The Short Game (5 page)

“Oh, come on. It’ll be fun!”

“I’m a man.”

“And?”

“And this isn’t the most masculine of pursuits.”
 

“It’s golf! Golf’s nothing but men.”

“Real golf, maybe. But miniature golf? Miniature golf is for children.”
 

In reality, I was more worried about someone seeing us. We weren’t too far from the Village and the women often liked to bring their kids here. If I ran into anyone, how would I explain what I was doing with a buffer?

“No, miniature golf is for dates.”

“Is that what we’re on, then? A date?”

“I was hoping.” Tracy clasped her hands together in a begging gesture.
 

“I really don’t think…” Tracy started moving her hips back and forth rhythmically. She balled her hands into fists and bounced them up and down in time with her hips, a crazy smile on her face. I wasn’t sure exactly what she was doing. It was almost like a spastic version of the twist.
 

“I’m wiggling. I’m wiggling,” she said in a sweet voice.

“I see that.”

“I’m wiggling. I’m wiggling,” she said again, really getting into it.

“Yes, but why are you wiggling?”

“Because I’m so cute when I’m wiggling. No one can say no to me when I’m wiggling.”

I’d been holding it in, but I couldn’t stand it any longer and busted out laughing. Seriously, how could I say no to that? She was right. It was impossible. “All right. We’ll play one game.”

“Yay!” Tracy said with unvarnished glee. She was nothing if not a ball of contradictions. She could intimidate the crap out of a man a foot taller than her, then adorable the socks off of him in the next go.

We walked up to the window, and I paid for both of us. While Tracy carefully selected the color of her ball, I cased the place as best I could. I didn’t see anyone from the Village here, and I hadn’t noticed any cars or trucks in the parking lot that looked familiar. Odds were low we’d run into anyone, but you never could be too careful.
 

We walked over to the first hole. It was a doozy with all kinds of slopes and banks and little wooden impediments. “Ladies first,” I said.
 

“That’s not very chivalrous of you,” she said, leaning on the end of her club like it was a cane perfectly sized for her small body.

“What are you talking about? ‘Ladies first’ is very chivalrous.”

“Only if the lady would like to go first,” she said. “You just want to see how I hit the ball so you can figure out how to hit yours.”

Was she a little right? Maybe. I didn’t want to embarrass myself by hitting the ball into a trap.
 

I couldn’t admit that to her, though. “My mama taught me to always allow the fairer sex to go ahead. But I can go first if that’d make you happier.” I walked past her and set my ball on the green, taking a few pretend practice swings.

“So if we were in New Orleans and there was a revolving door, you’re telling me that you’d let me go through it first?”

I looked up at her. She was still leaning on her club, but now she had her other hand on her hip.
 

“Well…” Honestly I’d never given revolving doors much thought. We didn’t exactly have many of those in the Village, and I didn’t tend to go to a lot of buildings that did have them.

“Because those doors are heavy,” she continued. “You’d make me push it by myself? Ride on my coattails? I see how it is.” She tried to keep the scowl on her face, but a small twitch in her lip ruined the effect.

“Of course not. If we encounter any revolving doors,” I pressed my hand to my heart, “I promise that I’ll go first. I’ll even give a little extra shove at the end so you don’t have to push at all.”

“How very sweet of you. So you admit that ladies first isn’t always the most chivalrous?”

“Well, not in a ridiculous revolving door scenario—one we’re not likely to encounter on this golf course, I might add—but otherwise, it’s a pretty solid rule.”

“What if we were going into a haunted house?”

I groaned. She wasn’t going to let this go, was she? I hadn’t considered it before, but there was something almost Maggie-ish about her. “Haunted house? I don’t think we’ll be encountering many of those either.”

