Got Game?

by Stephanie Doyle

  “Don’t end it like this,” he whispered softly. “You’re Reilly Carr. Show them what you can do.”

  Reilly looked into his eyes. Eyes that had held so much of her past and she suspected much of her future, too. “You want me to take these boys to school?” The bravado was forced, but she could feel it building.

  “That’s right. I want you to go kick some ass.”

  “I am woman.”

  “Let’s go roar. You’re up.”

  Reilly moved away from him and held her hand out. He didn’t ask, just pulled out the driver.

  She took the club in her hands and took a few mock swings. The weight that had been sitting on her shoulders for nine holes was suddenly much lighter and made it easier to swing. She looked at the course in front of her and took in the lush, green vista. The faint hint of azaleas wafted around every hole and she could feel a buzz from the crowd. Feeding off their energy, she stood over the ball and let it rip.

  ***

  Sunday… The Back Nine

  “And we’re back. Once again we hope you are enjoying coverage of this American for the ages. Roy Staddler has taken a commanding lead and unless catastrophe happens, he’s all but clinched his second Royal Blue. Would you agree, Dave?”

  “Absolutely, Jim, he’s on autopilot right now. Hitting quality shots, making every putt. Starting early this morning to finish up his third round doesn’t seem to have impacted him in any way. He picked up where he left off yesterday afternoon and he hasn’t slowed down yet.”

  “Not so for Sinjin Rye, who many predicted as a possible winner this year.”

  “No, Sinjin struggled this morning and he’s still trying to grind his way around this course. He told anyone who would listen that Reilly was responsible for the attack last night as if just by playing she asked for what happened. He’s lost a lot of fans with his remarks regarding her and I have to say it sounds like sour grapes. There aren’t a lot of people out there on the course following him anymore. The number-two-ranked player in the world. That’s highly unusual.”

  “They’re all following Reilly, who is playing in the group behind him.”

  “I think it has to affect him, Jim. He’s hearing them cheer for her. And right now they’re cheering loudly. She’s turned things around. Two birdies so far on the back nine. One on 10 and one on 13. She’s crushed her drive on the par five 15 right down the fairway.”

  “Do you think she’s considering going for it in two?”

  “Her strategy has been not to do that on the par fives. She’s been content to take what the course will give her and it’s served her really well. But I have to say, Jim, she probably knows she can’t win it at this point and she hit a beautiful drive. If she does attempt to go for it in two, if she makes it, this could really set the golfing world on its backside. An eagle would send a powerful message. The common thought behind why women can’t compete is because they don’t have the length in their shots. If Reilly Carr manages to make an eagle at this event people are going to think differently. They’re going to have to.”

  “Let’s check it out. What have we here…call me crazy, Dave, but does it look to you as if she is once again arguing with Luke Nolan over the club selection?”

  “It does, Jim. Let’s go down to our on-the-course man and see what’s happening.”

  ***

  “Give me my two iron.”

  Luke shook his head. “Do I need to get out the video of David Duval again? Do you need to see the ball go in the water one more time?”

  “I’m telling you I can make it,” Reilly insisted. “I’m a little over two hundred yards to the hole. I’ve made this shot with my iron before. This is my one chance at eagle.”

  “But you don’t need it. You birdie this then a one or two more coming in and you’ve got a legitimate shot of cracking the top fifteen. You do that and you’re guaranteed an invitation back next year. Guaranteed.”

  Reilly nodded. “You make excellent sense.”

  “Thank you,” Luke huffed.

  “But I didn’t do all this for next year. I’m here. Now. And I’m going for it.”

  “Please don’t do this.”

  “You said to have fun! Going for it is fun.”

  “Going for it is suicidal,” Luke groaned. “Even if you clear the water there’s no way it’s going to hold the green.”

  Reilly’s expression, however, remained stubborn.

  He was fighting a losing battle. “It’s your downfall in the making. Please know I will mock you when you miss.”

  Reilly took the club he offered and swung a few times. Uncertain of whether or not she could do this, she took a step back and picked up some grass she let fall from her fingers.

  “What are you doing? There’s no wind at all.”

  She glared at him. “I’m stalling. Maybe I should…”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “You can do it. Stay committed to the shot.”

  “You think I can make this?”

  “No,” he answered honestly. “But I think you’re right. It’s more fun to try.”

  She nodded and moved to stand over the ball.

  “Wait,” he stopped her. “Just so you know… I’ve been thinking it over and instead of living together I do think we should get married. If you want.”

  Her position still set over the ball, Reilly raised her head. “Are you kidding me? I’m about to attempt an improbable eagle and you’re proposing marriage?”

  Luke shrugged. “If I waited, you might be afraid I was proposing out of pity because you blew this chance to finish in the top fifteen. I wanted you to know whether or not you make this I still love you. Love you and want to be married to you. For real this time.”

  Reilly smiled. “You do?”

  “Yep.”

  “Even after all of our disasters.”

  “We were just working things out of our system.”

  “You know I love you, too.”

  “Yep.”

  “Always have,” she sighed.

  “Naturally,” he smirked. “Now take your shot. I really can’t wait to see how this turns out.”

