Two Under Par (8 page)

“Is it a he or a she?” Wedge asked, thinking back to when he was small and was convinced that all dogs were male and all cats were female.

“A he,” King said. “But what do you think?”

“I think he looks like a chocolate teddy bear.”

“And . . .”

“And I think I love him already.”

King handed the puppy to Wedge and showed him the proper way to hold him. “He's going to be a lot of work, but he'll be worth it. Oh, I should warn you, Sal wasn't too keen on the idea at first, so we have to make sure that we keep things under control—you know, toilet training and all.”

Wedge's heart was skipping, he was so happy. He had never even held a puppy before, much less owned one; pets weren't allowed at his old apartment building, and no one he knew well had a dog. The puppy licked Wedge's hand, then his face. “This is great!” Wedge kept saying. “This is great!” He squeezed the puppy a bit too tightly and the puppy yelped.

“Gentle,” King whispered to Wedge, smiling.

“Gentle,” Wedge repeated.

“What do you think you'll name him?” King asked.

A name instantly popped into Wedge's mind. “Prince,” he said. “I'm going to call him Prince.”

“I can't argue with that,” King said, sounding pleased.

Wedge had been worried that King and Sally would name the baby something weird—like Prince. It was a great name for a dog, but not for a human. Now they couldn't. Wedge only hoped that Sally didn't have a girl. He didn't look forward to having a baby sister named Princess.

“Why did you do this?” Wedge asked slowly, looking at Prince instead of King.

“I don't know. I just wanted to.”

“Did you get something for Androop, too?”

“Nope. One puppy's enough,” King said, laughing. “Andrew doesn't even know about him yet. Come on, let's go show him.”

“King?” Wedge said, following King out of the kitchen. “You know the other day when I was sick up in my bed, well, I really wasn't. I was faking so Sally'd come home.”

“I know.”

“You
do?
You
did?
”

King nodded.

“Does Sally know?”

King shook his head no.

Prince yawned.

“Don't worry about it,” King said. “I'd probably have done the same.”

The stars were bright and numerous. King, Sally, Andrew, and Wedge and Prince were sitting on the porch. They were like stacked dominoes, resting against one another. Sally against King. Wedge against Sally. And Andrew against Wedge. Prince was asleep in Wedge's arms. King softly hummed a song he had heard earlier on the radio. His melody faded into the night sounds and disappeared.

“It's so clear,” Sally said, looking upward, “you can see the stars twinkle. They remind me of Christmas lights. The kind that blink.” She sighed deeply. “It'll be fun this Christmas—all of us can drive around at night to check out the lights in town. I'm all stirred up just thinking about it,” she said, her voice sounding too loud and excited in the darkness. “
We
should do a big light display out here this Christmas! King?”

“Can we, Dad?” Andrew asked drowsily.

“I guess we could. Christmas is a long way away, though, Sal. And lately all I can think about is the baby.”

“You know me,” Sally said, “I have a hard time waiting. For anything.”

Waiting. It seemed to Wedge that he'd been waiting most of his life. For a father. And now he had one. But was he still waiting? Sometimes it seemed like it. Other times it didn't. He couldn't be certain. He really didn't know.

Andrew was sleeping now. Sally curled closer to King. Prince wriggled in Wedge's arms, as if trying to find a more comfortable position, crying for a moment. Wedge gently patted his head and stroked him behind his ears. Prince quieted down and settled back in the space between Wedge's arms and his chest like a small sack of warm muffins. Wedge felt needed. And very strong.

T
hings were changing.

It was still summer. It was still hot. But the sun was setting earlier now. The crickets sang earlier, too. And Wedge knew that it wouldn't be long and school would begin again.

Wedge started and ended each day with at least one round of miniature golf (he had gotten three holes in one on separate occasions and his best score was six over par). Most of the time in between he spent with Prince. Prince followed Wedge wherever he went. That is, when he wasn't gnawing on the kitchen cabinets, shredding newspapers all over the house, or doing a number on the living room carpet. If Sally got upset about the carpet, King would always say, “Practice makes perfect. And Prince is going to be perfect.” Then he'd hold Prince up to Sally's face and Prince would lick her nose. That's all it took to melt Sally's heart. “I just wish you'd hurry up and be perfect,” she'd say to Prince in baby talk.

Andrew was apprehensive of Prince at first. That was Wedge's fault. Once, when Andrew was watching “The Electric Company,” Wedge set Prince on the rug near Andrew and then hid behind the sofa. Wedge growled and snarled, and Andrew—convinced that it was Prince—ran out of the room shrieking.

“Settle down, Androop!” Wedge shouted after him. Even though Wedge explained what had happened, Andrew still wasn't too fond of Prince.

“Why don't you just ignorm him?” Wedge said, giggling.

“I can't,” Andrew replied, after blowing his nose. “He always steals my Kleenex box and tears it up.”

“I bet Mr. Rogers would like him.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes,” Wedge said in his best Mr. Rogers voice. “He's soft and warm and furry and
special!
”

It took a lot of coaxing and a long time, but Andrew and Prince finally became friends. It had been a challenge; Wedge had done a good job.

They finally fixed the castle. It was an August evening and the air was cool. So cool that Wedge wore his jean jacket. King had his jean jacket on, too.

“Hey, your jacket's just like mine,” King said to Wedge.

