“What?”
Uncle Luke breathed in slowly, then breathed out fast before letting his eyes meet mine. “Listen, son.” He pressed my shoulder, then scratched at his chin again. “I know you loved your daddy.”
Those words butchered me to pieces. I sat there while they sliced away at my insides, nobody but me knowing that I was being cut up. Nobody but me knowing how hard it had been to love Daddy and how impossible it was not to.
“I’m sorry, Ben,” he told me.
“For what?”
“Your mama’s coming to pick you up. You’re not going back to Augusta. I told her it’s a bad idea.”
My stick dropped in the fire, the marshmallow along with it.
Told you, said the sky.
“You did not,” I said.
“I did,” Uncle Luke answered. He leaned close to me. “Men can sneak the stink out of a slaughterhouse easier than a man can sneak onto that course during the Masters tournament. There’s a whole herd of people whose only job is to walk around and investigate every single person and every Masters entrance badge for authenticity. I don’t know what you were thinking. Listen, your mama’s not mad you ran off. She’s not even mad you took Bogey with you. She just wants to know you’re all right.”
I scowled. Noni growled.
Uncle Luke shifted around like a nervous pigeon. “She wanted to drive over tonight with your neighbor’s car, but I told her that you might need a little time and that you were fine. She’ll be here tomorrow afternoon.”
He tilted his head toward Noni but didn’t look at her. “I’ll call tomorrow to make an appointment to drop Miss Noni at a place that can help her. You can’t go sneaking into the greatest golf tournament in the world, and you can’t be scattering ashes on private property.” He patted my back and grinned like I’d agreed with him. “Besides, we can watch the Masters together on the television. Mr. Hobart Crane might just pull off a win! Talk about things that would make your daddy happy.”
“Augusta belongs to the world,” I choked out. “Daddy said that.”
“Now, don’t make a scene. This is a classy neighborhood.” He gestured to the open air and the neighbors’ houses. “If you wake up my neighbors, they won’t hesitate to call about a noise complaint, and the authorities will find their way over here.”
Noni threw the bag of marshmallows at his head. “That’s why you brought us outside to break the news that you’re a big fat traitor?” she said, using her very best cat-with-rabies hiss on him. “I don’t care if you get a noise complaint!” she yelled.
“Quiet, runaway, or I’ll gladly drop you at a homeless shelter right now. How about that?” He turned back to me. “Son, your mama said that you think you’ve got something stuck in your throat. Is that true? And now you’re hearing your daddy’s voice?”
Noni stood up. “Why won’t you help your nephew?”
I stood, feeling dizzy. “This is what he wanted. How can you not know that?” I stepped forward and felt Noni stand by my side. “He’s your brother. Don’t you understand your own brother?”
He didn’t answer, and for a second I thought of the boy whose pig I’d butchered and the way he’d looked at me, his heart broken. I thought the words I hate you might fly out of me and smack Uncle Luke in the face. I swallowed, then let my hand rise to feel and cover the lump. “I thought you believed me.”
Uncle Luke nodded. “I know, son. I believe that you’re hearing something—your aching heart or your conscience, maybe.” He stood. “We’ll get you someone to talk to. You kids can stay up a little later, but you’ve got to come inside. Rules are rules.” He uncovered a pot beside the fire and scooped out gravel, killing the flames. “I’m gonna go catch up on the tournament coverage in the newspaper. I’ll be in my office. Can’t believe tomorrow’s already Saturday.”
Uncle Luke swiped a few moths away from the backyard floodlight and stepped inside. “Come on. Oh, and I’ll be setting my alarm after ya’ll get in here. So please don’t go trying to run off tonight. Like I said, it’ll wake up the neighborhood.”
“Ben,” Noni whispered while we both stood. “What are we gonna do?”
The stars above echoed her question, but I didn’t have an answer. Uncle Luke closed the door behind us and blocked our view with his body while he pressed a button on his alarm system, securing the fact that we were locked in like prisoners, no better off than Daddy in his urn.