  Reilly steadied her body again over the ball. She took a deep breath and visualized the outcome: the ball sailing over Ray’s creek and landing safely on the green.

  You can do this, she told herself.

  Sometimes strength doesn’t come just from the legs or the arms. Sometimes it is in the heart.

  Reilly smiled as the cheesy line her Grams had fed her came back to her in this solemn instant. She figured it wouldn’t kill her to believe it this one time. She drew her arms back in a straight and strong line, felt her hips twist and shoulders turn and with everything she had, she brought the iron down on the ball.

  The ball lifted high into the air. The heavy crowd lining the fairway started shouting at it, begging it to go. Reilly heard Luke ordering it to get up while she kept her eye pinned to the spherical white object sailing through the sky.

  “Come on,” she pleaded. “Be right.”

  It began its descent directly on line with the flag and if it was the right distance… it was going to be…good.

  The roar from the crowd registered first. The sound was like nothing Reilly had ever heard. It thundered and rolled until she could see as well as hear that the ball had cleared the water and settled mere inches away from the flag.

  Around her the crowd started cheering as the fervor trickled down from the green to the fairway to what felt like the entire course. Reilly dropped to her knees with her arms in the air, her club tossed behind her. One hole. Five hundred and ten yards. Two shots.

  They said a woman would never be able to do it.

  She felt arms lifting her from behind dragging her to her feet and then in a sudden motion she was tipped over Luke’s shoulders as he carried her and her golf bag over to the crowd where she could give high fives and soak in the moment. She laughed and tried to hold back the tears hating the cameras who would play a close-up of
her crying during the round.

  There was no crying in golf. At least not on the men’s tour.

  Then again, being hauled about by her caddy/boyfriend while he continued to slap her ass wasn’t something television had ever seen before at a major golf event, either.

  After Luke put her down she made her way up to the green to sink the putt and scored her first and only eagle of the tournament.

  The roars didn’t stop when she made her way to the 16th hole. Or the 17th or the final 18th hole, where she stood over a putt for par that would put her alone in fifteenth place.

  When the putt dropped, the crowd’s endless voice roared again and this time Reilly didn’t feel any shame in letting the tears fall as Luke swept her up in his arms.

  Only for a minute, though.

  Golf was all about rules and manners and it wasn’t polite to hold up play.

  Reilly thought she had herself together as she knew there would be reporters waiting at the trailers for spontaneous-reaction interviews, but as soon as she saw her Pop, she lost it.

  He’d waited for her at the end of the path created by the rope lines to allow the players to exit the hole.

  She felt the tears streaming down her face and knew she couldn’t stop them. In his eyes she saw happiness and excitement. She saw love. Most of all she saw pride. Pride in her. In who she was as a woman, not just a player.

  He opened his arms and she stepped into them as she had last night. She thought if she never played a round of golf again it would be all right because he had seen this one.

  “You did it, baby.”

  “Thank you, Pop,” she said, her voice trembling as she tried to wipe her tears away with the back of her hand. “Thank you for golf. You gave it to me. You gave me my life.”

  “I introduced you to a game, but it wasn’t the golfer in you that got you through this, it was the fighter. Your grandmother is going to be so happy to see what you did. To see who you have become. So happy.”

  “I wish she was here.”

  “She doesn’t. Don’t tell her I told you this but any time you go to putt she makes me change the channel on the TV because she can’t bear to watch it in case you miss. Being here live would have given her a heart attack.”

  Reilly laughed, which helped to fight back the tears. “Let’s go call her.”

  “First you’ve got a card to sign. Then if I’m not mistaken, there are about a hundred reporters standing behind me who want to talk to you.”

  Reilly peeked over her grandfather’s shoulder and saw the crowd waiting for her. In the midst of them she saw Mark give her a wave and a wink and she waved back.

  Luke came up behind her and steered her to the trailer where she would sign her card. “Let’s go. We’ve got a show to get on the road.”

  CHAPTER 32

  “Pop, you’re getting tired.”

  Her grandfather yawned. “Absolutely not. I’m happy to wait.”

  Luke crouched down behind where Reilly was still sitting front and center at a table inside a massive tent that had become known as the press pit. After thirty minutes of questions, the gaggle had given her a moment to get some water. Over her shoulder she could see her grandfather twisting on the uncomfortable metal chair and despite his protests, he yawned again.

  “Tell them last one and let’s get out of here. They’ve had you for over a half an hour and Pop wants to see Kenny one more time before he flies back.”

  “I still have autographs outside.”

  Luke frowned, but Reilly shook her head.

  “I know it’s a hassle, but I can’t leave them hanging. There are girls out there. I’m not leaving without signing some balls and hats.”

  Resigned, he nodded. “Okay. How about I’ll take Pop to the hospital so he can check in on Kenny, and then I’ll come back and pick you up. They should be releasing Kenny soon so we should all be able to head back to Savannah together.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  Luke moved to stand but paused for a second. “I don’t know if I like the idea of leaving you here.”

