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and placed everything carefully around the table. Through it all she diligently avoided acknowledging my existence. Once the juice was ready and the napkins were laid out artistically atop the plates, Erin finally walked toward me. She grabbed me by the shirt and dragged me to the table, forcibly sat me down, and then she sat down quietly in the opposite chair and bored into me with her eyes.
    “This really looks great… Schatzi,” I said somewhat sheepishly when I’d had my fill of her glare. “But… you really didn’t have to—”
    She cut me off. “I know.” Her voice was stern, but not condescending. “I didn’t have to.” She continued staring.
    “Well, then why did you?”
    “I… I chose to.” Her face softened slightly. “Do you recognize this meal?”
    I briefly studied the items on the table. “Breakfast?”
    “You’re such a man,” she sighed. “This happens to be the same thing we ate on the first morning of our honeymoon. As difficult as that was for me then, I already forgave you once over this meal, and one way or another I’m determined to do it again.”
    I was speechless. Erin’s actions reminded me anew that I didn’t deserve her. “You…” I stammered. “Really… I’m… you’re incredible.”
    The tensions of the previous day were not immediately abated, but her gesture had at least provided a way that I could work my way back into her good graces. As we ate, I told her all about my trip to London’s—about the moose, the scorecard-journals, and the agreement I’d made to play golf with him. Erin saw it as a positive sign that I was facing my father. I think she figured it would somehow be good for me in my preparation to become a dad myself if I could put the disappointments of my youth firmly behind me. I assured her that, if anything, my visit had only heightened my fears that I would somehow become just like him.
    By the time all of the food was gone, Erin had agreed to be patient with me as I tried to wrap my head around the life-altering changes that were in our future. I promised, at a minimum, to keep my negative thoughts about parenthood to myself. It wasn’t everything she hoped for, but it was a start.
    London showed up as planned right at one-thirty and we drove together to get my car out of the mud. Neither of us said much along the way. A tow truck met us there and made quick work of it. My vehicle had never been dirtier, but fortunately no fluids had gotten into the engine; it started up just fine and I was able to drive myself the rest of the way to the golf course.
    London was scratching at the scruff on his face when I approached his car in the parking lot. He was standing near the rear of the vehicle, beside the open hatchback. In the afternoon sun it was apparent that his short facial hair was considerably saltier than the salt-and-pepper locks on his head. He quietly pulled a new golf bag from the trunk of his car, and then addressed me in his usual gruff voice.
    “Your old clubs will do, but the bag had to go.”
    “Criminy,” I lamented. “I’m not taking up golf again. You really shouldn’t have done this. After your nine lessons, I won’t need a golf bag at all.”
    As he’d done the night before, my father was trying very hard to keep his face as vacant as possible. His lips tightened slightly, but his voice remained steady. “Well… who knows? You might find that you enjoy it more than you remember. At any rate, I didn’t buy it for you. I’m only letting you borrow it for the next nine months. I plan to keep it around as a spare for when I take your child golfing in years to come.”
    “Ha!” I snorted. “There’s no way you’re taking my kid to play golf. You’ll be lucky if I even let you near him.” I didn’t say it to be mean, it was just the way things were. London’s lip curled up at the edges, but he didn’t say anything in response.
    I breathed out heavily. “You know what? Let’s just get this over with. The