Saturday, July 6
I lay in bed aching. I was supposed to golf with Golf Guy tomorrow but he hadn’t mentioned our date since he made it. Bet he never planned to follow through.
"Hi,” I texted Golf Guy. “Are we on for Sunday? My horse knocked me unconscious last night so I have a good story.”
I made breakfast for Tom, cleaned the house, ran errands. Six hours later, as I was wrapping things up with my banker, my text alert dinged.
"My god, I'm soo (sic) sorry, are u ok?” Golf Guy texted. “I think I have to raincheck tomorrow, I'm sorry, my partner is out of town so I have to see some of his people tomorrow late afternoon.”
I threw my phone in my purse. Screw Golf Guy and the club he swung in on. I took Tom to lunch and ordered split pea soup, the only thing my throbbing jaw could handle. I let the croutons turn to mush in my mouth before maneuvering them to the back of my throat and swallowing. My left shoulder, arm, and hip were throbbing, too.
“How do u feel?” Golf Guy texted another six hours later.
At 10:30 pm, he sent “?”
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