The Putting Green Whisperer

by McCarthy, Zoe M. ;

  Should she go back? She rotated back. The long hallway loomed. No. She wouldn’t know what to say. The damage was done. They thought she was an idiot.

  And she was.

  Allie let herself into her room, collapsed on the bed, and stared at the smoke detector. If only she’d think before she reacted.

  She reached inside her shirt for her cross, and then patted her skin. Her heart leapt to her throat, and she sat erect. Where was it? Her last link to Mom…

  Oh, yeah. She’d taken off her necklace at the miniature golf course. Her heart rate eased as she wriggled it from her pocket.

  She held the cross to her lips. “Mom, I keep messing up. I need you so badly.”

  You need Me.

  “Yes, Mom, I—”

  Had Mom spoken to her?

  “Mom?” Silence.

  A rap on the door came.

  Someone had followed her. Shoo? Or Grady? She pulled a pillow over her head and pressed it to her ears. Why couldn’t they leave her alone?

  The knock came again.

  Brushing an escaped ponytail strand from her face, she went to the door. She shrank back from putting her eye to the peephole. Did she really want to see Shoo’s face? Especially distorted by the peephole lens? No. She leaned in close to the door and listened. Maybe he’d left.

  Loud raps startled her, and she opened the door.

  “Mark!”

  He looked uncomfortable. “Can I come in?”

  She shut her gaping mouth and stepped aside.

  “I want to read you my poem.” He crossed the threshold.

  She stuck her head into the hallway. No Shoo. Or Grady. Thank heaven. She closed the door and followed Mark inside.

  He plopped down on the armchair and produced the paper Shoo had given him. “You ready?”

  “Yeah.” She crossed her arms over her ribcage.

  “OK. Here goes. ‘Hey. Happy day.’” He looked up.

  She waited for him to go on. Oh. That was the end of his poem. A laugh zipped out.

  He wrinkled his brow in a defensive look. “It rhymes. Hey and day.”

  Her heart calmed. “It’s perfect, Mark.” The big lug had put the whole lousy situation in perspective. “Maybe I can write a poem, after all.”

  “I thought, with my expertise in writing poems and all, I could help you with yours.”

  His expression was earnest. He wanted to help her, all right, but not to write a poem. The Teddy bear hoped to make her feel better.

  “Are Shoo and Grady still in Shoo’s room penning their poems?”

  “Naw, they’re arguing over what made you leave. So, I sneaked out.”

  Maybe Mark could help her. “Can I let you in on a secret?”

  He shifted in the chair. “OK.”

  “I’m really embarrassed about what happened. Would you tell them I’ll deliver my dumb—my poem later?”

  A soft knock came. Before turning away from Mark, Allie captured his gaze, held a quieting finger to her lips, and then answered the door. Shoo and Grady stood side-by-side, looking sheepish.

  “We’re not sure why, but we’re sorry,” Grady said.

  “Forget writing the poem.” Shoo directed his thumb over his shoulder. “Why don’t you come back upstairs, and we can play Hearts.”

  Wasn’t “hearts” what she’d been playing—and losing—with Shoo?

  Allie turned her head to one side. “You want to play Hearts, Mark?”

  Shoo’s and Grady’s eyebrows shot up.

  “Mark?”

  14

  Back in Shoo’s room, the guys, true to their word, appeared to have forgotten her impulsive flight. Shoo cleared his stuff off the round table by the window and dragged it next to the bed. Mark brought up the straight-backed desk chair, and Grady scooted over the cushioned armchair.

  Shoo nodded toward the bed. “Two can sit on the bed.” He dug a deck of playing cards from his backpack.

  After her prickly exit, she needed to regain her buddy status with the guys. Taking a bed spot would give her power-height over the guys in the chairs. Allie perched on the comforter and sat cross-legged.

  Shoo spread out the worn cards face down on the table. “Pick a card. The two lowest and the two highest are partners.”

  Allie wrinkled her nose. “You guys play partners?” With their experience in partnership strategies, they’d have the advantage.

  “Sure.” Shoo drew a king. “When we have four players.”

