Have to Have It by Melody Mayer Page A

were snapping pictures of Easton, who didn't seem at all unmoored by the attention. “I've been keeping track. Inside of six feet, she hasn't missed. Six feet to twenty feet, she's hitting fifty percent. Over twenty feet, she's four out of sixteen, and all the ones she missed left easy tap-ins. I've never seen anything like it in my life.”
    His eyes went to Esme. “Are you the mom or the big sister?”
    “The nanny” Esme retorted, bristling a bit. Obviously this guy thought that because the children were Latina, and she was Latina, they had to be blood relatives. Wrong. “She's Steven and Diane Goldhagen's daughter. Remember? This is Nanny and Me.”
    The head pro started to apologize, but was interrupted by the second twin, Weston, who squirmed out of Lydia's grip and started running toward her sister.
    “Ball! Ball!” she called, as she clearly wanted to share the spotlight. But the bizarre thing was, even though the girls were identical in every apparent way, Weston's golf was pretty much what you'd expect from a reasonably coordinated kindergartner—that is to say, pretty dreadful—while Easton's skill with the putter was nothing short of phenomenal.
    “Sorry, duty calls,” Lydia told the pro and Luis, hurrying after the little girl while Esme stayed with Easton.
    “Me ball! Me ball!” Weston yelled. She picked the golf ball out of the cup and kept running. Finally, Lydia grabbed her and carried her back to her sister and Esme.
    “En dos minutos serás tu vuelta
, sweetie,
”
Esme told Weston. “It will be your turn.”
    “No!” Weston yelled, as red-faced and angry as Esme had ever seen her. In fact, she hauled off and smacked Esme across the face with her tiny palm, to the shock of the gallery.
    “Eso era una cosa muy ala a hacer,”
Esme chided, struggling desperately to keep her cool, and reminding herself that the twins were under a lot of stress. “That was a very bad thing to do.”
    “Te odio
, doodyhead!
”
she yelled at Esme, which made the nannies standing by the side of the green laugh uncomfortably. They might not know that “
Te odio”
meant “I hate you,” but the“doodyhead” part came through loud and clear. It was funny, in a way which was why the nannies were chuckling. But they also knew that but for the grace of God, it could have been them out there, with their kid making the scene.
    “Weston, no!” Lydia admonished. “Esme, how about I take her for a walk up to the pool, and you can come meet us? I have to meet Jimmy and Martina up there in ten minutes anyway.”
    Before she responded, Esme couldn't help noticing the way Lydia kept looking back at Luis, the assistant golf pro. Her startling light green eyes gazed up at him from beneath her sooty lashes, and Luis seemed mesmerized. It was as if Lydia was advising Luis where he, as well as Esme, might be able to find her.
    Fine. If Lydia wanted to flirt, that was her business.
    Esme picked up Weston, walked away a few feet, and whispered in Spanish in the child's ear: “Go with Lydia to get Jimmy and Martina. Easton and I will come and meet you. Then you can pick whatever kind of ice cream you want at the snack bar. With whipped cream.”
    Yes. It was a bribe, using the thing that Weston loved most in the world—ice cream. She didn't like to bribe the kids. Sometimes, though, extraordinary times called for extraordinary measures.
    When she came back to Easton, Lydia was introducing herself to Luis. It seemed as though Luis took an extra-long time shaking Lydia's outstretched hand.
    “I'm Esme's friend,” Lydia explained. “Lydia.”
    “Luis,” he replied, still gazing into her eyes.
    “Real nice,” she drawled to Luis, giving him another flirty look. “To meet you, I mean.”
    Esme cleared her throat as loudly as possible, as a signal to Lydia to get going with Weston. Lydia got the hint. She took Weston's hand and they walked off together. Meanwhile, the head pro, Mr. Sturman, was placing another golf ball