Two Under Par (9 page)

“Do people do things like that?” he asked. He had never heard of it. “You said the baby won't be born until February.”

“Well, people have baby showers. I don't see why we can't do this. Anyway, February's so far away. I can't wait.” Sally paused. “I'll invite your Aunt Bonnie and Uncle Larry and some of the girls from work. You can invite Judith and Jackie and Eric.”

“That's okay,” Wedge said. “I'd rather not.” He hadn't heard from them. Seeing them when school started would be soon enough.

“Let's go, honey.” Sally rose from their booth. “Can you finish eating in the car? We've got a lot to do. I want to pick up the balloons and the crepe paper right away.”

Driving home the plans changed.

“Maybe it would be better to keep the party just us. You know, a family affair,” Sally said, her eyes fixed on the road ahead.

Wedge liked that idea for more than one reason.

“Our first, special, family celebration. Just the six of us!” Sally said with a whoop.

“Six?”
Wedge said.

“Six. You and me and King and Andrew and Prince and our baby-to-be,” Sally replied slowly, pumping the accelerator a bit as she said each name, for extra emphasis.

Wedge nodded his head and tightened his seat belt. “Six,” he said.

At home the plans changed again.

“Do we have to get a present for the baby?” Andrew asked.

“No,” King answered. “We're just having a little celebra—”

“Wait!” Sally interrupted. “That's a great idea. You can't have a party without presents. But since we don't know if the baby'll be a boy or a girl, why don't we get something for each other instead. It'll be fun.”

“How about we
make
something,” King suggested. “That way Andrew and Wedge won't have to empty their banks. Better yet, why don't the four of us draw names. We can each make something for
one
person—the person whose name we choose. But don't tell whose name you get. That way it'll be a surprise.”

“Can we buy something if we want?” Wedge asked.

“Only if you want,” King said. “You don't have to.”

So they each wrote their name on a piece of paper and folded it twice. They put the paper in a bowl and one by one picked a name.

Wedge hoped for Sally. He got King.

Up in his room, Wedge tried to decide what to get King. He had one day to come up with something. He remembered when Sally was dating a guy named Bud Scapelli at Christmastime one year. Sally told Wedge that he had to get a gift for Bud even though he didn't really know (or like) him. “Just get him a necessary gift,” Sally told Wedge.

“What's that?” Wedge asked, confused.

“It means, get him something he needs—like socks or underwear. Nothing special.”

Wedge blushed when Sally said underwear. Socks, maybe—underwear, never.

Wedge ended up giving Bud Scapelli a free sample of men's cologne that he got at K Mart when he was doing his other shopping.

The longer he thought about the gift situation, the more confused Wedge was. He had no idea what to get King. Sally or Andrew would have been easy. For Sally you could buy anything from suntan oil to perfume to jewelry to a box of tea and she would love it. If he had picked Andrew, Wedge would have bought him a couple of boxes of man-size Kleenex.

Wedge knew he didn't want to get King a necessary gift. That was too easy. He wanted to get him something just right for him. Whatever that might be.

Wedge woke with a start in the middle of the night. He was sweating. He turned on the light and, trancelike, got out of bed and pulled the box filled with the gifts for his real father out from under it.

Wedge hadn't thought about the box in weeks. But it had entered and passed through his mind as he slept. He looked at its contents—the aftershave, the screwdriver set, the baseball. Everything was there. But why was he looking at it in the middle of the night? And then it dawned on him. What he had been dreaming about. He would give the box to King. Just as he had done only minutes earlier in his sleep.

Wedge quietly shoved the box out to the middle of his room, turned out the light, and crawled back into bed. He closed his eyes. He knew he had made the right decision. It was necessary. It was something he needed to do.

The next afternoon Wedge wrapped the box and placed it on the floor in the corner of the kitchen. The kitchen smelled sweet and warm—of cake. Sally was racing about, tying balloons and crepe-paper streamers to all the ceiling light fixtures throughout the house. She had curlers in her hair. King had closed Camelot early and was in the basement helping Andrew finish his gift. And Prince was a wavy, brown lump snoozing near the refrigerator. Sally had tied a red bow around his neck.

“Need any help?” Wedge asked Sally.

“I don't think so, hon. I'm just about done. I have to fix my hair and then we can start.”

Wedge had butterflies in his stomach. More like vultures. He couldn't wait for King to open the box. At the same time he was nervous about it. He had been saving the box for so long. Waiting for this day his entire life. He wanted everything to be perfect.

“I'll be out on the course,” Wedge told Sally, wanting to be alone for a while.

“Okay, but don't be long. Remember, I've just got to do my hair.”

Wedge went out and played a round of miniature golf; he knew exactly how long it took Sally to fix her hair. Surprisingly, Wedge shot his best score ever, considering his anxious feelings. Two under par. He could barely believe it. It was almost too good to be true. “Two under par!” he shouted. “I shot two under par!”