HOLE 12
Stay Hopeful
The framed paintings of Augusta in Uncle Luke’s house were all wrong. They were false comforts. They felt like lies meant to lure me in, and they’d worked, like when Ann Walter had offered that cupcake and then ruined May Talbot’s dress on purpose. I’d sat there and let that happen. Now I was sitting back, fiddling with the camping rope and looking at Uncle Luke’s refrigerator, my eyes flitting over magnets, a golf course ad requesting instructors, and a telephone number. Staring at nothing, watching Daddy’s chances to get to Augusta be snatched away with the same kind of helpless feeling I’d watched May with.
May, who’d never been anything but a friend to me. May, who’d seen me for my insides. May, who’d come over with flowers after her mama called my mama on the telephone. May, who’d . . . just given me an idea?
I looked again at the refrigerator, then stood and checked the cabinet. I set the rope on the table and gave it my Considering look. Like a golfer inspecting his putt from every angle, I thought about the possibilities and consequences. I picked up an orange and gave it a good sniff. The citrus smell burned brightness into my nostrils. I knew what to do.
“Hey, Uncle Luke,” I said, keeping my voice casual and catching his arm before he could disappear into his office. “I know it’s late, but can I use your telephone to call Mama?”
He looked puzzled. “Sure you can. I’ll be reading the paper if you all need me. Feel free to wake me if I doze off and you need something. Help yourself to anything but the beer.”
I waited to respond to Noni’s thick pinch until after my uncle had left the room. “Ow. Listen, Ben Hogan said to reverse every natural instinct and do the opposite of what you are inclined to do and you will probably come very close to having a perfect golf swing.” I knocked against the urn. “Daddy, wake up.”
“Stop talking in other people’s quotes,” Noni said. “What are we going to do? Ben, I have to get on that golf course tomorrow. The perfect sign is waiting for me there, I know it. I can’t miss my chance.”
“Shh,” I told her. “I’m thinking.” Uncle Luke may have hijacked Daddy’s dream life, but I wasn’t about to let him steal his afterlife, too. It could work. The unlikely, impossible thing could work if I had enough faith in it. “We’re gonna get to Augusta National,” I said real soft. “I’ve got a couple of phone calls to make. If you want to help, grab the camping rope and practice your knots.”
I shushed Noni’s open mouth and dialed my home phone number. Mama picked up two rings later.
“Luke,” she said, her voice hurried and higher pitched than normal. “I was just about to call. Can I talk to—”
“It’s me, Mama.”
Her silence was followed by several quivering inhaled breaths and exhaled choked cries of relief. “Are you okay?” she managed to say.
“I’m better than okay. I’ve got—”
“My God, Benjamin!” she shouted, the fast breaths changing from shaky to solid. “Do you know what you’ve done to me? Do you know how worried I was!” Her anger shot through the telephone line like it wanted to catch me around the throat and shake me. “How could you just—after all I’ve—how could, how could you—” The sound of crying cut off Mama’s next words, and I let her sob, then sniff her way back to being able to speak. “You’re okay,” she said.
“I’m sorry, Mama. I’m sorry I worried you, but I’ve got a question and I need you to tell me the truth.”
She sighed, sniffed, sighed. “All right. All right.”
“What was Daddy’s big fight wi
th Uncle Luke about?” I had to know the answer before making a final decision about Augusta. To make sure I wasn’t missing something important by trusting my heart over my uncle. Especially since my escape plan involved something not so nice where Uncle Luke was concerned.
She sighed. “Your daddy and Luke had a complicated history, Ben. There’s some resentment on both sides, and an old argument came up. Both of them said things I suspect they didn’t mean. Things that they’d kept inside for too long.” She breathed in and held the air like she was waiting for something.
“What else?” I asked.
She let her breath out. I almost felt it, warm and mama-smelling against my ear.
“It’s okay,” I told her.
“I think the real reason your daddy kicked him out is that Luke said a few things about you.”
My fingers traced shapes on Uncle Luke’s kitchen table. Painter boy, my uncle had called me. “That I liked to paint and draw? Daddy got mad at him for saying that?”
