Later Reggie posed for the photographers, still smiling his fake smile, while windblown sand stung his eyes, forcing him to fight back fresh tears.
When Mr. Wilson told the journalists it was enough, Reggie secretly thanked God.
He couldn’t wait for the moment when he could be alone with his trophy. Alone with the tender memories of the time he’d spent with Russell. He wanted to relive every moment of those days, those little—big—things he had to learn to leave behind.
As the crowd dispersed, Reggie finally found Carlos. He tried to make a beeline for his caddie but the tournament director was faster and caught up with him first.
“I’ll prepare a little party here at the clubhouse tonight,” he said, delighted, while grabbing Reggie’s arm. “The champion can’t miss it.”
Oh no. More borin