“No,” Wedge said, “
your
jacket's just like
mine
.”

“I guess we're twins, huh?” King said.

They both laughed at that. They looked more like Laurel and Hardy than twins. King—tall and thin. Wedge—short and round. King was wearing his crown as usual, but Wedge hardly noticed it anymore; it just seemed a natural part of him. Wedge hardly noticed the splotches on King's face or his pointy nose, either. That's simply the way he was and Wedge was growing used to him. He couldn't imagine him any other way.

Using chicken wire and plaster, King showed Wedge how to mend the broken castle. Following King's example, Wedge tried to fasten the smallest tower back onto its base. It kept falling off.

“I can't do this,” Wedge said, wiping his forehead and leaving a streak of plaster there.

“Sure you can,” King assured. “Practice makes perfect.”

“That's what you say to Sally about Prince.”

“I think you could probably say it to anyone about anything,” King said, quickly reworking the plaster while Wedge held the tower in place.

In less than an hour the castle was solid and strong and secured.

“We can paint it tomorrow,” King said. “See, it
is
perfect.”

“I wish I was perfect,” Wedge suddenly blurted out.

“Hey,” King said, “look at me.” He reached down and cupped Wedge's shoulders. “Nobody's really perfect. But if anyone was—it would be you.” King pulled Wedge toward him and gave him a hug.

Wedge turned stiff and cold like a statue, then, without warning, felt light and warm. King had never hugged him before. His hug was stronger than Sally's. Wedge hugged back with all his might. He didn't care if he was perfect or not.

“There's something I think I should show you,” Wedge whispered to King one night before bed as King passed in the hallway. His voice was urgent.

King entered Wedge's room and Wedge locked the door behind him.

“Must be pretty important, huh?” King said.

Wedge hesitated, then pulled down his pajama pants just enough to reveal his spot. “See this?” he said quietly, keeping his eyes turned away from King. “I just wanted to show it to you in case you ever saw it and didn't know what it was. It's not some disease or anything. The doctor said it's nothing, really. I just wanted to show you, so you knew.” Wedge quickly pulled his pants up, walked to the door, and unlocked it.

“I know all about spots,” King said, pointing to his face, as he opened the door. “One way to look at it—they make a person unique.” King turned before he left the room. “Although I'd prefer yours to mine. Yours looks like a castle.”

Wedge shut the door after King. He rubbed his spot. Maybe it didn't look like Texas after all.

“I
f you go grocery shopping with me,” Sally said, “I'll take you to McDonald's for lunch.”

“It's a deal!” Wedge responded. He loved McDonald's, and he didn't mind grocery shopping, either. He would have gone, McDonald's or not.

“I just don't feel like being alone today,” Sally told Wedge. “I'd really love your company.”

They went to the Kohl's near the interstate; King and Andrew stayed home to man the course. Sally and Wedge each pushed their own cart. While they shopped, Wedge played a game. The object was to see how many items he could slip into other people's carts without them (or Sally) knowing. The stranger the item the better.

Wedge snuck a package of cat food into the cart of an old man while he glanced at the magazine rack. He slid a baby pacifier into the cart of a man wearing a black leather jacket with a skeleton printed on the back as the man scanned the frozen pizzas. And he dropped four cans of extra-strength deodorant into the cart of a lady who had a Chicago Cubs cap on.

Into his own cart, among other things, Wedge put some of his favorites—Cap'n Crunch, Spaghetti-O's, Doritos, and M&M's.

Being surrounded by all that food increased Wedge's hunger. He couldn't wait until they got to McDonald's. He opened the M&M's on the way.

Sally got the idea while they were eating. Wedge had ordered two Big Macs, fries, and a chocolate shake. All Sally had was decaffeinated coffee. Black. But she kept snitching Wedge's fries. “Just one,” she'd say, even after her fifth and sixth fry. “I really shouldn't be eating these. I don't know what my problem is today.”

“You're okay, right?” Wedge asked.

Sally sighed and grabbed another fry. “I think so. I wonder if you can get morning sickness in the afternoon.”

Wedge didn't say anything. He moved what was left of his fries closer to him.

“Oh, Wedge, look at that!” Sally nearly shouted, tapping his shoulder and pointing. “Isn't that adorable?” In the back room of the restaurant a child's birthday party was in full swing. The singing had just begun—eight little kids all out of key. “I could cry,” Sally said. And she did. “The birthday girl's just a button, isn't she? And look at the cake—it's got Ronald McDonald on it!”

“Yeah. It's neat, I guess. For little kids.” Wedge loved the food at McDonald's, but Ronald McDonald didn't thrill him anymore. He put him in the same category as Mr. Rogers.

“I've got an idea,” Sally said, drying her eyes with a napkin. “Oh, Wedge, this is going to be good. Tell me what you think.”

Wedge listened.

Sally's idea was to have a party—a birthday party for the baby. The very next day. “We'll have balloons and crepe paper,” Sally announced. “And I'll bake a birthday cake. One from scratch. I've only done the kind from a mix, but this is special. King can help me. Oh, Wedge, what do you think?”

Wedge hadn't seen Sally so excited in a long time. Genuinely excited. Her eyes were as big as overcoat buttons. Her hands were like butterflies, flapping and fluttering as she talked. She looked as if she might rise off the ground and float away.