  So much for trouncing the guys to rebuild buddy status. Allie turned over an ace and set it beside Shoo’s king. Mark chucked his nine onto the table face up. With deliberate care, Grady slid his two to butt against Allie’s ace.

  Grady grinned. “I think we should play the ace is low. That makes Allie and me partners.”

  “You’re crazy.” Mark gathered two bags of chips from the desk. “Aces are always high.”

  “Not always.” Grady winked at Allie.

  Was Mr. Matchmaker having fun messing with the teammates, trying to make Shoo jealous? When would he ever give up?

  “Nice try, Grady.” Shoo sat in the chair across from Allie. “But an ace ranks high in this game.”

  Mark tossed the chip bags onto the bed and opened the refrigerator. “You got seven root beers left.”

  “We’ll divvy the last three into foam coffee cups,” Shoo said. “It’s Grady’s turn to make a drink run for tomorrow’s game.” He gathered the cards, shuffled them, and handed the deck to Grady. “Low man deals.”

  “Rules, rules, rules.” Grady dealt.

  Mark plunked soda cans around the table and plopped down on the bed, bouncing Allie forward. She reached out to steady herself and knocked over her unopened can. It rolled to the floor.

  Mark gave her a contrite look. “Sorry.”

  “No harm done.” So much for looking formidable. She could perform a cannon ball on the bed, and Mark’s body wouldn’t budge.

  Shoo scooped up the fallen can and extended it to Allie. When she grasped it, he hung on and tapped her hand. “Don’t open that for a while.”

  She wrenched the can from him. “You think?” Treating her like a little sister was getting old.

  They gathered their cards, and Mark led the required two of clubs to open the play.

  Allie fanned her cards. Wow. Her hand was perfect for shooting the moon…if she was playing by herself. How could she communicate to Shoo she wanted to shoot the moon? The rules forbade her from leading what would give Shoo a hint.

  She took the trick and led high for the next. When Shoo’s turn arrived, he snapped the two of hearts on the played cards. Her gaze zipped to Shoo’s face. How had he known that was exactly what she’d wished he’d do—throw off a heart?

  His lips arched into a slow smile.

  A shiver ran through her. Maybe Shoo could read her like he read the greens. At least, in playing cards. His track record stank in reading her otherwise.

  Shoo and Allie won the round, and then the next, and the next.

  “Have you two got mirrors under the table or something?” Mark dumped the last potato chip bits into his hand and sifted them into his mouth.

  Potato chip aroma wafted her way. Her stomach growled. She opened the second bag and created a corn chip pile next to her soda can. The way Mark was crunching through the snacks her mound might be all she got.

  As Grady dealt, cards flew from the stack in his hand to the table. “They’re just getting good cards. It’s our turn this time, Mark.”

  Shoo reached across the table and plucked a chip from Allie’s pile. “You guys are jealous that Allie and I make a great team.”

  Chills rippled through her. In truth, Shoo’s and her cards were no better than Mark’s or Grady’s. Always, one look at Shoo, and her fingers went for the right card. The same for him. They hadn’t cheated, like talking across the table or sending hand or face signals. They simply knew what to play.

  The uncanny connection between them tugged at her heart. Good thin
g this was the last evening she’d spend with Shoo.

  He sent her his killer smile. Heaven help her. Her wanting-to-be-buddy-like heart melted quicker than butter on a hotplate.

  ~*~

  Pre-sunrise, her back against the headboard, Allie wiped sleep from her eyes and reread the poem she’d written on the phone pad. Would Steve Leonard get her subliminal message? Hopefully. She rose from the bed, folded the paper twice, and stuck it in the pocket of her gym shorts.

  Raindrops pattered against the window. As she drew the curtain aside, the metal rings screeched across the rod. Heavy rain sheets cut through the glow from the parking lot lights.

  Her phone weather app confirmed rain would persist throughout the day and the temperature would drop. Walking the course with Shoo this morning and the pro-am this afternoon would be all-day miserable. Her rain gear would do little to ward off the cold. The dampness alone would chill her to her bones.

