Two Under Par (7 page)

T
he next few days were punctuated by rainstorms. Mostly small showers that drizzled and stopped, drizzled and stopped, lightly dotting the leaves, grass, and flower petals. Occasionally there was a downpour with crashes of thunder and flashes of lightning. All of which meant that the golf course was closed and Wedge was held captive in the house with King, Sally, and Andrew. All day long. Day after day. For three days straight.

It occurred to Wedge that he didn't really feel any safer now that Sally was home. He wasn't really any happier, either. His sense of relief hadn't been momentous or long-lasting. She had been gone; he had survived. It hadn't been easy, but he had done it. And something told him that it wouldn't be so hard next time.

While the rain fell Wedge did a lot of observing. Watching his family and making mental lists of all the things they did. Wedge wasn't completely certain what “normal” was. But he was sure that this wasn't it.

Most confusing to Wedge was Sally, which seemed odd since she
was
his mother. But she was changing somehow before his very eyes. Acting skittish. Or was it that he could see things differently? That she hadn't changed at all, and he had? It appeared to Wedge that Sally might cry any minute, as she had the night she came home. And all her joking and whooping seemed no more than a disguise. Wedge had felt uncomfortable when Sally had revealed so much to him in her person-to-person talk; it had stirred up things deep and silent. For the first time in his life he felt sorry for Sally. Up until then all of his pity was spent on himself.

“Are you okay?” Wedge asked Sally continuously.

“
Okay?
Wedge, I've never felt better!” she'd always answer, smiling.

On the first day of the bad weather, King tried giving Sally cooking lessons. They didn't last long. Sally kept complaining that they were dirtying too many dishes. “Why don't we just line all the pots and pans with foil, so we don't have to wash them,” Sally suggested.

“Are you serious?” King asked.

Of course she was.

“I give up,” King said, throwing his arms up in the air and laughing. Wedge couldn't help laughing, either. The cooking lesson ended with King and Sally playing Frisbee in the kitchen with a lid from an oleo container.

Sally called the weather number on the phone every fifteen minutes, then repeated the report to everyone in a nasal voice like the recording, even if the recording hadn't changed for hours. She also paraded around the house singing “Stormy Weather.” It was a song that Wedge could only describe as screechy—at least Sally's rendition. Sally said that she thought a famous lady named Lena Horne originated the song. She pointed out that the song was
way
before her time. “Just call me Lena,” she'd say before she began each time. “And Lena says we're going to have a
wonderful
life together,” she'd add, holding her belly. King would frequently join in with Sally. King's voice was much better than Sally's, but she usually drowned him out. Then they did “Raindrops Keep Fallin' on My Head,” King acting out the words like a game of charades as they belted away.

If this was their attempt at creating a happy home life, Wedge didn't think he was up for it.

And then there was Andrew. “We're having a baby! We're having a baby!” he squealed frequently. He lugged a box of tissues with him wherever he went. When the thunder and lightning hit, he jumped and yelped like a frightened puppy. And he spent a great portion of the day in front of the TV. He didn't just
watch
TV, he
participated
in it. And not cartoons and game shows, only public television shows.

It was most pathetic, in Wedge's opinion, when Andrew watched “Mister Rogers' Neighborhood.” Like a little clone, Andrew would change from his dress shoes into his tennis shoes, and he'd even put on his cardigan sweater right along with Mr. Rogers. He'd also sing with him and snap his fingers just like Mr. Rogers did.

Mr. Rogers had always given Wedge the creeps when he was little and Sally had made him watch. Wedge also thought that Mr. Rogers snapped his fingers as if he were brain damaged. And then to see Andrew doing it the same way made Wedge cringe. If he's ever going to be my brother, Wedge thought, he'll need major reforming.

“Hey, Androop?” Wedge called one afternoon when they were alone in the family room.

“It's An-
drew!
What?”

“You know what you are?”

“What?”

“A P.T.F.”

“What's
that?
” Andrew asked, looking puzzled and slightly concerned.

“It's a Public Television Freak and they're extremely abnormal,” Wedge explained. “And people who are P.T.F.'s die young.”

“You're lying.”

“The symptoms are stringy blond hair, runny noses, and skinny bodies. Also, P.T.F.'s wear sweaters that zipper and they snap their fingers the same goofy way Mr. Rogers does.”

“I don't believe you,” Andrew said. “Sally told me that if you bothered me I should just ignorm you. She said that you hate that worst of all. So there,” Andrew finished, crossing his arms against his tiny chest and turning his attention back to “Sesame Street.” Swaying in beat with the Muppets, who were doing a jaunty musical number.

Andrew had hit a soft spot. Wedge
did
hate being ignored. And it annoyed him that Sally had told such a personal thing to Andrew. “It's ig-
nore
, not ig-
norm!
” Wedge corrected, mimicking Andrew. “You really like that junk?” Wedge persisted, making faces at the TV.

“I'm ignorming you!” Andrew shrieked, keeping his eyes glued to the Muppets.

“It's not real,” Wedge said, walking up to the TV and turning the channel. “Now
this
is real.” It was “General Hospital.” And two people were kissing. For a long time. A very long time.

After a few more kisses, Andrew had settled back and forgotten about the Muppets. “Hey, Androop,” Wedge said, getting comfortable on the floor with a pillow, “you might not be so hopeless after all.”

“Shhh,” Andrew hissed. “This is good.”

During the last night of the rainy weather, Wedge woke up sensing something. Not something wrong. Just something different.

Wedge turned on his bedside lamp, his eyes taking a minute to adjust to the bright light. When his blinking eyes could finally focus, he saw Andrew, curled up like a cashew on the foot of his bed. He was awake. And shaking.

