A Wedding in Truhart

by Cynthia Tennent

  “They might make us combine teams since Richard here can’t play, Annie. But don’t let that make you nervous. Like I said, this is a pretty laid-back tournament. Not that we don’t occasionally have an older member who thinks he’s at the Masters. But for the most part, this is just a friendly Saturday game.”

  I ran my hand through my hair and tried not to look like a fraud. I felt a twinge of guilt, but it wouldn’t hurt a thing if I went along with Kevin for a short time. They would be laughing along with me by the end of the round.

  “Don’t worry, Annie. I got your back on this,” Richard added. “I may not be able to play, but I’ll help you as we go.” He popped another ibuprofen in his mouth and I double-checked his hand. It hadn’t swelled much more, but it looked painful.

  The lady at the registration table shook her blond ponytail and leaned over to whisper to an older woman next to her. The older woman placed her elbows on the table and said to Kevin, “I hope you don’t mind, young man, but we might need to put you into a foursome. We have another team with two players who canceled this morning . . . if that is okay with you?”

  Richard leaned on his bag. “We don’t mind much, but we have a beginner with us and she might feel awkward.” He nodded my way.

  “I don’t mind if no one else does,” I said.

  “Well, let me call the other team over and you can talk before you decide,” the woman said.

  I looked around for a group of two. Amid the sea of navy and white polo tops I didn’t see anyone who looked like they were missing players. Until I spotted two familiar faces.

  Nick and Brittany leaned against a golf cart talking to a white-haired man. That must be “Daddy.” The gentleman bore the angles of privilege: a long patrician nose, square jaw, a good head of white hair, and height. Every pore screamed money, and I could see a faint resemblance to his daughter.

  Then I noticed our registration lady approaching them and nodding her head in our direction. Nick’s brown eyes turned black as he looked our way. I could see a muscle twitch in his neck, even from where I stood. The older man smiled and started walking our way, followed by a reluctant-looking Brittany and a moody-looking Nick.

  “Well, well, boys. It looks like you are as stranded as we are.”

  “Hello, Mr. Hartwick, sir.” Kevin and Richard’s immediate deferral to the older gentleman and the way they stood up straighter as they shook his hand caught my attention. This man was important.

  Mr. Hartwick looked down at Richard’s injured left hand. “Hope you didn’t do any permanent harm, boy,” he said.

  “The only permanent harm done is to a good friendship, sir.”

  Kevin rolled his eyes but said nothing.

  Richard stepped aside slightly. “Mr. Hartwick, in case you didn’t meet her at the dinner party, may I introduce Annie Adler. She is Charlotte Adler’s sister, soon to be Henry’s sister-in-law. We thought we would introduce her to the game of golf. Annie, this is Travis Hartwick, Brittany’s father and owner of the GATE Network where Charlotte works.”

  I raised my eyebrows and tried to pick my jaw up from where I dropped it on the ground. Really? Brittany’s father was the owner of the GATE Network?

  “My wife has told me all about you, but she didn’t mention how pretty you are,” he said, smoothly gripping my hand and holding it in his.

  “Your wife?” I looked over at Brittany, sinking further into confusion. But before I repressed a shudder, he replied.

  “Scarlett, of course.”

  My smile froze on my face. I looked from Brittany to Nick and then back again at Travis Hartwick. I must have been the densest person in the world not to make the connection between Scarlett and Brittany. In my defense, their hair and uh . . . bra sizes were nothing alike. And Scarlett must have been using her maiden name in her profession rather than her married name. But if I looked past the makeup, I could see a faint resemblance in the shade of their eyes and the tilt of their brows.

  “The Hartwick and Lowell families have been close friends for thirty years now. Henry’s father and I went to Ole Miss together and started out in business years ago before going our separate ways. Henry is like a son to me. In fact, there was a time when I thought he would be my son—that is, until your Yankee sibling came along.”

  I was beginning to understand why Charlotte was nervous about this wedding. Still, Brittany seemed far more interested in Nick than Henry.

