The Putting Green Whisperer

by McCarthy, Zoe M. ;

“Last week after the tournament at Pebble Beach, I drove to my sports therapist in San Francisco. He released me to use all my clubs starting tomorrow. My goal is to play in the McGladrey Classic pro-am on St. Simons Island, Georgia in November, as soon as the Senior Tour ends. That gives me five weeks.”

  “Whoa. Playing in the McGladrey is expensive. And five weeks leaves little time to train.”

  “True. Dad has covered my expenses for the pro-am.”

  “Do you have a trainer?”

  “How can I, while I’m caddying on tour? Plus, I don’t have that kind of money.”

  She was caddying on tour and could get him into shape. For free.

  Was she crazy? Training created a relationship, one that begged for trouble when the trainee was the guy she’d sworn to avoid.

  Shoo balled up the empty cheese puff bag and tossed it into her trashcan. “If it’s God’s will, five weeks should be enough.”

  “My Mom was a Christian. I think my dad might be. At least, he goes to church with his new wife.”

  “And you?”

  “I’ve put thoughts like that on hold.”

  Did Dad attend the Bible study on tour? Would he expect her to go? If so, she’d have something important to do Thursday nights…whatever in the world that could be.

  Shoo regarded her as if he wanted to respond but feared traipsing on her eggshells.

  Time to dodge Shoo’s brewing thoughts. “Let’s go inside and eat.” She flipped the door handle and slid to the pavement.

  ~*~

  Shoo bit into his Carolina Boogie Burger. Wow. It ranked among the best he’d eaten. He went in for a second bite.

  Allie seemed content to eat her turkey sandwich and avoid talking over the blaring music.

  What was the sprite all about?

  When he’d returned to his car to get his wallet, he’d spied her nuzzling a cat while she waited for him outside the Carolina Boogie. She’d come across all female then. Her gentle strokes and kisses didn’t fit with her tomboy persona.

  Now, Allie nodded to the music’s beat as she ate and watched the undulating crowd on the dance floor. She reached for her sweet tea, gave him a brief smile over her straw, and then returned her attention to the dancing mob.

  What a change. On the way inside, she’d asked about his training schedule, her blue eyes bright with interest. Her gung-ho curiosity had gotten him all fired up to gain a spot on the PGA tour. Now it was as if he didn’t exist.

  This bump-on-the-chair role he played was a new experience. Not a role he liked, either. Was Allie, the cheerleader, done for the night?

  If only Dad shared Allie’s earlier zeal about his son’s career choice. That’d free Shoo from playing the prodigal son. He’d told Allie that Dad had financed the McGladrey Classic pro-am tournament. Right or wrong, what he’d left out was Dad had attached strings to his financial help and dangled them. If you agree to caddy this summer to learn firsthand how consuming the tour is for pro golfers and how unfair their absences are to their families, I’ll pay the McGladrey fee and airfare.

  Dad’s educational exercise had hit his intended mark. Every time cockroaches scurried or bed springs creaked in a third-rate motel, he’d spend the evening smashing doubts, and roaches. Truth was, pro golfers often survived no better than their caddies. Their money ran out before they could succeed in the PGA. Would that be his case? And the ones who barely survived not only stayed in cheap motels, but drove hours and hours to the next tournament and lived on Ramen noodles.

  Doubts or not, he’d honor the bargain and finish the Senior Tour. Every time he was tempted to get discouraged, he’d recall his passion, his gift, and Eric Liddell. And, of course, pray.

  He tapped Allie’s hand. “Tell me your story!”

  She turned her head to face the dance floor.

  Had she misheard what he’d said? His request was reasonable. It wasn’t as if he’d asked her to reveal her darkest secrets. “I spilled my story, and now I want to hear yours. Fair is fair.”

  Allie popped up. For a moment, her chair threatened to topple over. She ticked her head toward the dance floor, sending her ponytail swinging, inviting him to join her.

  He frowned and pointed at his half-eaten burger and fries.

  “Finish up and join me.” Leaving her turkey sandwich half-eaten, she danced her way into the throng. Except for her blonde head bobbing intermittently, the crowd swallowed her.

