Read Online Hidden by Catherine McKenzie - Free Book Online Page A

think of myself as the sort of person who’s affected by the weather, but I felt lighter the minute we deplaned. The sight of all that pristine grass, broken up bysandy-white bunkers and indigo water hazards as we drove through the resort added to the bubble of happiness welling up inside me. I could tell that Claire was feeling happy too. She had a sort of perma-smile on her face, something I hadn’t seen in a while.
    The resort was plush, spread out over endless acres bounded by the choppy ocean. Our suite was in a building next to the newly built clubhouse. The first one we’d been in since our surprise, paid-for-by-the-family honeymoon, the suite had a large living room, an even bigger bedroom, and a bathroom that was grand enough to house a Jacuzzi. The colours were light and airy. Sunlight flowed in from the massive windows that gave never-ending views of the kelly-green golf course.
    “Maybe I should go to the pool?” Claire said, flitting around our room, unpacking. “Or, I saw tennis courts. Do you think I could find someone to play with me?”
    “I think you could find someone to do a lot of things with you.”
    “Flirting!”
    “Can you flirt with your own wife?”
    She rested her hands on my waist. “You certainly can.”
    We started kissing, pressing against one another. Thoughts of the golf course drifted away. I had my shirt off and was working the buttons on hers when the phone next to the bed rang shrilly.
    “You better get that,” Claire said.
    I put my lips against her neck. “It’ll take a message.”
    She swatted me gently as it rang again. “It might be one of the bosses calling.”
    She was right. John Scott, the VP in charge of my department, wanted me to go to the driving range with him, hadheard I could help out a guy who might have a “slight” slice. I wondered how he knew that, but then I remembered some passing conversation we’d had months ago about how I’d worked as a golf pro for a couple summers when I was putting myself through college. Drinks had been involved in this conversation, of course, because the truth was that I’d worked
for
the golf pro while I was putting myself through college. But I couldn’t tell him that, so I agreed to meet him in the lobby in fifteen.
    “Sorry, honey, but duty calls,” I said as I hung up the phone. “I have to go to the driving range.”
    “Since when has someone ever had to convince you to do that?”
    “It shows the power you still have over me.”
    “Now you’re feeding me lines! What’s gotten into you?”
    I wasn’t sure, but it seemed like it had gotten into both of us.
    I hoped it would last past golf practice.
    “I feel happy.”
    “You know what?” Claire said. “Me too.”
    I met John in the lobby twenty minutes later. He was standing underneath a large blue banner that read
Welcome!
and was dressed like my grandfather used to, in a pink polo shirt, madras golf shorts, and tan socks pulled up to his knees. He was chewing on an unlit cigar, his shaven head glinting under the harsh overhead lighting.
    “Jeff, my boy,” he said, shaking my hand firmly, “let’s do this thing.”
    He slapped me on the back and led me outside, where a white electric golf cart was waiting for us. I had started tostrap my bag in when a young kid in a dark blue polo shirt and chino shorts mumbled, “Let me help you with that, sir,” in nearly flawless English and snatched it from me, then did the same for John.
    Having been in this kid’s position, I wanted to tip him for his efforts, but I’d left my wallet in my room. John took it as part of the included service, and placed his rather large behind into the golf cart. It listed to the side under his girth.
    I mumbled an apology to the kid and climbed in next to John, surprised he was letting me drive. Until he reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a silver flask. He unscrewed the top and took a long pull.
    “Would you like a snort?” he asked, holding it towards