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The cart takes off, and I face forward gripping the seat tight. I'm not sure why, but it feels like that time at the county fair the summer before junior year. Cash and I rode the Ferris wheel while Wilder waited below. I didn't want to get on the ride, but I didn't want Wilder taking my spot next to Cash.
The Ferris wheel circled twice and, right when we were about to go over the third time, we were stopped at the very top. I was holding onto Cash's hand so tight, his fingers were turning white. I didn't want to admit it then, but I was scared. Scared of careening over that ridge and plummeting to the hard dirt below.
Right now, I feel scared again. Not of plummeting to the dirt below, but scared of falling off the Wilder cliff and meeting the rough, choppy waves below.
"You ready to tee off?" Ian nudges me with his elbow as we come to a stop in front of the first hole.
"Yep," I force a smile.
Wilder helps Hendrix off the rear bench, then slips on his sunglasses. I try not to stare, but Hendrix links her arm with his, making my heart sting a little.
"You're up first," Ian hands me a ball and club. "This is called a driver."
"Thanks," I say to him as I place my ball on the little wooden tee and scan the green.
Ian shows me how to place my hands on the grip. I take some practice swings before lining up with the tee and checking the distance to the next hole.
"You've got this, Ingrid," I mutter to myself as I pull the golf club back and rotate my shoulders. "You can do this."
I inhale, then slowly exhale and let my arms propel forward. The club makes contact with the ball and sends it flying across the grass.
"Yes!" I hear Ian behind me. "You did it!"
I chew on my lower lip as the ball stops fairly close to the first hole. Satisfied, I take a step back and let Hendrix go next. She misses the ball a few times but eventually hits it in the right direction. Wilder goes after. He's never been as athletic as Cash, but he manages to get the ball closer to the hole than Hendrix does.
Ian goes last. He winds up the shot and lets it fly. He seems happy when the ball stops a few feet from mine.
"Ready for more?" Ian directs to me as he takes my club.
"Yep."
Wilder makes Hendrix laugh all the way to the golf cart. I strain to hear what they're talking about, but Ian is telling me a story about his first golf lesson and multi-tasking has never been my strong suit. Nothing is harder than trying to be present for two separate conversations.
"And that's when I told my dad I'd never be a professional golfer," Ian finishes as Wilder holds out his hand to Hendrix. She takes a hold of it and smiles at him as she climbs into the golf cart. "Ingrid?"
I glance over at Ian. "Sorry, what?"
"Are you okay?"
I adjust the cap on my head. "I was thinking about how I'm going to get the ball into the hole."
Wilder mumbles something to Hendrix and they both burst into laughter. Me. I think they're laughing at me.
Heat builds behind my eyes, but I'm determined not to cry. Wilder's been making fun of me for years. Why does it suddenly bother me so much?
Because you recently got dumped and Wilder is your only friend, my subconscious reminds me.
I shove the negative emotions deep down and walk around the golf cart. As I do, Wilder grabs my arm and stops me. "If you need some help getting that ball into the hole, I've had plenty of practice. I'd love to give you some pointers."
He is making fun of me. I can tell by the way Hendrix hides a stifled laugh behind her hand.
"I don't need pointers," I say to him as I pry his grimy fingers off my arm. "I'm perfectly fine on my own, Wilder. But you? You always have to have someone around. Is that because you're terrified if you're left alone with your thoughts for too long, you might actually see why no one gives a shit about you?"
Wilder's hazel eyes flash with hurt before he hides the pain behind an impenetrable wall.
"I'm sorry," I apologize. "That was mean. I... I didn't mean that."
I don't want to hurt Wilder. Everyone else has done a fantastic job of that. The last thing he needs is more of it from me.
