The Perfectly Good Lie

by Rose Gonsoulin

  He said his name was Jim. That’s about all I ever knew of him.

  Once I found out I was pregnant, I couldn’t go home. Where I’m from in Missouri, an unwed mother was a sinful woman. We would have been miserable there.

  One of the daycare workers nicknamed you “Buck”. You reminded her of a young deer, always jumping and kicking and running around. No matter how hard I tried, you wouldn’t let me call you by your name. You had to be Buck. Even then you were hardheaded, and once you put your mind to something, you were going to do everything to get it.

  I guess I’ll never understand why golf is so important to you. I know a mother is supposed to be proud of her children, and I am proud of you, but seeing how talented and determined you are always made me worry I’d lose you. Maybe I was a little bit jealous because you had opportunities I never had and golf took you away from me and Art.

  I’m sorry I couldn’t give you the family you wanted. Leon left us because he never got over the accident. It wasn’t anybody’s fault.

  It’s time to come home. Your brother needs to finish high school and I’m afraid I won’t be here to help him. I need you to do it now, to help him make a life for himself.

  I’m not scared of dying anymore, but I’m afraid for your brother. I want you to treat him better this time. Don’t tease him like you used to. And don’t make him feel like trash. I hope you’ve grown out of that by now.

  You are my gift to the world, but Art is the world’s gift to me. It tears me apart to think what will happen when I’m not around. I just pray that you can be a true brother to him now. Please don’t be selfish this time. At least see that he’s safe.

  Maybe you’ll learn to love him half as much as I do you.

  You’ll always be my first boy.

  Love,

  Momma

  #

  Buck stayed in the warm van. The interstate freeway was a stone’s throw away. The traffic zoomed by, an occasional trucker blew the horn or shifted gears, and bouts of tailwind, full of dust and debris, rolled off the overpass and into the motel parking lot.

  He slid the note back into the blue envelope.

  Ruthie had known she was dying when she wrote it. She’d made her point about taking care of Art, but she’d not dredged up more of the old hurts and there’d been plenty of them. In a way, Buck now wished she had. He could have taken comfort in the familiar taste of bitterness, like burnt coffee laced with mother’s milk.

  The birth certificate, photos, cards, and clippings he returned to the large white envelope and shoved it under the seat.

  He put the small envelope in his back pocket.

  Art was right. If Buck had seen the letter right after Ruthie died, he would have torn it to pieces without reading it.

  He stepped out and locked the van. The sun was up now but the wind still held the cold from the night.

  So Buck was the product of a romp in the backseat of a car. It was a relief knowing it wasn’t rape or incest or anything terrible like that.

  He wondered whether his father—the sperm donor—was actually a pilot, a bullshitter, or both? Did it matter?

  The truth wasn’t worth pursuing. If he ever did meet the man, it was bound to be a disappointment once he got to the bottom of whoever the guy really was. Johnny Appleseed scattering his seed far and wide—anonymously, recklessly, thoughtlessly.

  Buck might be the apple that hadn’t fallen far from the tree, but the knowledge was a glancing blow that left him unscathed and unmoved because he knew he’d not fathered a bunch of babies. Of that he was certain. Maybe he had more of Ruthie in him than he’d ever cared to admit?

  And it hurt to hear that Ruthie had seen Buck’s shame and disappointment in her. She’d loved him and he’d treated her like shit, wasting all those years punishing her. For what? What was her crime? Wanting a little fun, falling for the charms of a player, for wanting a baby?

  You’ll always be my first boy.

  As he approached the motel entrance, he swallowed hard.

  One bad choice had forever changed his mother’s life. And created his own life. Lousy timing or fate? He felt the weight of it, felt the sucker punch in his gut, and then almost as quickly, a lightness passed through, as though a larger universe had taken hold, and he was swept up in the ardent stride of humanity, rolling forward and onward.

  It wasn’t personal. It was life.

  The morning sun flashed against the windows and caught the brass trim on the trash bin by the front door.

  Buck took the envelope from his pocket.

