Chapter 55

Sunday-Monday, June 17-18

I cuddled with my sister until nature called for both of us. The clock-radio showed it was after 9 o’clock. If we hurried, we could wash off in the tub and still make it home on time.

I let Kacie have the toilet first, the squeezed into the small bathroom and took a leak while she got the bath running. She had the water just right as I stepped in and closed the shower curtain. We took turns using the shower nozzle on each other until we could pass for clean enough to reach our own bathroom at home.

I helped Kacie towel off and get out of the tub. She was running a brush through her hair as I toweled off. It seemed she’d provided her own with the correct type of bristles.

We dressed quickly, made sure everything was the way it should be and departed with a good 20 minutes to get home. Unless every traffic light in town was against us, we should make it easily.

Arlene’s house was dark as we reached the car and I could see no evidence of the Jag inside the dark garage. Miss Wilkes’ Beetle was also gone. Maybe they’d moved the sleepover to her place tonight.

The lights were with us and Kacie and I made it home early enough to be on time for Coach Tucker. Being able to enter through the back door again proved to be a blessing and we made it to our bathroom without encountering Mom. Kacie locked both doors, turned on the exhaust fan and started the shower before pulling me in for a heated kiss.

“I wish we could sleep in the same bed tonight,” she said, putting her head on my chest. “I need the intimacy more than the sex now.”

I just held her and stroked her hair for a moment. She finally pulled away and shoved me toward my door.

“As much as I want to shower with you,” she said, “we can’t take that chance. I’ll be out in a minute and you can have it.”

It was more like 10 minutes, but who’s counting? Kacie knocked on my door when it was my turn. I caught just a glimpse of her hair and body wrapped in towels as she closed the door to her room. I scrubbed what we’d only rinsed earlier, shampooed and brushed my teeth before returning to my room. I was in bed before 11, emotionally exhausted from the day.

I could understand why Garfield hated Mondays. I wasn’t overly fond of them myself and today was shaping up to be a real bitch.

I survived breakfast as everyone else was also in a rush to get their day started. Mom and Kacie were going in together. Mom had promised my sister she could drive the X5 the few miles to the club, so there was no time to waste. Dad made a point of looking over the back yard, but didn’t say anything as he took another sip of coffee.

I downed my pineapple juice and was hoofing it toward the driving range before the vehicles were out of the driveway. I arrived to see Coach Tucker, Coach Bennett and George Patterson all hitting range balls. The week was already going downhill and it wasn’t even 8 a.m.

My best hope was the gassers, which had come so close to killing me already this summer, would finish the job. No such luck. If anything, they seemed a little easier. I even finished ahead of a couple of the linemen.

The coaches and Mr. Patterson took a break to watch as we practiced snaps. Things were getting easier holding for Jeremy as well. I hoped I didn’t forget how to do everything before I got back next week.

Once we finished and huddled up, Mr. Patterson called me over as he made sure his clubs were properly placed in his bag.

“I’m changing the rules of engagement,” he said. “Instead of meeting here on neutral turf, I’m claiming homefield advantage. I can do that. I’m a rich and powerful man. You’ll come with me.”

And I just thought Coach Bennett was intimidating. This guy was positively menacing.

“Yes, sir,” I said, “but my father still expects the yard to be done.”

Mr. Patterson whipped out his phone and punched a button, then waited a moment.

“Doug, how are you this morning? Have a good Father’s Day with the family?”

George Patterson had Dad’s cell on speed dial? I knew it wasn’t the office number because Dad wouldn’t have answered that himself. I could clearly hear it was Dad’s voice coming out of the speaker. And he accused me of playing in the big leagues.

“Listen,” Mr. Patterson said, “I need to abscond with your yardboy for the rest of the day. Do you think the jungle in your back yard will encroach any further over the next 24 hours? I’ll make sure to return him in condition to get the job done tomorrow.”

Mr. Patterson listened to Dad for a minute.

“Fine, fine,” he said. “I’ll be sure and pass that along. Good talking to you. Love to Claire.”

Mr. Patterson disconnected and looked at me as he put the phone away.

“You’ve been given a 24-hour reprieve,” he said. “But he wants you to spread a little more fertilizer around the elm tree. Grab my bag. I’m in the silver Mercedes.”

I toted the bag to his car and placed it in his trunk when he popped the lid with his key fob. It still looked like there was enough room to stash a body.

Mr. Patterson looked at the sweat dripping off my body as he changed out of his golf shoes. I wasn’t sure how much was from exercise and how much was from nerves.

“No offense, but I don’t want to stain white leather seats,” he said. “My wife wouldn’t like it. How did you get here?”

I explained how it was just about as fast to walk as drive between our house and the club. He got a thoughtful look on his face.

“I’ve got a proposition for you,” he said. “You walk, I’ll drive. Loser buys lunch. Deal?”

“Deal,” I said shaking his hand.

I made sure he had the address, which he punched into his GPS and secured the route.

“Let me get buckled in,” he said. “When I put her in gear, you may start.”

It stuck in my mind that Mr. Patterson said walk, not run. I walked briskly. I didn’t think someone like George Patterson would settle for lunch at Dairy Queen.

I stepped onto our front drive with Mr. Patterson still a couple of car lengths away. I got the feeling he coasted the last block.

The Mercedes crept into the front drive as I waited at the front door. I invited Mr. Patterson in and deposited him in the family room as I rushed through a fast shower, brushed my teeth, combed my hair and selected an outfit similar to what I wore to the club for the Father’s Day brunch. I went to the trouble of digging out socks to wear with my loafers.

I checked that I had wallet, keys, sunglasses and headed back to the family room to find Mr. Patterson staring out the back door.

“The chariot outside, it’s yours?” he asked. “My daughter has been relaying me second-hand information regarding how you acquired such a ride.”

I made sure he was familiar with the tale of how Dad and I pulled off the improbable feat in the Memorial Day scramble, knowing the story had been the topic of conversation around the golf shop for a good week.

Since the Buick was gone, that must mean Dad’s Z4 was parked in the garage under the car cover he’d gone back and purchased when Mom wasn’t looking.

“Got the keys?” Mr. Patterson asked, to which I held up the fob. “Let’s see how Bayerische Motoren Werke compares to Mercedes-Benz. I do appreciate German engineering.”