Wedge threw his putter in the air and dashed up to the house to tell everyone. He felt as if he were flying. As light as air. Because of his score. Because of the box. He turned once and looked back at the castle for a moment, then picked up speed. As he approached the porch, he could hear “Happy Birthday” already playing on the stereo. And he could see the balloons through the window, hanging down from the ceiling. They were like pieces of candy covered in bright cellophane, just waiting to be unwrapped and eaten.

It was the first day of second grade and Billy Miller was worried. He was worried that he wouldn't be smart enough for school this year.

There was a reason he was worried. Two weeks earlier on their drive home from visiting Mount Rushmore and the Black Hills of South Dakota, Billy Miller and his family stopped in Blue Earth, Minnesota, to see the statue of the Jolly Green Giant. Billy instantly recognized the Giant from the labels of canned and frozen vegetables. The statue was spectacular—so tall, and the greenest green Billy had ever seen.

Billy was wearing his new baseball cap that said
BLACK HILLS
in glossy silver embroidery. It was a blustery day. The flag on the nearby pole snapped in the wind. Billy raced ahead of his family—up the steps to the lookout platform. As he stood between the Giant's enormous feet, a sudden gust lifted his cap from his head. His cap sailed away. Without thinking, Billy stepped onto the middle rung of the guardrail, leaned over, and reached as far as he could. He fell to the pavement below.

The next thing Billy remembered was waking up in a hospital. His parents, whom he called Mama and Papa, were with him, as was his three-year-old sister, Sally, whom everyone called Sal.

After tests were done, the doctor proclaimed Billy miraculously unharmed, except for a lump on his head. “You fell exactly the right way to protect yourself,” the doctor told him. “You're a lucky young man.”

“And Papa got your hat back!” said Sal.

When they returned home, Billy proudly showed his lump—and his cap—to his best friend, Ned. He called his grandmother on the phone and told her about the incident, too. Everything seemed all right until a few nights later when Billy overheard his parents talking in the kitchen.

“I'm worried about him,” said Mama.

“He's fine,” said Papa. “Everyone said he's fine. And he seems fine. He
is
fine.”

“You're probably right,” said Mama. “But I worry that down the line something will show up. He'll start forgetting things.”

“He already forgets things,” said Papa. “He's a seven-year-old boy.”

“You know what I mean,” said Mama. She paused. “Or he'll be confused at school. Or . . .”

That's all Billy heard. He snuck up to his room and closed the door. And that's when he started to worry.

Billy didn't tell anyone that he was worried. Sometimes, he didn't know how to say what he was thinking. He had words in his head, but they didn't always make it to his mouth. This happened often, even before the fall.

“Happy first day of school,” said Mama.

“Happy first day of school,” said Papa.

Billy had noticed long ago that one of his parents often repeated what the other said.

Without taking the time to sit at the table, Mama rushed about the kitchen, stealing a few bites of Papa's toast and a gulp of his coffee. She hoisted her big canvas bag onto the counter and reorganized its contents.

It was Mama's first day of school, too. She taught English at the high school down the street.

While Billy was eating his pancakes, Papa reread aloud the letter that Ms. Silver, the second grade teacher, had sent during the summer.

In the letter Ms. Silver greeted the students and said she was looking forward to the new school year. She said that she and her husband had a baby boy at home. And two dogs. She said that second grade would be “a safe, happy year of growth” and “a wonderful, joyful, exciting challenge.”

Billy stopped chewing when he heard the word
challenge.
He put down his fork and touched the lump on his head. He didn't want a challenge.

Papa continued. “Ms. Silver says you'll be studying colors and habitats and the world of names.”

“That sounds like fun,” said Mama.
“My
students will be studying
Beowulf
and
Paradise Lost.”

“I'd rather be in second grade,” said Papa, smiling.

Unlike the other fathers Billy knew, Papa stayed home and took care of Sal and the house. Papa was an artist. He was waiting for a breakthrough. That's what he always said. He was currently working on big sculptures made of found objects. Pieces of old machines, tree limbs, and broken furniture filled the garage and spilled out onto the driveway. They were scattered across the yard, too. Billy loved watching Papa work. There was always something lying around that was fun to play with.

“Gotta go,” said Mama. She kissed Papa on his bushy orange beard. She kissed Billy on his lump. “Have a fantastic day,” she said. “And kiss Sal for me when she wakes up.”

Just like that, Mama was gone, the smell of her lemony shampoo hanging in the air for a moment.

Papa cleared his throat and shook Ms. Silver's letter with a flourish. Billy could tell he was trying to be funny In a deep, rumbly voice he said, “This utterly fascinating letter concludes by stating that currently this is, in fact, according to the Chinese, the Year of the Rabbit.” Papa used his regular voice again. “That's pretty great, don't you think? The Year of the Rabbit.”