chair back and stood to follow him.
“Where are you going, honey?” my mother asked, as if she’d dipped her voice in a vat of syrup. She only spoke to me that way in public, when she was within earshot of others.
“To get the cart.” She couldn’t possibly expect me to sit there while she marched up to Mrs. O’Brien, who clearly wanted me to disappear even more than Derek did.
“I was hoping you’d help me with the egg hunt. You used to love it when you were younger. Remember?”
“I want to go with Dad.” It wasn’t just that I wanted toescape before she did anything humiliating, but that I genuinely felt like being with him. Being the only ones awake in the middle of the night made it seem like we had some sort of secret bond. Even if I was the only one aware of it.
“Honey, I don’t think it’s such a great idea for you to drive the cart today.”
“But I always do. I’ve driven it a million times.”
“Henry?” she said with a strain in her voice, trying to get my dad to reinforce her position.
But he didn’t have to. It was obvious she didn’t trust me driving a vehicle of any kind, even one that went five miles an hour on grass.
“Forget it. I’m going home.” I took off before she could stop me. I knew she wouldn’t raise her voice or run after me. Not here.
I slipped out through the back of the clubhouse and started across the golf course. It was the quickest way home. I didn’t care about the risk of getting struck by flying balls. Part of me wanted one to hit me. Maybe it would knock me out of my misery for good this time.
Even though I never played, the location of every fairway, putting green, and hole was cemented into my brain. It wasn’t just from carting my dad around, but from all the times Derek and I had sneaked off to fool around here. Practically every square inch of the perfectly manicured course contained a memory from our past. My heart ached as I got to the fairway leading up to the twelfth hole. That was where it all began. When I reached the pole with the little flag marking the cup, I dug my heel into the green. Chunks of mud and grass came flying up and scattered over the surface.
“Hey, what are you doing?” One of the groundskeepers emerged from a nearby bunker and started lumbering toward me. “Young lady, stop!”
But I had already bolted down the other side of the green, the slope of the rough increasing my speed. On foot, he was both too far away and too fat to catch me. But I kept running, cutting diagonally into the shrubs behind the swampy pond that spilled out onto the far end of the parking lot. There was a service entrance a few hundred feet ahead that would land me out on the street.
As I snaked around the lot, I heard the crisp snap of a club making contact with a ball. Instinctively, I ducked and stopped in my tracks. Looking up, I spotted the white ball arcing over a row of parked cars, its dimpled indentations glinting off the sun like a star. It was heading right for the roof of a silver Mercedes, but luckily landed in the hedges just a few feet to its side.
Where had it come from? The ball was too far from the course to be a stray, and the driving range was all the way over on the other side of the clubhouse. A few seconds later, I heard another snap, followed by another ball flying overhead. This time, I traced its path backward: to the silhouette of a guy standing on the roof of an old Jaguar.
Who was he and what was he doing hitting balls out
here
? It was definitely against club regulations, and no one
ever
broke the rules, at least not so blatantly. I crept closer to get a better look at him. He was tall and slender, with a mop of shaggy brown hair that covered half his face, obscuring his features. He wore a navy blazer, like he had just come from brunch, only I hadn’t noticed him inside. He reached down and pulled another ball from thebucket at his feet. Tossing it up in the air, he swung wildly. His whole body swayed in
“Where are you going, honey?” my mother asked, as if she’d dipped her voice in a vat of syrup. She only spoke to me that way in public, when she was within earshot of others.
“To get the cart.” She couldn’t possibly expect me to sit there while she marched up to Mrs. O’Brien, who clearly wanted me to disappear even more than Derek did.
“I was hoping you’d help me with the egg hunt. You used to love it when you were younger. Remember?”
“I want to go with Dad.” It wasn’t just that I wanted toescape before she did anything humiliating, but that I genuinely felt like being with him. Being the only ones awake in the middle of the night made it seem like we had some sort of secret bond. Even if I was the only one aware of it.
“Honey, I don’t think it’s such a great idea for you to drive the cart today.”
“But I always do. I’ve driven it a million times.”
“Henry?” she said with a strain in her voice, trying to get my dad to reinforce her position.
But he didn’t have to. It was obvious she didn’t trust me driving a vehicle of any kind, even one that went five miles an hour on grass.
“Forget it. I’m going home.” I took off before she could stop me. I knew she wouldn’t raise her voice or run after me. Not here.
I slipped out through the back of the clubhouse and started across the golf course. It was the quickest way home. I didn’t care about the risk of getting struck by flying balls. Part of me wanted one to hit me. Maybe it would knock me out of my misery for good this time.
Even though I never played, the location of every fairway, putting green, and hole was cemented into my brain. It wasn’t just from carting my dad around, but from all the times Derek and I had sneaked off to fool around here. Practically every square inch of the perfectly manicured course contained a memory from our past. My heart ached as I got to the fairway leading up to the twelfth hole. That was where it all began. When I reached the pole with the little flag marking the cup, I dug my heel into the green. Chunks of mud and grass came flying up and scattered over the surface.
“Hey, what are you doing?” One of the groundskeepers emerged from a nearby bunker and started lumbering toward me. “Young lady, stop!”
But I had already bolted down the other side of the green, the slope of the rough increasing my speed. On foot, he was both too far away and too fat to catch me. But I kept running, cutting diagonally into the shrubs behind the swampy pond that spilled out onto the far end of the parking lot. There was a service entrance a few hundred feet ahead that would land me out on the street.
As I snaked around the lot, I heard the crisp snap of a club making contact with a ball. Instinctively, I ducked and stopped in my tracks. Looking up, I spotted the white ball arcing over a row of parked cars, its dimpled indentations glinting off the sun like a star. It was heading right for the roof of a silver Mercedes, but luckily landed in the hedges just a few feet to its side.
Where had it come from? The ball was too far from the course to be a stray, and the driving range was all the way over on the other side of the clubhouse. A few seconds later, I heard another snap, followed by another ball flying overhead. This time, I traced its path backward: to the silhouette of a guy standing on the roof of an old Jaguar.
Who was he and what was he doing hitting balls out
here
? It was definitely against club regulations, and no one
ever
broke the rules, at least not so blatantly. I crept closer to get a better look at him. He was tall and slender, with a mop of shaggy brown hair that covered half his face, obscuring his features. He wore a navy blazer, like he had just come from brunch, only I hadn’t noticed him inside. He reached down and pulled another ball from thebucket at his feet. Tossing it up in the air, he swung wildly. His whole body swayed in
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