“No, honey.” She paused, and I saw her sitting in the kitchen all by herself. “He said you’d be better off without your daddy as a father, and that your daddy would have been better off without you for a son. He said you didn’t have enough heart to become a real golfer, just like your daddy didn’t have enough heart to become a real golfer. And your daddy”—her voice changed, and I heard a small smile go into it—“your daddy disagreed with all of that. Strongly.”
I tried to let that sink in, not sure if it meant Daddy was more upset because Uncle Luke had said he wasn’t cut out to be a golfer, or because Uncle Luke had said I wasn’t cut out to be one either.
“Okay,” I said. For the next fifteen minutes I told her what we’d been doing, where we’d been. And then I delivered the two words that were my last chance. I wasn’t going to scatter Daddy without her permission. Not when she was right on the phone talking to me. I would need her vote to get through the rest of my time in Augusta. “Stay hopeful,” I told her.
“What, honey?”
“Those were Daddy’s last words to you. To stay hopeful.”
She didn’t respond.
“Mama? Isn’t that right? He held your hand and told you to stay hopeful.”
The phone dropped. I heard it smack the floor and roll. When she picked it up, Mama’s voice shook so badly I could barely understand her. “How do you know that? That was a guess, wasn’t it? You were at home, Ben.”
“I was.”
“You weren’t there.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Then how do you know what your daddy said to me?”
The whole truth was too big for her. I’d give her a little truth. If part of her needed to believe it was a guess, maybe other parts of her would need to believe otherwise. “I just know.”
“You just know? Benjamin, I don’t understand. I didn’t tell anyone what Bo said, not a single—”
“I don’t understand, either. Not all of it, anyway. But, Mama, I think I’m supposed to take Daddy to see the Masters. And I think I’m supposed to scatter his ashes there. I feel it more than I’ve felt anything in my life. It’s where he belongs. Can I try? I’m not going to get hurt, I promise you that,” I said.
I heard the hesitation in her voice. It was a good hesitation—one that meant her head’s no was being battled by her heart’s yes. “Your uncle won’t allow it. He says it’s impossible.”
“Daddy and Uncle Luke didn’t see eye to eye on everything.”
She laughed for the first time since Daddy’s memorial service. “You can try. I love you. Mrs. Grady’s lending me her car, on the condition that I bring her with me. She said her husband, Richard, wants to come, too.” Mama sighed. “I shouldn’t play into her fantasies, but I needed the car. I said it’d be fine for him to come with us.”
I looked at Daddy’s urn and wondered if maybe Crazy Grady wasn’t as crazy as all of us thought. “I like Mrs. Grady,” I told Mama. “She’ll be good company for you.”
“We’ll be there tomorrow afternoon, in time to get you a birthday dinner. Can’t believe my baby’s gonna be twelve. You’re growing up too fast.”
“Oh, Mama, growing up’s a long way off.” But it didn’t feel that way. The last year alone had been full of changes, and there were more coming. I could feel and smell them somewhere just ahead, like a swollen river or an invisible barbecue scent, drawing me forward. There was no stopping things from changing.
“The bank loan came through, honey. We’re gonna get the café back and start serving chicken. We’ll keep some pork—your father would never forgive me if we didn’t—but the overall menu will be more affordable for us. That means a lot of things for us. Maybe we’ll get you better art supplies. Whatever you want, sweetheart.”
“Thanks, Mama. That’s good news.”
When I got off the phone and told Noni the next part of my plan, she clapped her hands. “I like it. I’ll figure out which knots will work best. What if he wakes up?”
“He took three of those pills—the bottle said two was the right dose. Add on the fact that when he stayed at our house, he and Daddy snored loud enough to block out a bear fight, and he’ll sleep heavy, believe me. How are you at sewing?”
“Terrible.” She looked at the needle and thread on the counter with suspicion. “Why?”
