Table for five

by Susan Wiggs

  “I’m getting my feet wet.”

  “I want to see all of you wet.”

  “You’re a pervert, you know that?”

  He paddled backward, his arms spread wide. “I’m golf’s Family Man. Don’t you read the sports pages?”

  “Then you’d better behave like a family man, not a pervert.”

  “But, honey, when I’m around you, I can’t help myself.”

  chapter 42

  Lily had, in fact, become an avid reader of the sports pages. The next morning, she turned to the sports section of the Raleigh Durham Gazette and almost choked on her tea. There was a picture of Sean with his hand on Cameron’s shoulder, his head thrown back with laughter. Cameron’s look was one of cautious relief. The headline read, “Tournament Underdog and Rookie Caddie.” The reporter, Donny Burns, had written a tongue-in-cheek piece about “the Dumpster incident,” as he dubbed it.

  “Let’s hope the collision of Sean Maguire’s Winnebago and a wheeled garbage receptacle from Carolina Catering is not a harbinger of things to come in Saturday’s tournament. And let’s further hope the caddie-caterer affair doesn’t affect young Cameron Holloway’s judgment. Although his pedigree in golf is impeccable—he’s the son of the late PGA champion Derek Holloway, nephew of one-time Masters winner Maguire—Cameron Holloway is untested in tournament play. His performance as Maguire’s bagman could be the key to the longshot’s success—or to his failure…”

  “Lily, what’s the matter?” Charlie asked, picking at her granola.

  Lily was about to fold the paper shut but stopped herself. There was no reason to hide this. She turned the photo toward Charlie. “The paper printed this really tacky article about your brother and your uncle.”

  Charlie studied the paper intently while Lily gave the baby another banana. It was just the three of them at breakfast. Sean and Cameron had left at dawn to warm up for the first round of the tournament.

  “That’s a good picture of Uncle Sean,” Charlie remarked.

  There was no such thing as a bad picture of him, Lily thought.

  “I think this paper’s wrong, though,” Charlie said. “Cameron’s not untested in tournament play.”

  Lily’s head snapped up. “What did you say?”

  “The paper is wrong. One time, he caddied for our dad—”

  “Charlene Louise Holloway.” Lily smiled. “You read that article all by yourself.”

  She scooped granola into her mouth, took her time chewing and then said, “We should go. It’s a shotgun start.”

  Lily pulled her hair back in a ponytail and put on the sponsor’s sun visor, which matched the tote bag and water bottle she carried—bright white with primary-colored dots. Crystal would be appalled. Her sense of style would have been hugely violated.

  “Just a little bit of fashion sense could change your life,” she’d say.

  Lily smiled at the memory. Crystal truly did think that way—change your look, change your life.

  “You look good in that hat,” Charlie said. “You going to put some lipstick on?”

  “I’m wearing lipstick.”

  “I meant colored lipstick.”

  “For daytime?”

  “Of course.”

  Lily showed her three options and went with the one Charlie picked, something called Wild Watermelon.

  “And you should wear the foot socks, not the ankle socks,” Charlie advised.

  “You’re wearing ankle socks.”

  “Yeah, but I’m a kid.”

  “I’m getting fashion advice from an eight-year-old.” She patted Charlie’s head. “You are your mother’s daughter.”

  “Am I?”

  “Absolutely. That’s one reason I love you so much.”

  Lily felt Charlie’s steady gaze. “What?” she asked.

  “You never told me that before,” Charlie said.

  “Nonsense. I tell you that all the time,” Lily replied.

  “No, you don’t. You say ‘love-you’ all the time, but this is different,” Charlie insisted.

  Inside, Lily felt a strange upheaval. Day by day, it grew more impossible to hold herself back from this family, to keep her independence intact. It was too late, she acknowledged, to protect herself from hurt. She’d given up that option long ago. Now all she could do was brace herself for the fall. She let all her feelings for Charlie shine out as she said, “You’re right. What’s the matter with me?”

  “Nothing. That’s why I love you so much.”