  She flopped back on the bed and stuffed a pillow behind her back. Three more weeks and the tour would be over. Then she and Shoo would go their separate ways, Shoo would work his way into the PGA tour and she’d work hers into a children’s golf program. She’d miss him for a while, but time healed all heart leaks, right?

  Her watch alarm went off. Time to meet Shoo in the weight room. Why did it have to rain when they needed to work on endurance? Maybe he’d agree to run two miles in the steady rain. Traffic danger would be low at five-thirty in the morning.

  She poured coffee into a foam cup, taking in the aroma. If she had one complaint about the room, it was that the foam cups didn’t hold enough coffee.

  Allie approached the exercise room window. Shoo pedaled the stationary bike. As she pushed open the door, sweat odor mixed with the coffee aroma.

  “Good morning.” Shoo flashed her a grin. “A coffee for me?”

  This was the last day she’d receive that smile. “Sure.”

  He paused pedaling, took a sip, and handed her the cup. He resumed pumping the pedals. “Chris called me after you guys left last night and said I didn’t have to walk the course in the rain this morning. Said he’d use measurements he had from last year. So, I’ll show you what I record for Chris when I walk the course in San Antonio next week. OK?”

  “I’d like that.”

  “Ready for a run in the rain?”

  “I think you should.”

  He stopped pedaling, got off the bike, and reclaimed his coffee. “Sounds like you’re not joining me.”

  “I’m coming.” She was no shirker.

  “Good. You’re an all-around teammate.”

  Except the romantic kind. “That’s only because I want to see you on tour more than you do.”

  “I was referring to our trouncing Mark and Grady in Hearts last night.” He moved his hand back and forth on an imaginary line between them. “We have this thing connecting us.”

  Yeah. He was so in tune to her. OK. She’d give it to him that they had a certain telepathy when it came to golf or training or Hearts, but the guy remained clueless about her lovesick heart.

  Just because she wasn’t the eyelash-batting type, he might have at least wondered whether she had romantic feelings for him. On their date, Grady had detected her crush on Shoo between drinks and desserts, for Pete’s sake. Shoo wore buddy-colored glasses.

  And that was good, because this was the last day they’d be together.

  Shoo discarded his half-finished coffee in the trash can and tugged on his waterproof pants. “If you truly want my PGA dream more than I do, you’d sacrifice your plans and come with me to Georgia. I could use a trainer and caddy who’s willing to eat P-and-Js with me and work without pay until I’m in the money.”

  Allie’s heart ricocheted off her ribcage like a golf ball bounced along a cart path. Did he realize his proposal sounded like newlyweds struggling financially through their first year?

  She busied herself with her rain gear, searching her brain for a buddy-like response. “Maybe we could win Hearts tournaments in every city to buy granola bars for breakfast.”

  “Now you’re talking.” He grinned.

  She chuckled. She couldn’t help it. He lived so upbeat. “I guess you could fly ahead to St. Simon Island while I hitchhike with your clubs.”

  Decked out in his rain gear, he planted his hands on his hips. “See, it’s not so far-fetched. I’ll save the pretzels the stewardesses pass out on the plane for our dinner when you arrive.”

  “I guess on long flights pretzels are still free.”

  “Or I could hit my dad up for a loan and we could fly together.”

  He held her gaze for a nanosecond longer than for their prior banter. Was he serious? Even if he did want her only for the training and the caddying, he was talking buddies of a fairly serious nature. Her heart boxed her ribs.

  When no casual retort surfaced to defuse the moment, she grasped her coffee from where she’d set it on the floor, and took a sip. Yuk. The liquid was tepid.

  To avoid looking at him, she returned the cup to the floor. Shoo’s seriousness was doubtful, but with the way she felt about Steve Leonard’s interferences with his son’s career, she’d sell her golf clubs before she accepted anything from the man.

  “Oh, that reminds me.” She slid her hand underneath her rain pants and into her shorts pocket. “I have the poem you asked for.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Wow. After your reaction yesterday, I didn’t expect you to write one.”