I turned the backpack over and showed her the rip. “Forgot to tell you. This got torn in the storm. Your dress did, too. I’ll sew up the backpack, but it’ll be ugly and noticeable. We won’t want to be noticed. I think you better wear that.” I pointed to the frock that Uncle Luke’s girlfriend had made.
Looking like she’d found a stinkbug in her dessert, she picked up the dress and held it against her, letting out a big sigh when it looked the right length. The thin sweater looked like a fit, too. Then she snatched up a yellow shoe and held it against her feet. “Fine,” she said. “But I’m not putting that hat on my head. So if your plan works and we get out of here, then what? What about those badges your uncle talked about?”
I took a deep breath. The next part would be a leap of faith, something I’d been short on. “This may sound crazy, but I got the idea from the worker who caught us in the storm. He said we’d be better off getting a ride with one of the players.”
Noni frowned. “How are we gonna do that?”
“We make sure we’re right alongside the road where the players will go into Augusta. We make sure we look real sad, like we’re in trouble and need someone to stop. Daddy always talked about how golf is a game of character and integrity—of doing the right thing. Masters players are the best golfers in the world. It’s a long shot and we can try to think of something else, but if we get ourselves in the right place—”
Before I could finish, Noni’s mouth opened and she snapped her fingers. “That’s it.” She began pacing around the table. “Why didn’t I think of it? Superstitions.”
“Superstitions?”
“Not wanting bad luck.” She flashed me a grin so wide, I saw every tooth in her mouth. “Nobody’s gonna want bad luck anyway, but especially not going into a day of the biggest golf tournament there is. He’ll stop.”
“Who’ll stop?”
She pressed her lips together and snapped again. “Whoever. Somebody’ll stop. Golfers are superstitious. I read it in that book.” She tapped the backpack holding the Augusta book and gave me a serious nod. “It’ll work.”
It was the first time I’d seen her completely confident in one of my ideas. I liked it. And she was right. Golfers were superstitious. The best of them had been known to wear certain clothes on certain days of certain tournaments, and Daddy himself had ways he tried to avoid bad luck on the course.
“I think maybe it could,” I said. “Sometimes the hardest thing about finishing is having the guts to show up. The strokes will take care of themselves or they won’t, but either way, you’ve got to be there to find out what happens.”
“Which golfer said that?”
“Me. I said it.�
��
“Finally.” Noni grinned. “I’ve been waiting for a Benjamin Putter quote. Hey, Benjamin Putter,” she said in a soft, almost shy voice I hadn’t heard from her before. “Can I try to paint something?”
“Sure. I’m gonna lie down on that couch in the other room. We’ll leave in a few hours. Don’t worry, I’m too wound up to fall asleep. What are you going to paint?”
“Not sure yet. I’m gonna rest for a little bit in that guest bedroom when I’m done. I’ll leave the box on the kitchen table.” She touched my shoulder. “Thanks for not giving up. We’re so close.”
“I know.”
That’s what I was afraid of.
HOLE 13
Fears and Actions
An hour later, at three o’clock in the morning on my twelfth birthday, the first time I’d ever spend a whole birthday with my father, I stared at the ceiling and thought about fear. Back when we jumped off the train, Noni had told me that I had to face my fears, so at least they’d know I was up for a fight. But how can you be ready to fight something when you can’t even pin down what it is?
Trying to think it out just made my head ache, so making sure I didn’t creak too much, I stepped down the hallway to the kitchen and turned the oven light on. I needed to settle my mind with some paper and a pencil or a brush. Maybe make one more painting for May.
Why don’t you paint her a pair of running shoes, runaway, said the faucet. Bet she wishes she could run away from school, too, but she’s not a coward, so she can’t.
How about a cupcake, suggested the half-wet drying towel. For the one you watched get smeared all over her.
No, no, no, it wasn’t his fault, the refrigerator scolded them. He’s just a coward.
Then they all started up, all of them. The cabinets, the dirty dishes in the sink, the sliding doors, the glue gun and dress and hat, all talking and accusing and crowding me and the ball stuck in my throat.
Waiting for Augusta Page 18
