Two Under Par (6 page)

“Can I have a little more soup?” Wedge asked in a voice that reminded him of Andrew's—tiny and squeaky.

“How's your stomach doing? We don't want to overdo it.”

“It's okay,” Wedge replied, rethinking his scheme. I should act well enough to eat a decent lunch and dinner, and then pretend to get sick again right before Sally's nightly phone call, he thought. That way I won't have to starve myself silly in order for my plan to work. “It's really great.”

“Well, that was a quick recovery,” King said, reaching for the pot of soup from the stove. He gave what was left to Wedge.

“Yeah, I really feel better. Almost perfect. Do you think we could have another can of soup? Please?”

“I suppose.” King started laughing. “Maybe I should become a doctor—I sure worked wonders on you.”

The food, the sunshine, and the prospect of another whole can of soup were making Wedge giddy; he found himself laughing right along with King. “We could call you Doctor King,” he said giggling.

“And you could be Wedge—the Wonder Patient.”

King opened another can of chicken noodle soup and began singing as he heated it. And for a few minutes Wedge forgot who and where he was. He forgot that he hated King. He forgot that nothing ever made sense. However brief, he felt truly happy.

E
arly afternoon. Wedge, feeling pleasantly full, found himself following King around the miniature golf course. There were no customers at the time. And King, donning his crown, was still in a happy state from lunch.

“. . . so I had been dreaming of this course for years,” King explained proudly, opening his arms and spreading them wide. “Ever since I learned about my namesake, King Arthur, and read about him, I wanted to
be
King Arthur. I wanted to have my own kingdom. And this is it. All those years of working two jobs paid off. I must have drawn the first sketches of this course when I was in grade school. . . .”

Wedge, nodded, half listening, faking enthusiasm. He was less than interested in King's story, but he figured that King would be more sympathetic to him later when he pretended to be sick again if he acted as if he was caught up in King's rambling.

King and Wedge both carried putters as they walked. When he was speaking, King used his as a pointer for extra emphasis; Wedge swished his back and forth in the grass. “The castle is my favorite,” King said dreamily. “I could look at it forever. Sometimes, if I stare at it long enough, it's as if I'm in another time and place.” He paused, facing the castle. Wedge thought that King was in a trance. His face was like a blank piece of paper. A blank piece of paper dotted with pink splotches.

“As you can see, this place makes me very happy,” King went on. “But not as happy as being married to Sally and having you for a son makes me.” King put his arm around Wedge's shoulders. Wedge bristled. “Things have really been going well today, haven't they?” King said.

Wedge shrugged.

“I think this is a sign of all the good things ahead for us. And speaking of good things—you know, there's something
incredible
that's coming soon. I'm
so
excited. We were going to wait until we were all together again to announce it, but Sally said I could tell you if I wanted to. . . .”

Oh, no, Wedge thought, a flicker of fear shooting through him.

King was nearly jumping up and down now, his hands rippling with his voice. “Wedge, Sally's going to have a
baby!
I'm going to be a new father again! And you're going to get a new brother or sister!”

No!
Wedge thought.
No!
He took his putter and ran up to the castle. He started beating the putter against the castle walls.
No! No! No!
Knocking off the smallest tower. Chipping the gold paint. Smashing the plaster into tiny pieces that fell to the ground.

Wedge dropped the putter at his feet and began to cry. And then, without warning, he threw up. And this time he wasn't faking.

S
ally was on her way home in the dark. When she had called that evening, King told her what had happened. They decided it was best that she and Andrew end their trip. While Wedge waited in his bed, he imagined what the baby would look like. A disaster. He pictured the baby being born with a crown growing on the top of its head. A sickly, little thing, all white with pink patches in the shape of tiny castles branded all over it. It would have a pointy nose, Wedge was sure. And the nose would most likely drip all the time. Wedge didn't think he could bear it. He pulled the blankets over his head and tried to force the horrible thoughts out of his mind.

After a few hours, Sally entered Wedge's room with a flurry. She was huffy and irritable. Slamming the door, clucking her tongue, pacing around, and moving about as if she were a hurricane storming through. It wasn't what Wedge had expected. He had expected sympathy and an apology. Maybe even a gift. At least an in-depth explanation of all the rotten things that were cramming in around him until there wasn't room to breathe. It definitely was not the homecoming he had hoped for.

Sally finally ended up on Wedge's bed, bouncing up and down on the edge of the mattress, fast and hard. When she talked she looked straight ahead at the wall, not at Wedge. In her hand she held a piece of the broken plaster from the castle.

“You're ten years old now—going on eleven—I really thought I could count on more from you,” Sally said through her thin, red lips.

Wedge was stunned. Sally had never been so harsh with him so quickly. Her words were sharp like a blade and Wedge felt instantly ashamed. He wanted to cry, but he knew he shouldn't. Am I being a baby? he wondered, gulping to keep his tears at bay. A big, fat baby?