  As if reading my mind, she said, “Oh, Daddy. Henry is like a brother to me. I always tell you that. Dating him would have been like dating a member of my own family.” She smiled and for the first time I saw warmth inside her ice princess exterior as she looked up at her father. The moment was shattered as he reached over and touched Nick’s shoulder.

  “Well, I guess we will have to settle for some other fine young gentleman who’ll make my little girl happy, right, Nick? Glad I could introduce her to someone as smart as this guy. You know Nick Conrad, right? He is a rising star in one of the country’s top architectural firms . . . that I just happen to own as well.” He was so smug it grated my nerves.

  Nick’s attention was elsewhere and his face was partially hidden from me as he turned to Richard and examined his hand while Travis was talking.

  “Actually, I met Nick a long time ago. I think I was about two,” I said, smiling brightly.

  The older man raised his eyebrow and looked questioningly at Nick.

  “Annie and I were neighbors growing up. Her brother was my best friend,” Nick said with a simple nod my way. His eyes brushed over me and I could tell he was irritated at the way the day was unfolding.

  “Well, then it sounds like we have ourselves a golf game. You two know each other . . . from Ohio, was it?”

  “Michigan,” Nick and I said in unison.

  But Travis kept talking. “If you two know each other from your little Northern town, and I know everyone else, we should get along brilliantly, my dear. As for your golf game, little lady, I am sure I can give you some great pointers on the sport. Down here in the South we pride ourselves on our mastery of the links. Not everyone appreciates the game.” He nodded toward Brittany. “All it takes is one great shot and you’re hooked. And I have the fortunate habit of making great shots so often I am downright addicted!” He laughed at his own joke and we all chuckled.

  Why did every man I met this weekend have such a driving need to teach the “little ladies” in their lives all about the game of golf? I rubbed my hand along the side of my bag and relished the moment when I could let myself enjoy the game.

  Once the ladies at the registration table were assured that there would be no problem with our new foursome, Brittany kissed her daddy good-bye and we walked to the first hole and waited for our start time.

  While the others were busy with their equipment, Richard took me aside and whispered, “Whatever you do, don’t bet with Travis.”

  “Why not?” I whispered back.

  “He’s a rotten cheat. He’ll do anything to win. It’s probably why the Vanderbeeks canceled on him.”

  I raised my eyebrows. Well, well, Brittany’s daddy was a cheat and a snob. This was going to be very interesting. A piece of the old hustler in me was rising to the surface and I could feel my pulse throb in excitement.

  The others gathered near the first tee and Kevin approached, taking his job as my mentor very seriously. “So, we all tee off by these markers, but because you are a girl your tee is farther up, a little closer to the hole way over there. Can you remember that?”

  “Oh yeah. That’s really nice of the people who make the rules,” I said innocently.

  “Well, golf is a gentleman’s sport, Annie,” he assured me. Kevin and Richard reminded me of all the basic rules of golf and I nodded my head as they explained all about bogies, birdies, and pars.

  “Just take it one shot at a time, Annie. No pressure. Okay?” Richard said.

  While Richard and Kevin wandered over to talk with Travis and Brittany about the scoring
and rules of this particular scramble, Nick came over and stood beside me.

  “Pretending you can’t play golf with just Kevin or Richard is one thing. But now that you’re in the middle of a real tournament, playing with a whole group of people, things are much more complicated. Do you ever consider that maybe you should think before you act, Bump?”

  I did feel a little regretful, to be sure. But it wasn’t going to get messy. “It’s not going to be a big deal, Nick. I’ll start slow and get a little better as we play. Once the guys realize I can actually play, we are all going to relax and enjoy ourselves.”

  He studied my face. “I hope you’re right. But I know you and you’re not going to be able to resist winning this game. Everyone around here knows Travis Hartwick likes to win. You have no idea what you are getting yourself into. Every time you assume something is simple it ends up being complicated. You step into trouble the way some people step into shoes, Bump.”