  “Well, I did.” She handed him the paper.

  He gave her an honest-to-goodness gleeful look while he unfolded the paper. He lowered his gaze. “Hmm.”

  “What?”

  He looked at her. “Your script is so perfect…so…”

  “Feminine?”

  “Well, yeah. Feminine.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a woman.”

  “I think I’ll take my foot from my mouth and read what you wrote for Dad. I hope it’s more imaginative than Mark’s.”

  Would Shoo pick up on her message? Surely not.

  He lifted the paper.

  “You were a great PGA pro.

  You missed being home, though.

  So you retired to enjoy family life.

  Hopefully, you find fun things to do with your wife.

  And leave the world to fend for its own way.

  While you celebrate your happy day.”

  His forehead wrinkled. “That’s different.”

  “Hey.” She snatched the paper from his hand. “You shouldn’t have asked unpoetic people to write a poem.”

  He grabbed her wrist and pried the paper from her fingers. “I didn’t say it’s bad.” He smirked at his he-man success.

  She rolled her eyes. “Can I have my hand back now?”

  He released her wrist. “Your poem is fine.” He gathered their gym bags and held the door for her. “It’s just different.”

  If he only knew how different it could’ve been.

  15

  Shoo leaned his elbow on the seatback tray and stared out the window at the white clouds below, and the blue expanse above.

  Enough of the sky. He turned to Allie on his right as she asked the five-year-old across the aisle yet another question about his stick-figure drawings. Shoo drummed his fingers on the tray. Why had she switched seats to sit with Shoo and then ignored him? Ignored was a little strong. She’d been talking to the boy maybe five minutes. Surely, her questions would soon run out. Then they’d have hours to talk before they reached San Antonio.

  Now Allie inspected the boy’s action figure and asked him questions. Bummer.

  Shoo stretched and yawned.

  Nice of Mill to arrange for Allie to sit beside him. Definitely better than listening to Mark snore all the way to San Antonio. The flight would be even better if Allie would talk to him.

  Shoo drained the tart cranberry juice from his cup. He could get used to having Allie as a seat-mate. He’d kiddingly hinted at her coming with him to the McGladrey
Classic. Too bad she hadn’t jumped on his suggestion. Maybe he should’ve asked more seriously. She was good for his game. She never missed a training session, ran with him in pouring down rain, and believed in him. Cheered him on. If he had the money to hire her, he’d make her an offer.

  Now Allie taught her young companion rock, paper, scissors. The boy giggled at the game, especially when he cut her paper hand with his finger scissors. They chomped on gum and reeled in their arms from the aisle to allow passengers to walk by. The little guy was having fun.

  Talk about fun. He’d had a good time with Allie in Conover, even if it had poured down rain all week. He chuckled to himself. Nothing like crushing Grady and Mark in Hearts every night. Allie hadn’t rubbed their noses in their losing streak, but he hadn’t been so kind.

  After all she’d done for him, he’d like to do something for her. But what? She didn’t seem the type to want him wasting money on flowers that would die the next day.

  He’d sure bought his share of flowers for Christine, mostly for the look on her face when he whipped them from behind his back. Her honey-colored eyes always brightened, and her full lips slid into her gorgeous smile.

  Come to think of it, Christine lived in Austin now. Near her parents. With the Canyons tournament in San Antonio, she’d be an easy drive away. No reason he couldn’t go tomorrow…except he and the guys had decided against renting a car.

  Still, he’d like to see Christine. She’d been friendly enough in the few e-mails they’d exchanged over the last year. Was he begging to open old wounds? Probably not. He liked her, that’s all. And liked her parents. Nothing wrong with visiting friends.

  The boy’s fingers snipped at Allie’s flat hand. “My scissors cut your paper.” He giggled some more.

  So, back to what he could do for Allie. Flowers weren’t enough, anyway. Maybe he could talk to Dad about giving her a reference for a job with a children’s program.

  Allie covered the boy’s fist with her hand. “Paper covers rock. I win.” She giggled, too. Nothing tomboyish about her giggles. He liked that.