  They took Babe for one last walk before putting her in her crate in the RV. Even with an air conditioner running and the radio left on, Babe was not going to be a happy camper. As Lily coaxed the dog into the crate with a Milk-Bone, she flashed on the thought—Look at what my life has become.

  From complete independence and autonomy, she had been transformed into someone in charge of three kids and a dog.

  She shut the cage and went outside, Babe’s mournful howl coming from the back of the Winnebago.

  Putting on a bright smile for the girls, she said, “Ready?”

  “Ready,” Ashley declared.

  Lily had her usual wrestling match with the folding stroller, which never seemed to want to unfold. She sorted it out and buckled Ashley in. She put some extra sunscreen on her chubby knees, even though she and the girls were already slathered with it.

  As she pushed the stroller onto the grounds of the Royal Oak Country Club, she immediately sensed that everything had changed. The atmosphere here was completely different—the parking lot was as busy as an airport, the whole area bustled with spectators, technicians, marshals and well-dressed people Lily couldn’t quite identify. The air itself hummed with a different sort of energy.

  A ripple of excitement went up as a huge gleaming vehicle parted the crowd like the Red Sea and came to a stop in front of the clubhouse.

  “What’s that?” Charlie asked.

  “It looks like a Hummer limo,” Lily said. “Who knew?”

  Red Corliss joined them, mopping his brow as he crossed the parking lot. “If it isn’t the Wonder Girls,” he said, beaming.

  “Who’s that?” Lily indicated the limo. She caught a glimpse of a black shirt with a Nike swoosh before the tall, good-looking man was swallowed up by the crowd.

  “That’s Beau Murdoch. Last year’s player of the year.”

  “Who are all those people around him?” she asked.

  “His entourage. Let’s see. He’s got his caddie, his swing coach, his putting adviser, publicist, probably a lawyer and therapist—the list goes on.”

  “That’s amazing.”

  “It’s big business.” At the gate, they showed their badges. A stern-faced official glared at Lily. “And you are?”

  She drew herself up. “Sean Maguire’s entourage,” she said loudly.

  An older woman in pink golf togs in line behind them smiled at Charlie and Ashley. “What a beautiful family,” she said. “He’s a lucky man.”

  Lily’s face heated as she fumbled through thanking the woman for the compliment and pushing the stroller through the gallery.

  “That happens all the time,” Charlie said to Red. “People always think we’re a family.”

  “You got a problem with that?” he asked.

  “Naw.”

  “Can I be in your family, too?”

  “Sure, Red.” She took hold of his hand and balanced on the balls of her feet. “You can be the grandpa.”

  “Very funny,” he grumbled.

  Lily felt a surge of gratification, though she kept her head lowered and her eyes averted from Red. He was way too good at reading people and she was way too bad at hiding her feelings. This summer was turning out like nothing she could have anticipated. Being with Sean and the kids brought her face-to-face with matters she ordinarily hid from herself, like how lonely her life really was and how much she cherished the connection she found with Crystal’s children. And yes, with Sean Maguire.

  She watched Beau Murdoch take leave
of his wife. Their adoring looks at each other seemed genuine, although Lily wondered how they could stand having camera flashes popping off while trying to kiss. The Murdochs had twin babies in twin strollers, each looked after by its own private nanny.

  “The wife’s a Firestone,” Red murmured to Lily. “Like the tires.”

  “I thought she was Mrs. Murdoch.”

  The couple looked like the former king and queen of a high school prom, poised and smiling for the camera. Another flash went off, and then it was Lily’s turn with the girls. Standing in front of the screen printed with sponsors’ logos, Lily was amazed at Charlie and Ashley. The girls both possessed their mother’s beauty-queen DNA in abundance. They looked absolutely delighted to be photographed.

  Lily couldn’t tell whether or not her apprehension would show in the photographs. Even as the flashes went off, her mind was somewhere else. She knew that today’s tournament wasn’t a make-or-break moment in Sean’s career. Golf didn’t have that. There were too many chances to succeed—or fail. But today was huge, his reentry into the highest ranks of the PGA.

