Chapter 19

Sunday-Monday, May 27-28

Kacie stood in my bathroom doorway, brushing her hair as we prepared for bed.

“You just keep falling in it, don’t you bro?” she said as I laid out two sets of clothes for Monday.

I was planning to change for the picnic after we were done with golf. I’d need to make sure I didn’t suffer any spills during the day. I was going to wear a white shirt in hopes of being just that little bit cooler.

“I’m not necessarily going to say I was pushed, but there was certainly an outside influence in this case,” I said. “I still think Arlene would have had nothing to do with me if she’d known I wasn’t 18.”

“Well, I can think of a few girls who’d still like to have something to do with you,” Kacie said. “I think they’re about ready to draw straws.”

“Which is why we have Eddie, Jed and his pals,” I said. “I doubt I can even keep up with you and Morgan and we haven’t even done anything the last few days.”

“We can change that,” Kacie said with a wicked little grin.

“Much as I would like to,” I said, “it’s been a long day, it’s getting late and I have to be up early. Good night.”

“You’re no fun,” she mock pouted as she pulled the door closed.

My alarm had barely started beeping Monday morning before Dad was banging on my door.

“Let’s move!” he yelled as I reached to hit the alarm. “We’ve got a big day ahead.”

I did a quick wash in the sink and brushed my teeth before getting dressed, remembering to grab a pair of athletic socks to wear with my Footjoys, which I had to dig out of my closet because I hadn’t played since spring break.

Navy Bermuda shorts and a white polo would meet the golf course’s dress code and be nice enough for the picnic. I decided to shower and change after eating lunch, making me fresh for spending the afternoon and evening with Morgan.

Dad permitted me just enough time for a bowl of cereal and a banana before we were out the door.

“No offense, but you’re probably going to be hitting last today,” Dad said as he steered his Buick out of the subdivision. While the club was north and a little west of the housing development, you had to go south and then a mile east to reach a road that would connect with the road that passed in front of the club’s main entrance. I always wondered if that had been done intentionally or was just a screwup on the part of the city engineer and planning and zoning commission.

“I understand,” I said. “It’s not like you’re going to expect me to sink a 40-footer after the three of you miss. I’ll be happy if I can just contribute a shot or two.”

Scrambles are a little different than other golf tournament formats. Each player hits his tee shot with the one deemed the best then being the spot from which everybody plays the next shot. The process repeats itself until someone puts the ball in the cup. I was pretty sure that one of the other three would hole out before I was required to putt.

People took different approaches to putting together a team. There was usually what I liked to think of as “the boomer,” the big hitter who would try drive it 300 yards or more on every hole that wasn’t a par-3. Everyone else would then play safe, making sure they stayed in bounds or out of the water or whatever. If successful, the risks usually paid of with a birdie, often an eagle on the par-5s. If somebody went in the tank, the team could still save par on a hole. It wasn’t unusual that a score in the mid 50s or lower was required to win.

We pulled into the parking lot a little before 8. Dad went to sign in while I went to get our bags out of his locker and head for the range. I had a light-weight nylon bag that was easy to lug around. Dad had one of the big leather jobs that reminded me of the one Rodney Dangerfield’s character had in “Caddyshack.” It certainly felt like he had a beer keg hidden in there.

Dad was in the habit of stocking his bag with more than the 14 clubs one would be allowed in sanctioned tournament play. I don’t think he would have been called on it in a country club scramble, but he regularly discarded certain clubs to be returned to his locker as he warmed up on the range. I know he had like six wedges of varying degrees of loft, but would normally only carry two.

We each hit a bucket to loosen up, then took our cart out to our starting hole to meet up with Dr. Ensberry and Mr. Richards — “Call me Bill” — and went about deciding our order of play.

“Thanks for helping Jed this week,” Mr. Richards, who would be our boomer, said while we awaited the starting horn.

“You’re welcome, sir,” I said. “And thank you for the offer of lunch today.”

“What’s that?” Dad asked, forcing me to explain about helping clean the Richards’ garage and Mr. Richards’ offer, which I thought may have gone over Jed’s head.

“Sounds like something a lawyer would do,” Dad said.

Meanwhile, Dr. Ensberry looked like death warmed over.

“It’s all your son’s fault,” he said when Dad asked if he was feeling well.

“Mine?”

“Jean’s been making me give her foot rubs ever since you came over Friday night,” he said. “I’m also supposed to ask you where to get pineapple juice.”

That last bit sent Dad into a coughing fit that lasted several seconds.

I’d like to say I commenced on one of the greatest exhibitions of golf ever seen, amazing my playing partners and single-handedly winning the scramble. In reality, I skulled and chili-dipped my way through nine holes, losing more balls than the other three combined to lose in a month. The only shot I contributed was a tap-in birdie putt on a short par-4 after Dr. Ensberry’s approach stopped on the lip of the cup.

Dad handed me my putter when we pulled up to the green.

“Hit it,” he said, and the rest of the foursome drove on to the next tee before I even addressed the ball.

Despite my performance, or lack thereof, we were 6-under through nine as we approached No. 14, where Kacie and Morgan were waiting for us. My sister was finally aware of the prize being offered on the hole.

“Daaadddyyy,” she said in her best little-girl voice, “would you please win me a convertible? Oh pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease??? I promise to be good.”

“You can win me one, too, Daddy,” Morgan said, batting her eyes at Dr. Ensberry.

“Isn’t it enough that we house, clothe and feed you?” Dr. Ensberry said. “Pay taxes to provide for your education?”

“No,” the girls said simultaneously.

The 14th hole at Prairie Star Country Club was a par-3 that played anywhere from 90 yards (women’s tees) to 160 yards (championship tees). It was playing at 128 yards for the scramble.

The green was fronted by water, which wrapped around the left side, with a rocked retaining wall forming the bank. There was a big sand trap behind the green and a large earthen mound to the right. The mound was covered in grass that was actually deeper than the rough normally was and the green sloped from there toward the water. Today’s pin placement was about three-quarters of the way to the right and halfway back.