Page 128 of Putting Out
“If I see any more slices I’m going to think you’re being paid by Pizza Hut in a twisted ad campaign to promote pizza by the slice.”
Reilly held her hand out for the water bottle he was holding.
“Are you done now?”
“No, I’ve got a bunch more slice references. Of course then there’s your putting. Two three- putts, when was the last time that happened?”
They were on line at the 10th tee box waiting for players to play through. Reilly considered adding to the news footage that had been such a major part of this tournament by mauling her caddy.
“You do realize I can fire you.”
“Trust me, you don’t want to carry the bag. It’s really heavy. Man’s work.”
She shook her head and took another slug of water. She knew he was trying to lighten the mood, but she didn’t see how it was going to work. Her chance for the jacket was gone.
Kenny, who had so much wanted to be part of this event, was in the hospital. Pop was actually here to watch her – she’d found a seat for him in the stands at the 18th hole – only she didn’t have her game going.
She was disappointing Odie and Pierce. Everyone who had worked to get her here. Everyone who had wanted to see her do well.
“I’m sucking it up,” she agreed, shaking her head.
She removed her lime green baseball cap that was supposed to set off the brilliant pink ensemble she’d chosen for this last day. She turned the ball cap aroundI Am Woman – Hear Me Roarand smiled sadly.
She was squeaking today.
Luke set the bag down and walked over to her, noting they were in a crowd of very curious fans who were waiting for the next player to tee off, but who were actually there to watch Reilly.
A four-foot cushion of space was all he had between him and the eager throng behind the ropes. He bent down to speak in her ear.
“What if we forget about all of this? What if we forget the jacket and forget about the bogies? We can forget about Neville for a while and we can even forget about Kenny. We talked to him this morning and he’s doing fine. The sun is out. It’s a gorgeous spring day. It’s the back nine on Sunday at the American. What if you go and play and have some fun?”
Reilly smiled and bent her head so her forehead touched his shoulder. Coming up to this hole she felt so tired. Drained from the last three months.
“Fun, huh?” she said against his shoulder.
She didn’t know if she had any energy left for fun. She wanted to go home, which home she wasn’t sure, crawl up on a couch with a fluffy blanket and sleep for three days, only to wake occasionally for chocolate fudge brownie ice cream.
“Don’t end it like this,” he whispered softly. “You’re Reilly Carr. Show them what you can do.”
Reilly looked into his eyes. Eyes that had held so much of her past and she suspected much of her future, too.
“You want me to take these boys to school?” The bravado was forced, but she could feel it building.
“That’s right. I want you go kick some ass.”
“I am woman.”
“Let’s go roar. You’re up.”
Reilly moved away from him and held her hand out. He didn’t ask, just pulled out the driver.
She took the club in her hands and took a few mock swings. The weight that had been sitting on her shoulders for nine holes was suddenly much lighter and made it easier to swing. She looked at the course in front of her and took in the lush, green vista. The faint hint of azaleas wafted around every hole and she could feel a buzz from the crowd. Feeding off their energy, she stood over the ball and let it rip.
* * *
Sunday…The Back Nine
“And we’re back.Once again we hope you are enjoying coverage of this American for the ages. Roy Staddler has taken a commanding lead and unless catastrophe happens, he’s all but clinched his second Royal Blue. Would you agree, Dave?”