  After the photo shoot, they spotted him and Cameron in the distance, warming up. Lily sensed that all eyes were on him, some to watch him fail, others hoping for a triumph. It was a bloodless sport but one that brought crowds of an amazing size and density.

  Take it easy, Lily told herself. This was what this summer was supposed to be about. It was the goal of the whole cross-country odyssey they had endured.

  “They look good,” Charlie said, practically bouncing up and down with excitement. “I feel proud of them.”

  “Me, too.” Lily picked up the baby and had her wave from behind the gallery ropes. Sean and Cameron both spotted them, and Sean responded with a blown kiss. Lily wanted to close the moment into her heart, because it was one of those rare times that made her believe this family was going to be all right. Over the summer, she’d watched the broken pieces turn into a flawed-and-fractured whole. It wasn’t the same sort of family they’d had when Crystal and Derek were alive, but it was unmistakably a family. And even though she hadn’t planned it, Lily was a part of them. It wasn’t what she had set out to find this summer, it had found her.

  Each day she woke up thinking of them and made choices with them in mind. She didn’t put herself first. But what scared her the most was that this family didn’t belong to her. Depending on the outcome of the match, Sean could be called to move away from Comfort, to take the children lord-knew-where as he battled his way through the ranks of the PGA. It almost made more sense for her to hope for his defeat, but she didn’t, of course. This family was an immensely bigger concern.

  chapter 43

  Hours later, Lily stood at the eighteenth hole, her heart in her throat as she watched Sean finish the round. Charlie stood in front of her, chest against the gallery rope. Beside her was Red, chomping on his third piece of nicotine gum. They had left Ashley at the clubhouse with sitters provided by the country club. Golfers, it turned out, were a prolific lot and there were plenty of other toddlers for her to play with.

  When Lily saw Sean and Cameron coming up the fairway, it was all she could do to keep from letting her hands turn into claws, clutching at Charlie’s shoulders. Sean was only two strokes off the score of the leader, Wyatt Allen. Red assured her that on a course of this degree of difficulty, anything could happen. The leader could stumble. A contender could catch up. An unknown could come out of the blue and dominate the field.

  Lily found being a spectator rather enjoyable. Relaxing, even. There was a sort of old-fashioned grace about a golf match. She liked the mannered way people moved en masse along the course, the polite applause, the instant hush, like an indrawn breath, that went out when the marshals lifted their Quiet signs.

  She wasn’t relaxed now. Neither was Charlie. Lily could feel the little girl quivering with excitement. School problems notwithstanding, Charlie was gifted when it came to understanding tournament play.

  She caught Red looking at her. “What?”

  “Take it easy. Our boy is doing great.”

  Charlie turned to gaze up at him. “This is a really important hole, Red. Uncle Sean is lying one or two strokes away, depending how he plays it. If he birdies it, he could push into second position going into tomorrow’s round.”

  “Who’s that, young lady?” asked a man who had overheard her.

  “My uncle Sean, Sean Maguire, that’s who,” Charlie said.

  The Quiet signs went up. Her braids whipped like chopper blades as she spun back to watch.

  The second-place challenger was Murdoch himself, who seemed not the least bit worried about his ability to capture the lead from Allen. It was just a matter of time. He hit the perfect shot, a layup that landed him next to the water. His next shot would take him onto the green and then he would putt for birdie, claiming the championship. Unless Sean did the impossible and caught up.

  In the middle of the fairway, Sean and Cameron had a murmured conversation. Even from behind the ropes, Lily could feel the tension emanating from them.

  Based on the position of his ball, he had a critical decision to make. The hole was nearly three hundred yards distant, protected by a water hazard next to a big sand trap gouged out of the earth under the brow of the green. Wyatt Allen had made par on the difficult hole, not a brilliant finish but one that was good enough to keep his lead.

