William Bernhardt - Final Round

“That’s what I figured.”

“I’ve never known a less depressed person than John in my entire life. Now- angry -that’s a different matter.”

“John seemed angry?”

“That last night. He definitely had a bug up his nose about something.”

“Did you ask him what it was?”

“Never got the chance. Figured I’d ask him when he returned. But of course… he never did.”

“Another thing… Why is Barry Bennett so down on John?”

Jodie turned her eyes away. “Why would you ask me?”

“Because Barry told me to.”

“It was all so long ago. But you might know-Barry is exactly the kind of person who would never forget.”

“Forget what?”

Jodie drew up her shoulders and sighed. It was obvious she didn’t want to proceed, but Conner was gratified that she did anyway. “Several years ago, after John made the PGA but before I married him, I dated Barry.”

“I never heard anything about this.”

“It was before you joined the tour.”

“Barry? And you ?”

“It seems incredible now. What can I say? I was young and, frankly, stupid. Didn’t know diddly about men.”

“Evidently not.”

“Let’s give Barry some credit. He’s made a success of himself, despite extremely humble beginnings. And he can be kind and thoughtful and generous. Of course, he can also be domineering and possessive and insanely jealous.”

“I’m beginning to see where this is going.”

Jodie nodded. “It was never serious-except in Barry’s mind. John was the one I loved-I just had to be with someone else for a while to realize that. But every time I suggested to Barry that we ought to see less of each other, he’d fly off the handle. He scared me, Conner, he really did. I finally told him I didn’t want to see him any more-but I did it over the phone. Cowardly, I know-but I was seriously afraid he might lose control and-well, take it out on me. He drank too much, even back then, though nothing like he does now. The booze made him unpredictable.”

“You did the right thing.”

“But I still feel guilty about it. At any rate, about four months later, John and I were married. Barry apparently transferred all his anger from me to John. Blaming him for coming between us. It was never like that at all, but try telling Barry that.”

“Try telling Barry anything,” Conner groused.

Jodie nodded. “Especially something he doesn’t want to hear.”

A stray thought returned to Conner. “Did you ever remember what it was John said when he left that last night? The strange remark that puzzled you?”

“No, I haven’t. I’m sorry.” She shrugged apologetically. “I’m not much help, am I?”

Conner gave her shoulder a squeeze. “I think you’re very brave, Jodie. Brave and… wonderful.”

She gave him a broken, lopsided smile. “Not bad for an Oklahoma girl, anyway?”

Conner pulled her close. “Not bad at all.”

Conner returned to the bar and found it considerably more crowded. Barry was downing Scotches like nobody’s business, complaining to anyone foolish enough to listen. Ace was waxing on about his plans for “the greatest golf tournament this world has ever seen.” Freddy was nowhere in sight; probably at the other country club making last-minute purchases for his daughter’s wedding, Conner mused.

He saw Fanboy Ed sitting at a table by himself, wearing the same clothes he had worn the night before. Probably the only clothes he had smuggled in.

“Still here, kid?”

Ed barely grunted in reply.

“Where did you stay last night?”

“Found a dark place in the back of the greenskeeper’s storage shed.”

“And food?”

He shrugged. “Leftovers. And the breakfast buffet. When no one’s looking.”

Ed did not look happy. Had the full impact of his disappointment finally settled in? Or was it something more?

Conner tried to offer sympathy. “I know how you must be feeling, Ed. This has hit us all very hard.”

“I know,” Ed said. His eyes were moist. “But at least you had a chance to know John. I never even met him. All my life, as far back as I can remember, I’ve had only one ambition. To be John McCree’s caddie at the Masters tournament. And now-now-“ He couldn’t finish the sentence.

“I didn’t know you caddied,” Conner said softly.

“Well, I never have. I didn’t want to be anyone else’s caddie. I wanted to be John McCree’s caddie.”

“Ed, being a caddie for a pro requires experience and knowledge and-”

“That’s why I came early. So I could seek John out and offer my services. I wouldn’t have charged him or anything. I wanted to show him what I could do, to be close to him for a little while. And now-”

Once again, Ed’s voice dissolved. Conner decided to leave the kid to his grief. There was nothing he could do for him now.

A group of pros were huddled at the bar, preparing to make a toast. Conner wormed his way into the group. “What are we toasting?”

One of them chuckled. “Since when did you need an excuse to have a drink, Cross?”

Conner tried to laugh. “I thought we were celebrating something.”

One of the men pushed Harley Tuttle forward. “Harley’s the man of the hour!” someone shouted.

“Really!” Conner was glad to see Harley breaking into the social life on the tour. “What have you done?”

Harley looked keenly uncomfortable about all the attention. “Oh, it’s really no big deal.”

“Don’t be so modest,” Conner said. “What?”

Harley hesitated. “I’m in fourth place going into Friday.”

“That’s spectacular. Congratulations.”

Harley shrugged shyly. “Like my daddy used to say, Every dog has his day.”

“Your daddy was quite the philosopher.”

Harley smiled. “Poet laureate of Muellenburg County.”

Conner hadn’t even thought to look at the postings. He wondered what place he was in. Happily, he didn’t have to wonder long. A familiar voice sounded behind him. “Forty-seventh. In a field of sixty.”

Conner closed his eyes. “Thanks, Fitz. I was wondering. I’m sure everyone else here was, too.”

“I don’t know why you should be disappointed,” Fitz snapped. “You should be relieved.”

“Relieved?”

“After a performance like the one you gave on the course today, you should’ve placed in the three-digit numbers.”

“There are only sixty players in the tournament.”

“Like I said.” Fitz leaned into Conner’s ear. “I don’t know where your head is, Conner, but if you don’t get it on this game, you’re not going to make the Friday night cut!” With that, Fitz stomped out of the bar.

Harsh words but, alas, true ones. Conner knew he was right, and he knew that dimpled ball didn’t care what all Conner had been through. If his performance didn’t improve, he’d never make it to Saturday-the ultimate embarrassment.

As if his thoughts weren’t gloomy enough already, Fitz spotted Derwood headed his way. Derwood planted himself in front of Conner and spoke but a single word. “Come.”

Conner looked at him wryly. “This is becoming an every night thing.” He took Derwood’s hand and squeezed it. “Aren’t you afraid people will talk?”

“You’re a sick man, Cross.”

“I love it when you’re mean to me.” Conner leaned forward and kissed Derwood on the cheek.

Derwood grimaced and bolted away, wiping his cheek. “You sick- sick -“ He turned and ran out of the bar amidst a chorus of hoots and hollers.

In the chairman’s office, Conner found the usual cast of characters in their usual places. He began to wonder if these people choreographed these meetings before he arrived.