  Yellow daisies against a blue sky.

  Ruthie had served a life sentence; she deserved a pardon. There was no sense in punishing his mother anymore, or anyone else.

  Holding the letter above the bin, he let it drop inside and join the past.

  He took the stairs, slowly.

  Art was sitting in bed, playing a video game on his tablet.

  “Are you mad?” he asked.

  “I’m tired of being mad,” Buck said.

  “Did Momma write you a letter too?”

  Buck nodded and turned to face Art. “She said I was supposed to come home and you were supposed to finish high school. Looks like we both failed on that score.”

  Art grimaced. “Do I have to go back to school?”

  “No, but you have to get your GED.” Buck wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “You know, deep down I think I was pissed when you were born. It had been just me and Leon and Ruthie. I didn’t think we needed anybody else.” Buck turned his head to the side. “But you know what?

  “What?”

  Buck looked at Art. “I’m glad you’re here now.”

  Art beamed and jumped from the bed. “Does this mean we’re best friends now?”

  Buck choked back a flood of emotions and then gave Art a bear hug, holding on tight for a few moments.

  Art pushed back and asked, “If I promise to get my GED, can I stay with you?”

  Hearing those words and seeing the eager grin on Art’s face was a jolt that blasted away all the disappointment and despair.

  “Of course. What would I do without you, Art Rimlinger?”

  Art tilted his head to the side when he said, “You’d forget to eat.”

  “You do like three meals a day. And my course maps. You’re the best at that.”

  Art began to chant, “I’m number one,” and paraded around the room, holding his hand up with his index finger poking at the air like a baton.

  Buck’s phone buzzed and he instinctively answered it.

  “Hey, I haven’t heard from you,” Josh said. “Perryman’s pulled some strings. You’re on the list for the Riviera.”

  The Riviera was the next tournament in the schedule. Held at the legendary course in Pacific Palisades, the event took them further west. Buck had planned to spend the week driving to Florida.

  But this invitation was the opening Buck needed, a lifeline he couldn’t pass up. For the first time since the disqualification, he saw a way forward, even though it would be a hell of a stretch.

  Buck motioned for Art to be quiet, and then spoke quickly. “One exemption is not enough. Tell Perryman I want three more: Houston, Austin, and San Antonio.”

  Buck hung up and stared at his phone. He couldn’t believe what he’d just done. But it was easier to play hardball when you’ve got nothing to lose. And if he was going for broke, it might as well be on golf courses he knew well.

  “Where are we going now?” Art asked.

  “California. And this time, we’re going to make it happen. You and me.”

  Buck had never played the Riviera, but he knew the legend. A classic thinking man’s design, demanding more strategy than talent to master. His first impulse was to wonder if Carla had ever played the course.

  He checked his phone again.

  “We’re number one,” Art sang as they packed up their gear. It got inside Buck’s head too.

  By nine-thirty they were hauling ass out of Tucson wi
th Art behind the wheel.

  “We have a room in Santa Monica near the pier,” Buck said. “Practice round tomorrow at seven-thirty-nine.”

  Josh called again. “You’ve got the exemptions you wanted.”

  “All of them?”

  “Yes, and there’s more.”

  Buck waited.

  “LeeAnn’s been fired,” Josh said.

  “I’m sorry she lost her job, but I’m glad she’s out of the picture.”

  “Sounds like Perryman’s in the hot seat too. I’m not sure how much longer he’ll be with StraightLine.”

  Buck had his exemptions, LeeAnn was gone, and with Perryman on his way out, it was a fresh start with StraightLine. A sense of fairness settled in.

  “Oh, and another thing,” Josh said. “The new ball passed. The certification came in today. It’s officially playable now.”

  “Lot of good that does me now.”

  But it was good. It meant his performance was real and he felt it coming—success on the tour. It was there, waiting for him in California.

  But it didn’t feel the same without Carla. Buck could take the lessons learned from her, but could he replicate the joy of being with her?

  “I came for you,” she’d said yesterday.

