The Putting Green Whisperer by McCarthy Zoe M.;

Author:McCarthy, Zoe M.;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Christian Fiction
Publisher: Pelican Book Group
Published: 2018-08-17T16:00:00+00:00

~*~

Dig a hole and bury her. Allie raised her head and looked at Shoo. “I’m with Mark. I wouldn’t know what to write.” Especially since Steve Leonard was not her favorite person at the moment.

Shoo frowned. “Allie, I don’t expect you to write a masterpiece. It’s just a silly poem.”

She didn’t like his tone. “Well, I’m sorry. I can’t write it here.” She held up the paper and pen. “I’ll take these with me, and maybe something will come to me.” She headed for the door. “Later.”

After the door clunked shut behind her and she’d strode almost to the elevators, she stopped and cupped her forehead. Why couldn’t she just sit down and write the stupid poem? So what if she encouraged a man she disagreed with? At least, her behavior wouldn’t have seemed so odd to the guys.

Should she go back? She rotated back. The long hallway loomed. No. She wouldn’t know what to say. The damage was done. They thought she was an idiot.

And she was.

Allie let herself into her room, collapsed on the bed, and stared at the smoke detector. If only she’d think before she reacted.

She reached inside her shirt for her cross, and then patted her skin. Her heart leapt to her throat, and she sat erect. Where was it? Her last link to Mom…

Oh, yeah. She’d taken off her necklace at the miniature golf course. Her heart rate eased as she wriggled it from her pocket.

She held the cross to her lips. “Mom, I keep messing up. I need you so badly.”

You need Me.

“Yes, Mom, I—”

Had Mom spoken to her?

“Mom?” Silence.

A rap on the door came.

Someone had followed her. Shoo? Or Grady? She pulled a pillow over her head and pressed it to her ears. Why couldn’t they leave her alone?

The knock came again.

Brushing an escaped ponytail strand from her face, she went to the door. She shrank back from putting her eye to the peephole. Did she really want to see Shoo’s face? Especially distorted by the peephole lens? No. She leaned in close to the door and listened. Maybe he’d left.

Loud raps startled her, and she opened the door.

“Mark!”

He looked uncomfortable. “Can I come in?”

She shut her gaping mouth and stepped aside.

“I want to read you my poem.” He crossed the threshold.

She stuck her head into the hallway. No Shoo. Or Grady. Thank heaven. She closed the door and followed Mark inside.

He plopped down on the armchair and produced the paper Shoo had given him. “You ready?”

“Yeah.” She crossed her arms over her ribcage.

“OK. Here goes. ‘Hey. Happy day.’” He looked up.

She waited for him to go on. Oh. That was the end of his poem. A laugh zipped out.

He wrinkled his brow in a defensive look. “It rhymes. Hey and day.”

Her heart calmed. “It’s perfect, Mark.” The big lug had put the whole lousy situation in perspective. “Maybe I can write a poem, after all.”

“I thought, with my expertise in writing poems and all, I could help you with yours.”

His expression was earnest.

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