It came to mind that his strongest feelings the last few days were the urges to cry and to eat. It seemed as if that was it. Nothing else. Take away those feelings and I'm empty, he thought, suddenly craving a Hostess Cupcake. A big, fat, empty blob.

Sally began tapping the piece of plaster against her thigh, the white dust that rubbed off looking like snow on her blue jeans. “This sure isn't how I had planned on starting our new life,” she said. “I had such high hopes. I really wanted this little trip to work, and then to have it end so quickly. And like
this
.” Sally tapped the plaster more rapidly and with rhythm, resembling a drummer. “And for you to act the way you did. You know, Andrew didn't get to go camping and he had his heart set on it. And you
still
never congratulated me. . . .” Sally paused—waiting, Wedge thought, for a congratulatory remark, which he refrained from offering.

“Maybe I was too optimistic,” Sally continued. “Maybe I just had too much faith in you. Maybe I just thought you'd come through when I needed you most.”

Wedge sat up in bed. “Well, maybe I never had a dad before . . . and maybe I don't know what to do with one,” he said, his voice cracking like twigs in a fire, then sputtering. “And
maybe
I threw up because I would have liked to hear that I was getting a new brother or sister from
you. Not
from King. And
not
from Judith Mills, who told me first, but I didn't really believe her. . . .”

Wedge wondered who else Judith had told, how many people knew his mother was pregnant before he did. The thought made him smolder.

“Judith Mills?”
Sally was facing Wedge now, her mouth twisted. “What about Judith
Mills?
”

Wedge told Sally all about his phone call to Judith. And then Sally burst into tears. Wedge was frightened. He watched Sally sob, not knowing what to do. Sally shook, dropping the plaster piece and rocking the bed. Her crying made her mascara streak down her cheeks like little black snakes.

“I'm so sorry, Wedge,” Sally blurted out between sobs. “For everything. I never thought . . . I never wanted this to turn out this way. I didn't want you to hear it from a nosy, little busybody. I guess I told a couple of the ladies at the old apartment and Judith's mother let it slip. You know me when I have a secret; some people are like dead-end streets, but I'm like a freeway with exit ramps galore.”

“It's okay,” Wedge whispered, suddenly feeling older than Sally. As if he were
her
parent. Not the other way around.

Sally dabbed at her eyes. “And just remember, the only reason I married King is because I love him.”

Wedge nodded.

“Listen,” Sally said sniffling. “Let's talk. Really talk. Not mother to son, but person to person. And with complete honesty.” Sally grabbed Wedge's hand and squeezed it so hard that he was reminded of Uncle Larry. In a hushed tone, then, she said, “You've never had a father. But don't forget—I've never had a husband. I'm just as scared as you are. Maybe even more.” She looked downward. “Don't forget, I'm having a baby, too. I was only eighteen when I had you—you'd think that at twenty-eight I'd have outgrown being scared, but I haven't. I'm scared of your being unhappy. I'm scared of failing at being a wife. I'm scared of having another baby. And I'm even scared that I won't be able to lose the weight afterward,” Sally admitted, laughing nervously.

That comment wasn't funny to Wedge. Sally either treated him like
he
was twenty-eight, telling him things that he didn't really understand or embarrassed him, or she treated him like he was three or four.

And Wedge didn't go for this person-to-person business. He just wanted to be treated like a son. A son who was ten. Going on eleven.

Silence. For what seemed like a long time. Sally was straightening her hair, using her hand as if it were a comb, stroking it through her curls. “I've never told anyone this,” she said solemnly, wiping her face. “I don't even know what made me think of it, but I always had this dream as a little girl to spend Sunday mornings in bed with my whole family. My mama and pa and Bonnie and even Jimmy, our old dog. I wasn't fussy, I didn't want breakfast in bed, or anything. Just all of us together. Safe and warm and close and snug. But your grandpa didn't go for things like that. Even kisses were an extravagance to him. And then when he and your grandma split up, my dream went out the window. Not that it would have happened, anyway. But, still, I always kept thinking that one day I'd know what that would feel like.” Sally sighed. She worked on her hair a bit more. “Well, I guess that's enough honesty for now,” she said abruptly. Then she left the room and came right back, carrying a large bag. “This is for you, honey,” she said cheerfully. “I
was
thinking about you all the while I was gone, you know. I hope you like it, hon.” She pinched his cheek in a playful manner.

It struck Wedge that Sally's moods were like a ball—bouncing without warning. Angry one minute, sad the next, then overboard sweet.

“Thanks, Sally,” Wedge said. He opened the bag. Inside was a stuffed Bucky Badger doll from Madison. “Thanks a lot.”

“He's the mascot at the university,” Sally told him.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Kinda cute, isn't he?”

“Yeah,” Wedge answered, biting his lower lip. It was really something for a younger kid. A baby, even. He would much rather have gotten a Bucky Badger sweatshirt like some of the kids at school wore. But at ten going on eleven, he was old enough to know that being remembered was the main thing.

It was nearly midnight when Sally went downstairs. Wedge was exhausted. He quickly fell into a deep sleep. Dreamless.