  The loss and sense of longing stirred the ashes and lit a fire inside Buck.

  “Where’s your phone?” he asked Art.

  Art pointed at the charger on the console.

  Buck picked it up and scrolled through the call log. He found Carla’s number. She wouldn’t be blocking this number.

  Buck tapped in a message and then said to Art, “Let’s go find Carla.”

  match play

  It took three hours to track down Carla. They went by her house and then drove over to the Glenwood golf course. Inside the pro shop, they were told to check the Biltmore, the Phoenix Country Club, and the Lambert course in Tempe, all places Carla gave lessons.

  They found her on the practice green at the Biltmore. She had three girls with her. Buck recognized Jasmine, Lexi with the tattoos, and Roberta, the girl with high, round cheeks from Art’s foursome.

  Art parked the van and together he and Buck crept toward the practice green.

  When Carla saw them approaching, the blood drained from her face.

  “We’re training for a tournament right now. So if you don’t mind…” She turned her back to him.

  Buck stayed under a tall eucalyptus tree. “I’m playing the Riviera,” he said. “I couldn’t leave without seeing you.”

  “Why?” Carla asked. “There’s nothing to talk about. You said it all yesterday.”

  “I didn’t mean what I said about Roger.” Buck put his hands in his pockets and stepped from under the tree.

  Carla stood rigid, knees locked and arms crossed at her waist.

  “LeeAnn’s been fired and Perryman is on his way out the door.” Buck inched closer. “I’ve got three more exemptions after the Riviera.”

  “Great,” she said. “Sounds like there’s nothing keeping you here.”

  “I know I’m a jerk.”

  “No. You’re a colossal jerk.” Carla dropped her arms by her side.

  The girls and Art giggled.

  “Look, I’ve never wanted to be anything more than the guy passing through and I know you deserve someone better than me, but it kills me to think of you not in my life.”

  “What do you really want, Buck?”

  “I want you to come with us.”

  She scoffed. “Come where?”

  “California, Texas, everywhere,” Buck said. “I want you by my side.”

  “Am I supposed to drop everything to run off and carry your bag? Be your coach?” Her tone was sharp and abrupt.

  “No, not like that. I want us to be a team, a couple. I want to kiss you and hug you and sweep you off your feet. To walk on the beach, to take you to bed and wake up in the morning with you by my side.”

  She stared at him without a word, shaking her head.

  Buck rushed towards her, but Art stepped forward, holding his arm out to block Buck. “Let me do the talking.”

  Art moved next to Carla.

  “Carla,” he said. “See it was like with me and Hannah. I can’t see her anymore and Buck can’t see the LeeAnn lady cause they’re hotel girls. So now you can be Buck’s girlfriend. You were my girlfriend first but I’ve got Gigi and Buck doesn’t have anyone. That’s why you can be his girlfriend now.”

  Buck held his breath waiting for Carla’s reaction.

  Jasmine looked at her and asked, “What’s a hotel girl?”

  “Who’s Gigi?” Roberta asked Art.

  Lexi eyed both Buck and Art, frowning when she said, “You can’t pass Miz C around like that.”

  Carla placed her hand on Art’s forearm, smiling. “You did an excellent job of explaining the situation, Art.”

  Art grinned at Buck with a face full of pride and accomplishment.

  “But,” Carla said. “You can’t give someone to another person.” She held Buck’s gaze. “Buck knows that.” Then she let out a loud frustrated sigh. “Besides, Buck doesn’t want a girlfriend, he wants a lucky charm. To him, I’m a twofer, both muse and caddie.”

  It took a moment for Buck to process the words, and before he could respond, Carla was in his space.

  “We’ve never even played a round together. How can you expect us to be a team?”

  Buck shifted his stance. “You’ve seen me play.”

  “But you’ve not seen me play,” she said.

  Buck crossed his arms and wondered why that was important to her right now. “Okay, let’s play a round tomorrow. I’ve got an early tee time on the Riviera.”

