Chapter 2 - Owen Had Been Trying to Tell Me for Four Days
The family gathering ended immediately.
I didn’t ask Wade another question on the lawn.
That surprised even me.
Minutes earlier, anger had made me punch and kick a man I had considered my closest friend for almost twenty years.
But once Owen’s words landed, the only person I cared about hearing was my son.
Maren sat beside him while an on-site nurse checked his face.
No fracture.
No serious eye injury.
A painful bruise was forming, but physically he would be okay.
Emotionally was different.
I knelt in front of him.
“Owen, what did you see?”
His eyes immediately dropped.
I softened my voice.
“You’re not in trouble.”
He looked toward Wade, who was being kept away by two other adults.
Then whispered:
“I tried to tell you.”
“When?”
“Tuesday.”
Tuesday.
I remembered.
Owen had come into my home office while I was on a conference call.
He stood beside my desk and said:
“Dad, I need to tell you something about Mom.”
I had covered the microphone and answered:
“Can it wait twenty minutes?”
He nodded.
Twenty minutes became an hour.
By then he was asleep.
Wednesday morning he tried again while I was leaving.
Thursday night he stood beside my bedroom door.
Each time, I was busy.
Each time, I promised:
“Later.”
Four days.
My seven-year-old had been trying to warn me for four days.
Wade had apparently realized that too.
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And that changed the meaning of the golf ball completely.
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