday night
. Wednesday is after the last practice round, before the tournament begins and we discuss course strategy. Thursday is after we have played the first round, and we talk about any adjustments we need to make to that strategy. Usually we eat at the hotel, but last night…” his voice trailed off.

“Last night?” Katie prodded.

A sheepish smile crossed his face, making his mouth seem lopsided, emphasizing his large nose. Katie found it endearing.

“Last night,
” he sighed, “I’
d overheard Chad telling Lizzie about the Armadillo at the golf course. I decided to give it a try.”

Katie wondered at that. She didn’t assume she was the reason why
Darío
wanted to give the Armadillo a try. But still… the place wasn’t necessarily one that people put on the top of their must-eat-at lists.

“So, you only eat with Binky on two nights of the week. What players are you closest
to? Who
would you normally be eating with on
a
Friday evening if you hadn’t taken pity on me?”

He shook his head, a warm compassion filling his chocolate eyes. “I have no pity for you,
Katie.” Before she could respond to that, he added, “Normally I eat alone the other nights. Occasionally one of the other Spanish players
, or some other player I happen to know well,
is at an event and we’ll get together, but most times alone.”

The concept of eating out alone was foreign to Katie. She had never in her life eaten at a restaurant alone. The thought terrified her. And yet, she knew that it was a very real possibility for her future.

Nah, not while Alison was still single. She’d always have someone to go to the Commodore
with for some pizza and a drink
.

“You must get very lonely,” she whispered, thinking more of her future than addressing
Darío
.

He thought on that, took a sip of his water that he’d switched to after one beer. “I am alone ninety percent of the time. Of that time, I am lonely perhaps ten percent of that.”

She wrinkled her brow, puzzled.

“There is a difference between being alone and being lonely,
Gata
,” he said quietly, now sensing she was talking about herself as well as him.

“Is there?” she asked, not convinced.

“
Yes. You’
ll get used to being alone, and then you will see the difference. Right now, to you, they are the same.”

She stared at her empty plate, took a sip of her water. “Maybe. I hope so. I’ve never lived alone before. I’m somewhat ashamed to say I don’t like it. Here I
am, moments away from thirty-seven
. I
have a good job, great friends, a wonderful family
who
live
s
nearby,” her voice dropped to a whisper, “and I’m so afraid to be in that house alone at night.”

Darío
’s concern was evident. “Do you not live in a safe area?”

She laughed softly. “It’s not anyone else I’m afraid of. It’s…it’s… it’s just being with only me for all those hours that terrifies me.”

She could tell that this concept was as foreign to
Darío
as his being alone so much of the time was to her.

He changed the subject, and she was grateful. “Tell me, what it is that you do for a living, Katie?”

“I’m an editor at the daily newspaper in town.”

He smiled. “Ahh, a journalist, sometimes known as the enemy.”

“In what way?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I have not had much problem with the press, but some players on the Tour – such as Rick
Donaldson
– feel they have been…misrepresented… in the press. They
don’t
have overly friendly feelings toward journalists.
And of course Tiger…
”

She loved how the word “misrepresented” rolled off his tongue, the accent not quite on the right syllable, his r’s rolled as flat as a pancake. His
“is” and “
it’s
” sounded more like “ees” and “eet”
. She could listen to this man read the phone book.

She waved her hand. “What I do is far removed from sports writing
.
Following a team or a Tour. Those guys are professionals.” She was dismissive in her tone and he picked up on it.

“So what is it that you write exactly?” he prompted.

She raised her shoulders, as if her subject was unimportant. “Well, the
Ingot
is a small town daily newspaper, so the local news is key. Town meetings, police and court reports, and of course the obituaries. Obituaries are very big at the
Ingot
.”