  “You’re kidding, right? The bad guy is dead, remember? I’m in a tent filled with reporters who, trust me, aren’t going to let anything happen to me at least not until their filing deadlines. Then I’m going to be surrounded by every girl on the course and her parents. I think I’m safe.”

  Luke nodded and got up to leave. “Come on, Pop. We’re going to leave the star to do her thing and come back and pick her up later.”

  “I can wait,” he insisted.

  “Yeah, but Kenny can’t. I’m sure he’s itching to tell me everything I screwed up today.”

  “All right.” Reilly felt the gentle pat of her grandfather’s hand on her shoulder. “Don’t you overdo it.”

  “I won’t,” she promised. “See you when you get back.”

  Again Luke paused at the opening to the tent. Reilly might have been annoyed by this attempt at overprotectiveness if he didn’t look so cute doing it. She waved him off and then turned back to the gaggle.

  “Okay, boys and girls. You’ve got ten more minutes,” she told them. “Let’s go.”

  ***

  Thirty minutes later she was outside the tent situated behind the clubhouse signing copies of her Girl Power and Hear Me Roar hats with a smile on her face. Girls gushed, mothers praised her for setting an example and fathers were in awe of her driving length. It was just past six-thirty and on a large screen over the crowd she could see Staddler making his way to the 18th green, a victory lap for all intents and purposes.

  For a brief moment she allowed herself to be sad she couldn’t muster the game to compete with him today. But only for a brief moment. After all, there was always next year.

  A hand pushed through two giggling girls and startled Reilly. She glanced up and saw Mark standing in front of her with a sheepish grin on his face.

  “Sorry,” he apologized. “I couldn’t resist.” Mark turned back to the crowds and flashed his badge. “Sorry folks, this is official FBI business.”

  Reilly rolled her eyes, but the crowd dispersed around them.

  “That was slightly evil.”

  “The power goes to my head sometimes.”

  “You made it back.”

  “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t have missed Sunday for anything.”

  “Luke said you had to report to your boss.”

  “I had to give a briefing and file a report. The bureau isn’t keen on us shooting people when we’re supposed to be on vacation.”

  “I can imagine.”

  Mark shrugged. “He understood that it was necessary. The footage shows he was reaching for another weapon when I fired.”

  Reilly didn’t remember that. She didn’t remember anything beyond the sight of the knife sticking out of Kenny’s shoulder and the pop of the gun going off. She hated she remembered that much.

  “Listen, I ran into Luke on his way out. He was taking your grandfather I’m guessing to the hospital? I told him I would give you a lift.”

  “Oh, great. I’m ready to go. I’ve had all the media and people I can take for one day. Not to mention I’m starving.”

  After collecting her bag Mark led her to his rental car and without too much fanfare, Reilly gazed out the window as she drove back down Azalea Lane and left the American National Golf Course for the last time.

  “I can’t believe it’s over,” she whispered.

  “In a good way or a bad way?” Mark asked.

  “Both. I’ll be happy to return to my life, but I’m sad to see it end.”

  “It didn’t end, though. Not really. You can come back next year.”

  Next year. Another American. It seemed too far away for Reilly to even consider it. No, she would much rather think about the more pressing issues that she was facing.

  Like what came next.

  She was pretty sure she’d agreed to a marriage proposal on 15 so there was that.

  They were getting married. It was almost too i
mpossible to believe. Then came all the questions. When? How? Another big wedding? Another dress? Part of her recoiled at the idea of a formal wedding, but another part knew deep inside this time, it was for real. She had no idea if they could make it work, but she knew without a doubt either way, it would be her very last wedding.

  There was also the little thing about her career on the women’s tour. As dominant as she’d been before, what was she going to do now that she could hit a ball twenty yards farther?

  Would they even want her back?

  Would the men’s tour?

  “Damn,” she muttered.

  “Excuse me?” Mark glanced at her. “Now there’s a sour expression if I’ve ever seen one.”

  “Just thinking about the next tournament.”

  “Already? You don’t want to give yourself a break?”

  “It’s not when I’ll be playing next, but with whom I will be playing that’s got me preoccupied.”

  “Ah, I see. I guess that means you’re thinking about making the switch to the men’s tour permanent.”

  Reilly watched him as he stared out at the road. Something in his tone suggested he wasn’t thrilled with the idea, but she couldn’t imagine why it would matter.

  “You don’t agree?”

  He shot her a quick glance. “It’s not my call. I guess I just hate to see you leave the women. Their tour smaller and more intimate. I can actually see you putt when I watch you play. You end up with the men and you’ll be surrounded all the time by gapers. Everyone will want a piece of you. Sponsors. Fans. They’ll be all over you.”

  “That would be the downside,” Reilly said dryly.

  “Sorry,” Mark chuckled. “I didn’t mean to be so grim. I suppose I’m jealous. When you play on the women’s tour I feel like I have you all to myself.”

  “Like I said, it’s just something to think about.”

  Mark leaned over the wheel more. “Hey, do you have a second? I want to show you something I think you might be interested in seeing.”

  Reilly glanced out the window. All she saw was tall grass on either side of a road stretching on endlessly, broken up by the occasional trailer parked just beyond the edge of the road.