  I put my hands on my hips and looked up at him. “I had no idea we would be playing with anyone else, so don’t blame this on me. And what do you mean, I’m always in trouble? Everything that isn’t business is trouble in your book. Do you even know the meaning of fun? I’m surprised you don’t have a tie on.”

  Nick started to say something, but Kevin interrupted. “Hey, Nick and Annie, it’s tee time.”

  I stormed away from Nick and joined the others. Richard drove his golf cart with his good hand and we decided to take turns walking. He pulled up alongside the tee while Kevin and Travis Hartwick selected their drivers.

  “Let us men start, little lady. We’ll show you the right way to swing the club. Then we’ll let you try,” said Travis. He held up the tee and placed it in the grass before balancing his ball on it. “Now this here is the Vardon Grip, it’s the right way to hold your club. You want to stand like so,” he said as he showed me the basic golf stance. Unfortunately, he was leaning all wrong from the hips up. “Make sure to balance your feet and keep your head from bobbing as you swing.”

  Travis went into great detail. He explained how his shoes were the same ones Phil Mickelson wore and revealed how much they cost. If he thought that would help his stance he was an idiot. I tried desperately to look attentive as he continued. I held the club all wrong and Kevin corrected my grip and smiled at me when I did it right. Nick just leaned against the cart and glared. Fortunately, I was the only one who knew he was glaring. To everyone else he looked like he was sending me an encouraging smile. I barely heard Travis Hartwick as he continued with his tutorial. I kept thinking about Nick’s words. Why did he take everything so seriously?

  We waited patiently as Travis practiced a minimum of ten times before actually taking his shot. The shot faded slightly, which I could have predicted by the way he was standing. He marched back to the cart and said nothing.

  Kevin and Nick went next. They hit their balls in a nice arc and landed a good distance down the fairway. While Kevin demonstrated his swing, Nick did not acknowledge me in any way, but as he lined up to swing I couldn’t help peeking. His wide shoulders and trim backside made my mouth go dry. Even as annoyed as I was, Nick made me feel like a schoolgirl watching the quarterback from the bleachers. When he swung I was reminded of what a good athlete he had always been. Whether it was golf, football, or baseball, he was a natural.

  I swallowed and moved toward the ladies’ tee. I feigned worry as I looked back at the group behind me. “Am I going to be okay? What if I hit someone?”

  “Don’t worry, Annie, the group ahead of us is almost at the next hole. You’ll be fine. We’ll give you a few practice swings,” said Kevin.

  He walked over to me and stood behind me with his arms around my shoulders as he moved me through a swing. Richard made a comment about Kevin’s enthusiasm and I laughed nervously, glancing back at the carts. Nick was seemingly fascinated with his clubs and never glanced my way.

  Stepping back, Kevin encouraged me to try on my own. I slowly moved the club, getting the feel of the grip in my hands and adjusting to its length. Then I stepped back in place, gauged the ball with my driver, then readjusted for a miss, and swung.

  Afterward I looked down at the ball. It was still on the tee. “Oh no!”

  “Don’t worry, it happens to everyone, although you Northerners have a habit of over swinging and topping the ball, I must say,” said Travis. “Try again.”

  I tried two more times before I finally hit the ball. I wasn’t going for power at this point, just a nice easy swing. I struck the ball fairly well, I had to admit. It sailed forward and landed about ten yards behind Kevin’s ball, right in the middle of the fairway. I was pleased.

  A silence fell over the group behind me.

  “Wow. That was pretty good, Annie.”

  “Well, I had great teachers,” I said, smiling.

  As we played the first few holes, I tried to keep it low-key and shot just to the right of the green. I found myself enjoying the challenge of purposely missing my target.

  My brother used to say that for people who sing well, it is really hard to deliberately sing off-key. But for golf, I found I could challenge myself to hit the ball at a different target, say ten yards to the right or left. It was kind of fun. For a little extra entertainment I found myself aiming for Nick’s ball. If we were playing croquet I could have knocked him right out of range into the lake near the third hole. For now I had to settle for a little amusement by getting in his way and messing up as much of his game as I could. He remained unruffled and it only fueled me more.