“You mad?” Andrew asked sheepishly.

Wedge was too groggy to answer.

“It was the thunder and lightning,” Andrew explained. “And Dad and Sally's door was locked.”

I'm probably too sleepy to make any sense, Wedge thought, as he patted the empty space beside him on the bed.

“Thanks, Wedge,” Andrew whispered, climbing under the covers. “Thanks a lot.”

“Yeah,” Wedge whispered back, turning away toward the wall, wondering if it was all a dream.

W
hen the rain finally stopped, Wedge felt like a freed prisoner. Just to be outside in the sunshine with the warm breeze and the insects whizzing by was a relief. So it didn't bother Wedge too much when King approached him about fixing the castle.

King cornered Wedge after breakfast. Wedge was squatting on the bottom step of the porch, sharpening a stick against a cinder block. The tip of the stick made Wedge think of the squirt tip on the top of a can of Reddi Wip. Reddi Wip used to be Wedge's favorite food. He would buy it at the Stop and Shop, a block from his old apartment building. Wedge had at least one can a week, sitting behind the apartment alone, squirting the cream onto his finger or directly into his mouth. Once, after Sally had reprimanded Wedge for snacking in bed and getting chocolate stains on his new sheets from the J. C. Penney white sale, he ate three cans of Reddi Wip to console himself. One right after the other, until he could barely move and felt like a giant marshmallow. That was the last can of Reddi Wip Wedge ever had. He vowed he'd never have another.

“Nice out, isn't it?” King asked. “A real hummer.”

“Yep,” Wedge replied, still sharpening the stick.

“Now that things have cleared up, you and I are going to fix the castle. We'll make it as good as new.”

Since King didn't pose it as a question, Wedge didn't feel inclined to answer. He simply flung the stick into the bushes and followed King down to the shed by the course.

“You know,” King said, “I apologize for the other day. I really jumped the gun and let my excitement carry me away.”

“Don't mention it,” Wedge said in monotone.

“I guess I wasn't thinking.”

“I guess.”

“I'm not sure how to say this,” King said, stopping at the door to the shed, fiddling in his pockets for the key. “And I hope I'm not jumping the gun again, but I, uh . . . I love you, you know.”

Sally was the only person who had said those words to Wedge before. Ever. It felt strange to hear them from someone else. But it felt oddly good, too. And something tingled inside Wedge.

“I do.” King unlocked and opened the door. Inside, on the floor, were the broken pieces of the castle, a can of gold paint, and some plaster.

Wedge followed King inside. A surge of regret swept through Wedge as he scanned the objects. In a cabinet by the cash register, King rummaged for something. “Here we are,” he said, grabbing a paint brush and a putty knife. He handed them to Wedge, but before Wedge could take them, King took them back. “Wait a minute,” he said, glancing at his watch. “I've got an idea. Let's play a round or two of the course. We've got the time before we open. We can fix the castle later. What do you say?”

Wedge thought a minute. “I say sure.”

They played three rounds of miniature golf. King won every time, but Wedge improved his score with each round. And he actually enjoyed himself. He laughed. He joked. He got excited when he had a good shot. And he completely forgot about Sally, who was sunbathing on the side of the house in a new bikini she had bought in Madison.

King helped Wedge with his stance. The proper way to grip the putter. How to hit the ball from certain angles on particular holes to avoid the obstacles. And how hard to hit it. “You've got to put a little more juice into it this time,” King instructed Wedge, their first time around on the sixth hole. The cup on the sixth sat on an incline. Wedge took a deep breath and smacked the ball as hard as he could. The ball sailed into the trees way beyond the cup. “Not
that
much juice,” King chuckled. Then he showed Wedge just the right amount of power to put into his swing.

When they had finished, King told Wedge that the record for the course was eight under par. “I shot it one morning last month,” King said, raising and lowering his eyebrows like Groucho Marx does on the late show. “I had four holes in one.”

“Four?!”

King nodded.

“I wish I'd get
one
hole in one.”

“You will,” King said. “Sally has.”

Wedge felt a tinge of jealousy.
“Sally?”

“In fact, she shot it the first time she played. It was our first date.”

Wedge remembered their first date. How could he forget it? Sally had tried on about ten different outfits before she decided on one—a bright Hawaiian-print blouse and her tight jeans. She doused herself with more of her deadly lilac perfume than usual (Wedge's head swam for hours after she left). And she bought a new pair of earrings for the occasion—little, silver, dangly ones in the shape of golf clubs. “The guy I'm going out with is a golf pro, or something,” she told Wedge, getting his hopes up. It was Judith Mills who ended up telling Wedge the truth—that Sally had gone out with King Simpson, the owner of Camelot. A golf pro for a potential stepfather was one thing, but a miniature golf course owner for one was entirely another, Wedge remembered thinking.

“Did Androop ever get a hole in one?” Wedge asked, hoping King would say no.

“A couple of times,” King answered. “But he's played so much more than you have. And I think luck must have been on his side. You know how it is with little kids sometimes.”

“Yeah.”

Luck or not, getting a hole in one had suddenly lost its appeal for Wedge. Sally had gotten one. So had Andrew. It wasn't special any longer. I want something all my own, Wedge thought. Something that's just mine.

It was as if King had read Wedge's mind, because two days later Wedge
did
get something that was all his own. Something that was just his. The something was a Chesapeake Bay retriever puppy. It was the most surprised Wedge could remember being, except when Sally told him that she was going to marry King. And this was a pleasant surprise.

“Well, what do you think?” King asked Wedge, petting the puppy's wavy, brown fur. They were in the kitchen alone. Andrew was watching “Sesame Street” and Sally was back to work at the library.