Page 61 of Wood

38

BEN

The Sundance Ridge Golf Course is stunning in the way only the Canadian Rockies can be. Gorgeous fairways snake up and down the valley with soaring white peaks all around us, even in August.

Walking the quiet course as the sun rises, just Geoff and I, it feels like a honeymoon. His official caddie bib with VANCE emblazoned on the back has new meaning for us as he filed all the paperwork for his name change before we left. Officially Geoffrey Patters Vance now, keeping his father’s name as his middle name. I am so proud he is mine, I’m bouncing.

“Pay attention, Vance,” he smirks as he bends down to look at the green on hole one. An elk grazes in the rough a hundred yards away, keeping an eye on us as we walk.

“Bossy, aren’t you, Vance,” I huff as I crouch down next to him. His love blazes from his eyes, almost as bright as his ring.

When we finally turned our phones back on, we agreed we would ignore social media for at least a week, perhaps longer. Marcus would keep us apprised of anything truly important. I have a few emails from him with requests for interviews and photo shoots. He will be up next week to help wrangle those.

A snide text from Julian. “Saw the news. Never suspected you were gay. Guess the kid’s good for something besides cleaning balls. Hope the prenup’s solid. Twenty-one is a long way from thirty-nine, plenty of time for him to trade up. Congrats I guess.”

Geoff laughed it off. “Jealous dick.”

I didn’t bother to reply.

A blistering voice mail from my sister demanding details and a party when we get back to Denver. We called her on video so she could meet Geoff.

“I have a new brother,” Carolyn practically screamed. “Ben, you are such an A.H.!” Geoff quirked an eyebrow, and she growled, “Little ears. Wait until I get you in private. Worst brother everrr.”

“Only brother, sis,” I laughed.

“Nope!” She declared. “Geoff is the best brother now!”

“Go easy sis, he is an only child, no evil siblings,” I reply.

“Pfft,” she answers, “too late, the man is a saint for marrying you and he is MY brother now.”

So, apparently my house - our house - will host a party when we return. She has keys. Ugh, I won’t think about that right now.

Geoff had a very long thread of missed chats from his college buddies, also demanding a party. I wince at that thought. Well, I knew when I married him, too late to back out. We will provide the pizza and beer. And schedule the pool to be cleaned the day after.

I straighten from my crouch, grunting as I stand.

“Ooh, the old man grunt,” he laughs.

“You were the one grunting this morning,” I remind him. He waggles his eyebrows and then his butt.

Shaking my head, at him I add, “Make some caddie notes in your little book, kid.”

He chokes on his laughter but dutifully scribbles down the info we’ll need tomorrow when we start trying out clubs.

Geoff is safely tucked away in our suite in the Main Lodge, eating room service and laughing at more Stewie antics while I attend the player’s dinner. I have received some nods, some grimaces, and a few men have outright turned their backs, but mostly it is tolerable. We are here to play golf, not politics. Once again, the scent of rare steaks and garlic bread lingers in the air. The thick logs of the huge Lodge Main Room gleam in the dim light.

We have wrapped up the dinner portion of the evening, and now is the mingling hour. I am sipping a Scotch, sitting by the fireplace and contemplating heading to our suite when I hear the booming Texas drawl and I brace myself. ‘Todd Harrington The Third, incoming’ I hear Geoff chirp in my head, and I manage a warm expression as I turn to greet him.

“Benny!” he booms warmly. “Just the man I was hoping to run into!” This is… unexpected. “Where is your better half?” He peers around the room as though Geoff should be here.

“In our suite, Todd,” I reply. “He never comes to these things. Players only.”

“Ah, right, right. No exceptions for husbands, I suppose,” he says. “Mind if I sit?”

He’s never asked before. “Of course,” I reply, gesturing to the empty armchair next to me. Todd’s face is drawn, tired, the bags under his eyes darker, troubled.

“Little lady, can I get a Scotch, please?” he asks a passing cocktail waitress. “Ben?”