  I kept thinking of his comment about me stepping into trouble. “Trouble, my—”

  “What was that, Annie?” asked Richard when he heard me muttering under my breath.

  “I’m having trouble with my grip, that’s all.”

  “Here, let me show you again,” said Kevin eagerly.

  “You’re holding us up, Annie. Practice it when you aren’t ready to putt,” said Nick.

  The testiness in his tone made my blood sing. Finally, I had managed to annoy him as much as he annoyed me.

  “Now, Nick. Don’t hurry the little lady,” Travis said magnanimously. “Everyone can just wait. We aren’t in any kind of rush. Annie is from a small town in Ohio and they don’t know this game like we do in the big league. You should know that.”

  It turned out I wasn’t the one holding us up. Travis Hartwick took more practice strokes than anyone I had ever seen. Even though his form was off, he commented to me about every swing as if he was a golf pro and I was his student. At one point, we stood on a putting green at the eighth hole. Nick was getting ready to sink a long putt. Just as he started his back swing, a shrill ring went off. He missed the hole by yards and his ball ended up going downhill toward the lake on the side of the green.

  Travis pulled a phone out of his pocket.

  “What’s up, Hal!” he said so loudly that the players on the adjacent hole looked our way.

  I stared at him and wondered if he had lost his mind. Even on our laid-back golf course back home we turned off cell phone ringers. I watched in astonishment as Travis Hartwick told Hal all about how he would call him back after he finished playing with his young friends from Ohio. I sent Nick an exasperated look and he just crossed one foot over the other with casual unconcern. We ended up letting the group behind us play through.

  “Whoops. Let me get back to you, Hal. It looks like everyone’s getting impatient,” Travis finally said. Turning to the rest of us, he made things worse. “Now, where were we? Oh yeah.” He picked up his marker, which sat at least six feet from the hole. “Sorry about that call. This one’s a gimme, I believe,” he said, marking it in his score sheet.

  I started to say something, but Nick put his hand on my shoulder, turned me around, and squeezed hard. “Don’t worry about it,” he said.

  We continued to play, but I could sense everyone’s lack of enthusiasm.

  Travis Hartwick was a cheat.

  If he went into a bunker he dropped the ball
practically in the middle of the fairway before playing it again. He called his own “short” putts gimmes. He flirted shamelessly with the girl on the beer cart, trying to squeeze her behind when she handed him his third beer. And I couldn’t even think about his scoring. By the second half of the round I was ready to smash a club over his head.

  By the thirteenth hole I made up my mind it was time to revive my hustling ways.

  I shanked the next tee off on purpose, aiming for the lowest branch of a nearby oak tree. I brushed a leaf on a hanging branch and had to mask my satisfaction at the shot. “Aww. Just when I thought I was getting it.”

  “It’s okay, little lady. That happens. Now this hole is a dogleg. You want to use an iron on that next shot and stay left of the water.” I watched as he squared up to the tee and took practice swing after practice swing. We had just waved another group through on the last hole.

  “Now in Ohio I know you probably play on some pretty small-time courses . . .” He began another endless golf lecture. I nodded my head and forced a smile.

  Now, if you ever asked anyone from Michigan if they thought the day would come when they would defend a person from Ohio, they would say “no way.” But I was getting defensive about the derogatory comments.

  When we started the final hole, I said, “You gentlemen have been absolutely wonderful to teach me today. I feel like I am finally getting the hang of this game.” I sighed. “Why, if I were a betting woman I would bet a whole dollar on this hole, but of course I’m not.” I giggled and pulled the wrong club out of my bag.

  Travis Hartwick whistled softly. “Why, honey, there’s nothing I like more than a little green in my golf, and I don’t mean the grass.” He chuckled at his own joke.

  “What’s that?” I said, pretending to miss his meaning as I practiced teeing off with an iron.

  Travis walked over and laughed. He pulled a driving wood out of my bag and handed it to me. “Well now, how about we each stake a hundred dollars on the last hole.”