“Or it doesn’t have to be a haunted house—any sort of dangerous situation. Are you going to put me in front of you? Or what if we were walking down a trail that had spider webs across it? Are you going to make me go first so that I get spider webs all in my hair?” She was on a roll now. There was clearly no stopping her. “Or even worse, what if at some point I ran into an even bigger hidden web? I’d look down at my hand and wonder, ‘hmm, how did all those little pieces of dirt get there?’ Until, in my horror, I’d realize that those ‘little pieces of dirt’ were moving. I’d bring my hand closer to my face and see hundreds of tiny baby spiders, each about the size of the point of a pencil, crawling on my hand. So then I’d start screaming and swiping them off with my other hand, and you probably wouldn’t even help me. You’d just laugh while I freaked out, and—”

“Whoa,” I said, holding up my hands. She’d been doing all the talking, but I was the one out of breath. “Did that actually happen?”

“Maybe.”

“Boyfriend?”

“
Ex-
boyfriend.”

“All right,” I said. “You’ve convinced me. Ladies first isn’t always the most chivalrous. You want to let me swing now?”

“Well, if you wanna be pushy about it, go ahead.”

I pinched my eyes shut, torn between a desire to throttle her and kiss the wicked little grin right off her mouth. I opened my eyes again and gave her a saccharine smile before refocusing on the game.

I swung the club way too hard, and the ball ended up off the green. I looked back at Tracy sheepishly, then walked over to where the ball sat in the grass. I picked it up and placed it back on the green where it’d bounced out.
 

“That’s an extra stroke,” Tracy said.

“I know the rules.”
 

We finished the hole, she with two strokes and me with four, and then walked to the next one.
 

“Suckers to the hop,” she said, smiling.

“Suckers to the what? What the hell does that mean?”

“Careful, Jimmy. I have delicate ears.”

“I bet you do,
Bruiser.
”

She ignored me. “Suckers to the hop means, losers go first. You were the loser in that last hole, so you get to go first in this one.”

“That doesn’t seem fair,” I grumbled.
 

“Hey, if I ever lose a hole, then I’ll go first the hole after. But that’s a big if.”

“What are you? Some sort of mini-golf shark? I hadn’t realized that was a thing.”

“My maw maw used to bring me here once a week. I know my way around the place.”

“Then you
should’ve
gone first last time,” I said.

“Hey, no one ever said chivalry was fair.” She winked. I wanted to close the distance between us and kiss her silly, but a small part of me was still nervous that someone from the Village might be around, so I resisted the urge. I had a feeling I’d be doing a lot of that through the course of this game.
 

“Fine,” I said, teeing up for my shot. “Suckers to the hop it is, but don’t get too cocky. I know how to swing a stick just fine.” I winked at her over my shoulder and pretended not to hear her double-over with laughter as I took my swing.

C
HAPTER
N
INE

I LINED UP to hit my ball on the last hole. It was the sort of hole where you hit the ball up a huge ramp, and there were multiple holes at the top. The one in the middle was considered a “hole in one” and others were various other scores, like a schizophrenic mix of golf and skeeball.
 

I kneeled down to figure out the angle my ball would go up the ramp. I had no idea if this would actually help, but it was the sort of thing I’d seen professional golfers do, and I figured that if I was going to lose by ten strokes, I might as well look like a professional while doing it.

“I don’t have all day,” Tracy said lightly.
 

“You don’t?” I said. “I was hoping you did.”

“Okay, well, I do have all day, but I have more interesting plans for this evening than watching you uselessly strategize your golf swing.”

“Perfection takes patience, Bruiser. Hold your horses.”

“Hold my horses? How old are you? Sixty?”

Didn’t country people say that? Maggie said it all the time. “Slow your roll, then. That better?”

“Perfect.”

After that, I couldn’t concentrate on my shot. I stood up, took aim, and hit it just as I’d planned, but it went wild, not even close to the center “hole-in-one” cup.
 

I refrained from going Happy Gilmore with my golf club but sulked nonetheless. “That’s impossible.”
 

“Just watch.” Tracy set up her ball on the far side of the green, licked her finger and held it up to feel for the wind, then wailed on the ball. It flew up the ramp, banked off the far side, bounced a couple of times, and landed in the middle hole.
 

Tracy dropped her club and started jumping up and down with excitement, her arms pumping in time with her jumps. Lights flashed and a siren wailed. Everyone around us stared, and I felt horribly self-conscious. I knew none of them recognized me and we hadn’t done anything wrong, but still. People staring at me after setting off some sort of alarm was a situation I did my best to avoid.
 

