“Give me the list of holes as well.”

She looked at me over the top of her glasses.

“You’ve done this before.”

“My father is sixty-six and has never trusted a summary in his life.”

She printed the final page, clipped the stack together, and slid it across the table.

The rain had started up again by the time I got back, and Gordon’s window was streaming with it.

He read the trail in his shirtsleeves, one page at a time, setting each finished sheet face down and lined up with the one before.