Laura senses it: Greg's a little slower these days. Some nights they'll decide to sleep over at the other end of the Hobe Sound property, in the beach house on the Atlantic. And Greg will get up early and put on a pot of tea, and they'll watch the sunrise together. You think checklist, but this has happened more than once now. "We'll be doing this when we're 70 years old," Laura told Greg the other night, and he actually seemed to think 30 years ahead without getting short of breath.
Who knows what lessons an old pit bull like Norman might learn? Lessons like, yeah, being good at diving and flying choppers and cutting business deals is great, but being good at doing nothing once in a while is vastly underrated. Lessons like, speed is glorious, but slowing down is probably not fatal, not when you're this far ahead. Lessons like, a two-putt 4 is easier on the brain than a 320-yard-drive-eight-iron-blown-over-the-green-death-defying-chip-back-and-12-foot-gagger 4. You almost get the feeling that enough will enter Norman's vocabulary someday.
Just come outside, his hands are saying, so Laura goes outside in the night air, under the canopy. "So?" she says.
"Listen," he says. It's the rain on the roof. He wants her to sit and listen to the rain on the roof, "isn't it beautiful?"
Hey, it's a start.