After a long minute, the manager came out and handed Tracy a coupon for two free games. She smiled and shyly took the coupons mumbling her thanks.

“You do that every time you come here, don’t you?” I said, after the manager had walked away.

“What?”

“Get a hole in one on the last hole. You know some trick or something, right?”

“I’ll let you in on a little secret.”

“Yeah?”
 

She stood up on her tiptoes, balancing herself with her hands on my shoulders. I leaned forward a little to accommodate her. “I’ve never done that before in my life,” she whispered into my ear. “I honestly thought the thing was rigged.”

She dropped down to her normal height and removed her hands from my shoulders. I couldn’t help but miss her warmth, even though I’d only experienced it for a few short moments.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Well, then this must be your lucky day.”

“It already was,” she said in a tone that made me go a little jelly-kneed.

We returned our clubs, and I felt the tension in my body relax out of me now that we’d made it through our game without bumping into anyone. “So where to now?” I asked.

“We can go back to my place if you’d like.”

“Sounds great.”

“I need to go to the little girl’s room. The snack shop here has the best chocolate dipped vanilla cones. Would you order some for us?”

“Sure thing.”

She tucked her hand into mine, and we walked to the shop. I was sorry to let her go when we’d reached the counter, but she gave my hand a quick squeeze and then headed off toward the bathroom. I ordered two ice creams, paid for them, and the man behind the counter went to work making our cones. I tapped my foot and turned around to watch for Tracy coming from the bathroom, but she wasn’t the one I saw. Instead I saw the last person I would’ve hoped to see here.
 

Marge, Eddie Sheedy’s wife, and another of Pop’s daughters-in-laws. The moment I saw her, she spotted me too and walked over.

God damn it.

“Jimmy Boy Reilly. Whatcha doing here?”

Marge talked like she was constantly chewing at the inside of her face. “Oh, nothing. Just felt like some ice cream is all. Heard they had great, uh, chocolate-covered cones here.”

She looked at me suspiciously. “Bit far for ice cream, don’t you think?”

“Well, I wanted to get in a game of golf while I had the time.” I looked over her shoulder, hoping for probably the only time in my life that the girl I was out on a date with had some sort of intestinal distress that would keep her for a while.

“Anyone with you?”

“Nope. Just me.” I glanced over my own shoulder, willing the snack shop attendant to move faster. Apparently something in the ice cream machine needed fixing, though, and he hadn’t made our cones yet. “Not much to do until everyone comes back from the road.”

“You’re telling me you were playing miniature golf by yourself?”

“You don’t see anyone else with me, do you?”

“Just seems an odd thing for a boy your age to do,” she said, a sour frown on her face.

Her choice of words ruffled, and I squared my shoulders and straightened my back. “You’re here by yourself,” I deflected, looking back over at the ice cream dude.

“I certainly am not. My kids are on the course playing. I came in here to take a break from them for a minute.” She narrowed her eyes further. “And get a soda.”

“Soda’s bad for your health.” I was babbling now. I needed to get away from her, not make small talk. Thank God Tracy hadn’t come back from the bathroom yet, but she could any minute. I needed to move fast. “Here, you want me to buy you a soda? Wouldn’t want to keep your kids waiting.”

“I thought soda was bad for my health.”

“Only if you drink it too often.” I turned back to the attendant.

“Hey, buddy. Could I have a can of coke please?”

“I’ve almost got this machine fixed, all right? Just one second.”

“No that’s fine,” I said hurriedly. “But I’m just really thirsty while I’m waiting. Could you give me a can of coke first?”

“Fine,” the attendant huffed. “What flavor coke?”

“Coke—regular coke.” Even though I’d lived in Louisiana all my life, I still found it strange that rather than use the word soda, all soft drinks were coke and you’d be asked to specify the “flavor” you wanted.

“Fine.” The man took my dollar, handing me back a quarter and the coke. I shoved it at Marge, but it was too late. I could already see Tracy walking toward us from the back of the store.
 

I panicked. What the hell was I going to do?