  Just making par would keep Sean in contention. A birdie would give him a shot at second position. An impossible-to-achieve eagle—two under par—meant a true shot at winning.

  The safe move would be for him to hit the ball to the edge of the water, an easy enough shot. Then all he had to do was hit over it and the sand trap, landing on the green for a possible birdie putt.

  So what were he and Cameron arguing about?

  Cameron was trying to get him to hit a certain iron, one that would get Sean just to the edge of the water but not in it.

  Sean shook his head, refusing the iron. Instead, he reached for a fairway wood.

  A collective gasp went up from the spectators. He wasn’t going to go the safe route. He wanted to try smacking the ball up and over the lake, over the bunker and onto the green in one go, giving himself a shot at an eagle.

  Red cursed under his breath. “I don’t know why I bother.”

  “He hasn’t even hit it yet,” Lily said, thinking positively. “I’ve seen him hit this shot a hundred times this summer.”

  “There’s a difference between a Donald Ross course and a driving range.”

  “Hush,” she said. “Give him a chance.”

  “I did,” Red growled. “He’s blowing it right now.”

  “Hush,” she said again.

  “Yeah,” whispered Charlie. “Hush.”

  Cameron’s demeanor changed from contention to encouragement. It was, Lily knew now, the sign of an excellent caddie. Even when the player made a bad move, once he committed to a course of action, it was the caddie’s job to be supportive whether or not he agreed with the strategy.

  Good for you, Cameron, she thought.

  Lily held her breath. She felt an odd ripple of warmth, watching Sean. As he stepped up to address the ball, she felt all the tension ease into a strange calm. He could do this. Surely the universe would not be so cruel as to take it away from him.

  Sean swung at the ball, a graceful stroke with intense power behind it—his trademark swing. Then there was nothing to do but wait. The flight of the golf ball seemed to slow in proportion to the tension of the people watching it. The tiny white orb arced upward as though rocketing toward heaven.

  Some people talked to it: “Go, go, go,” or “Get up there…”

  It wasn’t that Sean had so many fans. It was that true fans of the sport always wanted a brave shot to make it. And this was more than a brave shot. This was a Hail Mary. Which Lily caught herself praying as the ball reached the peak of its arc and started its descent toward earth. Or, in the case of this particular shot, toward wate
r.

  No, please, she thought, please don’t go into the lake.

  “My God,” someone nearby said, “it’s…it’s going on the green.”

  Lily couldn’t believe her eyes. The ball found the smooth slope of the putting green. It had cleared the lake, where so many balls had gone to rest. It had cleared the trap and landed on the putting green only a few feet from the hole.

  She caught a glimpse on the monitor of Sean’s face—pure elation, a joy so powerful his eyes glowed.

  “It hit too hard,” Red muttered, speaking over the applause and yells of encouragement.

  “So what if it did?” Lily said.

  Then a collective groan flowed through the crowd. The ball came down so hard that it rolled downward off the green. It went into the frog hairs, the slightly taller, coarser grass at the edge.

  Stop there, Lily urged. Stop right there and he can still make a birdie.

  The ball didn’t stop. It spun downhill, gathering speed, and then dropped, like a bird shot from the sky, into the sand trap.

  The groans of disappointment became tsks and I-told-you-sos.

  Lily knew the sports commentators would have a field day with this. This was why Maguire was a contender, not a champion, they’d say. He thought too much of himself. He refused to be humbled by a game that rewarded humility.

  She noticed that Wyatt Allen didn’t look particularly happy with this development, and she gained a new respect for the man. He took no joy in winning simply because his opponent made a bad move.

  Murdoch wore a game face, but the spring in his step betrayed him. He was happy to see his opponent in trouble.

  His gloating, however cleverly masked, was apparent to Lily. When he settled himself into position to take an easy shot up onto the green, she thought, Come on, you weasel. Miss.

  And, unbelievably, he did.

  The champion missed his easy shot to the green. His ball struck the sandtrap, plowing a furrow deep into the soft earth before coming to a stop a few yards from Sean’s.