  Shoo finished his meal, sat back, and drummed his fingers on the wood table.

  Fifteen minutes passed before Allie emerged and stood at the table. She gulped her sweet tea.

  He jerked his thumb toward the door. “How about taking a break outside.”

  Her feet keeping time to the pulsing beat, she crooked her finger for him to follow.

  Dancing he could take or leave, but he’d give it five minutes. He edged his chair away from the table and trailed her to the dance floor.

  For a moment, the crowd crushed them together, and a fruity scent rose from her hair. Nice.

  She lifted her face, her eyes closed, and her arms swayed above her head. Her animated movements rotated her until her back was to him. This was dancing with him? He might as well be at the table. Or at the motel.

  After his allotted five minutes, he fought his way to their table. How could Allie hang on his every word one minute, and then forget he existed the next? Maybe she needed more than a friend. Like a counselor.

  Let us not be weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.

  OK. OK.

  He borrowed a waitress’s pen and scribbled on a cocktail napkin: WANT TO PLAY A FEW HOLES TOMORROW? CARYWOOD. 6:30 PM. He returned the pen and pushed into the writhing dancers until he reached Allie. He tapped her shoulder. Her eyes slid open, and she read the note he held up to her face. She nodded. To the beat or to him? “Is that a yes?” he yelled.

  She shrugged, nodded, and grinned.

  He left.

  5

  At Carywood’s first tee, Allie took a practice swing—her fifteenth by her count—then looked toward the clubhouse. Still no Shoo. If the guy would get here, they’d have a little over an hour to play before the sun set. Oh, well, a watched pot… She turned her back to the clubhouse.

  The shimmering trees lining the fairway finally sported fall colors. About time. She breathed in the fresh air that had replaced summer’s mugginess.

  Golf clubs rattled behind her, and she glanced over her shoulder. The tall glass of water hiking toward her, golf bag slung over his shoulder, exuded good looks. Heaven help her.

  At the tee, Shoo lowered his golf bag to the grass. “Your dad played smokin’ golf today. If he keeps it up, he’ll win the tournament.”

  “I think he has a chance.” But she wasn’t so sure about her treacherous heart. Weird thrills jiggled her stomach.

  An iron in each hand, Shoo swung the clubs in tandem arcs to the left and to the right, loosening up. He stopped. “What was that all about last night?”

  “You don’t remember me, do you?” Whoa. Why’d she always race ahead of her plan?

  His expression went blank, then his gaze drifted away from her face as if his mind was cycling through his memory bank.

  His focus returned to her. “I’m sorry. I don’t. But you could refresh my memory.”

  “I thought we came to play some golf before it gets dark.”

  “O…K.” He pointed a club at her. “But you’re not off the hook. I want to know when I met you before. And why you ignored me at the Carolina Boogie.” He nodded toward the tee box. “Ladies first.”

  She pulled her driver from her bag. “I’ll go first only because arguing would devour our play time.”

  Her drive faded to the right and then curved to the middle of the fairway.

  Shoo nodded. “Nice. Do you always play from the men’s tees?”

  “How else am I to improve?”

  Shoo’s ball landed in the fairway fifty yards farther th
an hers.

  “Great shot.” She collected her bag and stored her driver. “Your injured hand doesn’t seem to hold you back.”

  “I have to intentionally tell my left hand not to take over.”

  At the first green, Shoo read its contours and his hole-seeking ball found its target.

  Man, he was good. All his shots had been near perfect. She could watch him play golf till the carts came home.

  She studied her ball’s path to the hole and decided on the spot at which she’d aim for a winner.

  She nodded toward her ball. “So, do your magic.”

  He grinned. “If you follow my suggestion, and you sink it, you have to tell me where we met before and why you lured me to the club last night and then ignored me.”

  “All right.” She was ready to learn the answer to her question—why had the Eric Liddell of golf done what he did?

  After reading the green, Shoo pointed his putter to a spot.