  “I’m not going anywhere until I see how you react when you have to admit I’m the better player.”

  A gasp from the girls.

  A cold lump settled in Buck’s throat. “Why are you busting my balls?”

  “Because you may never make another cut, much less win a tournament. What happens to us then?” Carla motioned with her hands to emphasize ‘us.’

  Buck dropped his shoulders. He breathed in hard and stared into her eyes. “The thought of not making it on tour used to scare the shit out of me. But not anymore.”

  She held his gaze. “Well, it scares me.”

  “Okay. I get that.”

  “Do you? Because if you did, you’d know why rushing off to play the Riviera is the wrong move. You’ve been on the road for weeks. You’re a long hitter, that course doesn’t suit your game. You want a strong showing your next time out, don’t you?”

  “Are you trying to talk me into staying?” He grinned at her and she blushed.

  “No, that’s not it. It’s the same advice I would give any of my students.”

  “But I’m not one of your students. And I don’t want to be. I want to be more than that.”

  She avoided his glance when she said to Roberta, “Go inside and tell them Buck Buchanan is taking your place in our foursome. We have the one-twelve tee time.”

  Roberta ran off towards the pro shop.

  Carla looked at Art. “Take the cart and bring Buck’s clubs.”

  Art clapped his hands together. “Buck never lets me take a cart.” He jumped into the cart and drove away.

  Buck checked the time. If they stuck around here, it would be midnight before they arrived in Los Angeles.

  “Okay, if that’s what you want,” he said to Carla. Then, he lowered his voice. “I thought you said Roberta was the better player. Lexi will only slow us down. I want to get into LA at a decent hour.”

  Carla ignored him, instead turning to Lexi and Jasmine. “Keep practicing,” she said.

  Art came back with Buck’s clubs and when Roberta returned, Carla said, “Roberta, you and Art can walk to the driving range.”

  She barely looked at Buck, and started moving briskly. She climbed into a cart and Jasmine joined her. Her tone was frosty when she said over her shoulder, “Let’s go.”
<
br />   Buck traded places with Art, getting behind the wheel of the second cart. Lexi sat next to him.

  He looked at her. “So you’re training for a tournament, huh?”

  “Not me. I’m here because it was either this or detention.”

  “Detention? For what?”

  “Skipping class.”

  Buck drove the cart, trailing behind Carla. They bumped along, passing a strip of low-rise condos and then the path veered left and went over a bridge crossing the canal that separated the two Biltmore courses. He kicked up the gas and the cart lurched towards the No. 10 tees.

  Buck looked over the scorecard. This was the longest hole on the Links course. The higher yardage on the back nine would be to his advantage.

  They stood by the carts waiting for the foursome ahead to come off the tees.

  “Jasmine and Lexi, you’re going to play best ball.” Carla directed her gaze at the two girls. “Buck and I will tee off, and Jasmine plays my ball from the fairway and Lexi you’ll play Buck’s.”

  Then she glared at Buck, a cold harsh stare that startled him. “Match play. You and me.” Her fists were firmly pressed on her hips. “Because if you can’t beat me today, how are you going to win at the Riviera?”

  “Fair point,” he said. “But, if I win today, will you come to California with us?

  “On the off chance you win, I promise to open the door when you come home.”

  “Home, huh?” Buck said.

  “If I win,” she said, “I want you to caddie for Jasmine in an amateur tournament.”

  “I could do that.” Buck glanced at Jasmine. She gave him a weak smile.

  “It’s this Saturday,” Carla said.

  “What? You want me to skip the Riviera?”

  “You could play the first two rounds. You might not make the cut.”

  It was a stare down for a moment until Buck said, “If you win today, I’ll caddie for Jasmine on Saturday. But if I win, I’m going to California, and I’m taking you with me.”

  The corners of her lips curled up. “We’ll see.”

  “That’s not a bet,” Buck said.

  “I told you, I’ll open the door when you return.”

  He took her by the shoulders and then tentatively, he leaned down and kissed her, gently, just enough to feel her lips on his.