  “To the left?” She wrinkled her brow. “Are you sure?” His chosen spot was nowhere near hers.

  “Yes. And you need to give it a tad more juice or it won’t make it to the hole.”

  “OK. You’re the green whisperer.”

  “Green whisperer?”

  “Yeah.”

  He straightened his shoulders. “I like that.”

  She putted, applying a fraction more power than she would have without his instructions. Her ball drifted from the hole, and then it curved on the short grass. The ball’s comeback wouldn’t be enough. Was the error due to her execution, or his read?

  The ball took another turn and dropped in.

  Her jaw slacked. “You’re amazing. I can’t wait to see you on tour.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Pay up.”

  Her heart beat like crazy as she stowed her putter. She glanced over her shoulder. No golfers on the fairway behind them waited for them to move off the green. She had no excuse to delay the confrontation. She’d gotten what she wanted. She’d seen the Green Whisperer in action. Now, John Leonard would know what she thought of him. It would end their connection, but she was OK with that.

  She sat on the grass. Shoo sat beside her. He extended his long legs, crossed them at his ankles, and supported himself with his palms on the grass behind him.

  The red sinking sun had reached the tops of the tall trees and cast shadows onto the green. Frogs croaked from the pond opposite the sand trap.

  Allie kept her gaze on the red ball in the sky. “Think back to when you were eleven.”

  He dropped his head back. “Oh, come on. You ignored me last night for some slight from when I was eleven?”

  “Slight!” Her face flamed.

  He blinked, and his smirk flattened. “Are you sure it was me, because I don’t remember doing anything to a girl.”

  “You and your two buddies. After what you guys did, I was able to kick one in the shin and wipe mud on the other’s face. But you, the ring leader, never crossed my path until yesterday.”

  He leaned away from her, as if he thought she was a deranged vigilante. “I think you have the wrong person.”

  “It was in August.”

  “What is this? Twenty hints?” He drew his legs up and draped his arms over his knees.

  She looked him in the eye, and her lips trembled. She swallowed, but the words wouldn’t come. This wasn’t the way she’d pictured laying into the guy.

  His brown eyes rounded. “For heavens sake, Allie. What did I do to you?”

  “It was youth day, here, at this course. At eleven, I could play better than most of the kids my age, so I asked you and your two friends if I could be your fourth player. You all said no in a less-than-nice way. But I’d seen you play and—”

  “I can’t believe you remember—.” Shoo sucked in a breath and his eyes widened. “The locker room.” His words came out in a whisper.

  Good. He remembered.

  He studied her face. “That was you?”

  “Yes.” She spoke through clenched jaws—no more trembling lips or lumps in her throat.

  “Wait a minute. You don’t have the full story.”

  What did he mean, she didn’t have the whole story? It was fairly straightforward. She glared at him. “Why don’t you let me tell my version, and stop me when you think I’ve veered from the ugly truth?”

  “All right. Go ahead.” His voice was even, and his lackluster expression revealed little remorse.

  She knew it. He was as callous as she remembered.

  She rotated her body to fully face him and sat cross-legged. “After you’d told me to get lost, I followed you all to the men’s locker room. I really wanted to play with you guys. I knew I could keep up. But the more I begged, the more cutting were your rejections. ‘We don’t play with girls. You’d drag us down to a snail’s pace. Go play with your dolls. Take a hike.’” She paused. “Remember?”

  He nodded, his lips pressed together.

  “You tried to get away from me by going inside the empty men’s locker room, but I followed you inside. Your buddy with the red hair shoved me, but I wouldn’t leave. And you”—she jabbed a finger at him—“you said, ‘Look, we don’t want you to play with us. That’s final. Now for your own good’—she emphasized the words—‘march your pink sneakers out of here. Now!’” She lowered her voice. “Do you deny you said that?”

  He nodded in a wishy-washy manner. “I probably said something like that.”

  “You said those exact words. I crossed my arms and turned my back on you. Then all of you left the locker room. I stomped my foot and hollered over my shoulder, ‘I’m going to tell the coach, the volunteers, and the boss of this course that you three boys treated me badly.’ In seconds, you all rushed in, grabbed me, clamped hands over my mouth, and carried me kicking and grunting to an empty locker. You stuffed me in. The metal edge of the shelf cut my forehead.” She raked back her bangs. “See the scar?”

  He leaned toward her, scrutinized her forehead, and then straightened. “Yes, but—”

  “Let me finish. Then you can defend yourself. If you think you can.”

  He clamped his mouth shut.

  “You closed the locker door, and the latch caught. I heard your laughter as you left the locker room. I was angry at first and screamed for you to come back and let me out. But you didn’t.”

  “Allie, I—”

  She jerked up her hand. “I’m not finished.”

  He huffed a breath. “Go on.”

  “My body pretty much filled the space. I couldn’t sit. And I couldn’t stand up completely. I was sure you’d all have a great laugh and then come back and let me out. But you didn’t.” She hurried on before he could speak. “I was embarrassed to be stuck in a men’s locker, so when men entered, I stayed as quiet as a mouse. After a while, I got scared. I feared you weren’t coming, and no one would miss me because I hadn’t signed in at the table yet.”

  His expression softened.

  About time.

  “I stood in that cramped locker for almost two hours. Pain ate into my hunched-over neck and shoulders and thigh muscles. My feet and arms grew numb. I imagined spending the night in the cold metal locker without food or water—that I’d be dead by morning. I cried.”

  Shoo swallowed.

  “I was ready to call out to the next man who entered the locker room, but some man must have come in and heard me whimpering, because the locker door suddenly clanked opened. When I worked my way out and fell onto the floor tiles, no one was there. The man hadn’t stuck around to see my face smeared with blood.”

  For the first time, Shoo looked away. After a moment, his gaze returned to her face.

  “As soon as I could get my legs working”—her voice cracked—“I sneaked out of the men’s locker room and into the women’s. I washed my face and bangs, and stopped the bleeding. I covered the cut with my bangs. Then I huddled on top of a toilet seat in a stall until the end of youth day. When Mom came to pick me up, I lied and said I’d
had fun and played a great round of golf. I was too mortified to tell her what happened.”

  Shoo sat silent, staring at her face.

  She tilted her head. “I thought you had something you wanted to say.”

  He shifted his position so that one knee rested on the grass and the other remained tented. “Allie, I was, and am now, ashamed for what I said and did to you.”

  Was he sincere? “You said I didn’t know the whole story.”

  “No, you don’t. I’m ashamed of two things. I wish I could take back the words I said to you. They were mean and uncalled for.”

  “I haven’t wanted to strangle you all these years for what you said, but for what you did. I know I acted like a pain in the behind with you guys, but what you did to me was beyond a boy’s prank. It was cruel, like pulling legs off frogs for the fun of it.”

  “I didn’t pull any legs off frogs that day.”

  Was he kidding? She glowered at him.

  His gaze on her remained steady. “The other thing I’m ashamed of is that I ran away after I let you out of the locker.”

  “What?”

  “OK. Time to listen to my version.”

  “This ought to be good.” As long as he didn’t claim to be a gallant knight.

  “After you turned your back on us, I couldn’t help but admire your spunk, but I still didn’t want you to play with us and bring down our tournament score. The other guys had already signed in, but I hadn’t. So, I told them I’d meet them at the first tee, and then I left.”

  Allie eyed him, pulling on her best don’t-think-you-can-con-me expression. “You said, ‘If you know what’s good for you…’ Remember?”

  “Hold on.” He lifted a halting hand. “I heard you out, didn’t I?”

  She crossed her arms over her midriff. “Then go on.”

  “When we finished the first nine holes, Jimmy, the redhead, said ‘I wonder if someone let the brat out of the locker.’ He and Doogan started laughing. I had a sudden sick feeling and demanded they tell me what they’d done after I left. They asked if I hadn’t heard you threaten to rat on us. I had, but I thought the coach would side with us.”

  Allie let out a huff. “I had no intention of telling on you guys. As you said, I knew everyone would side with you. So why didn’t your buddies understand that?”