Chapter 1

Mrs. Parsons drove me over to my new school. She was my new foster mother. My name is Kenny Masters, and I'm an orphan. As far as I can remember I've always been an orphan. The records at the orphanage I lived in for eleven years say that I lived with my mother until I was almost three years old, but I have no memories of her, or of having ever known a family. By the time I was twelve years old, it was pretty obvious to everyone that I wasn't ever going to be adopted. The few times that couples had come by to talk to me, we hadn't been able to get along. Mostly it was my fault, because I didn't really want to belong to anybody else.

In the orphanage, since whenever I first started remembering stuff, I was always able to take care of myself. I never liked being told what to do. The sisters at the orphanage said I was surly and obnoxious, but that was the only way I was able to get them to let me alone. When they quit trying to make me do stuff, stuff that I didn't want to do, I quit resisting them. We had a kind of stand off. They didn't like me at the orphanage, said I set a bad example for the other boys by not following their orders. I did as much good stuff as anyone else, I just didn't like people telling me what to do.

Every morning, while the other kids were at breakfast, I cleaned the big bathroom that we all shared. I did a good job of it too. Even the Mother Superior remarked on how clean everything was after I got done with it. When I was done, after everyone else was done eating, I'd go to the kitchen and eat my own breakfast. Marie, the cook, liked me, and she looked after fixing me what I liked to eat. After breakfast, I'd help her clean up the kitchen. We didn't talk much, but we both knew what to do, and she left me alone to do it. I was pretty satisfied with my life at the orphanage. I think me being satisfied is a big part of the reason why they finally kicked me out and sent me back to Bolling County Youth Services.

The one good thing that everyone always said about me was that I was smart and did well in my studies. I never volunteered in class though, and they marked me down for that. I always did real good in my tests, and I never caused any problems in the classrooms. Some of the teachers seemed to like me just because I never gave them a problem in class. The teaching nuns were from a different order than the orphanage nuns, they didn't care as much that I didn't like being ordered around.

I was almost fifteen the summer they kicked me out of the orphanage. I had graduated from ninth grade, and was working on a puzzle in the recreation room when Sister Clara came and got me to take me to the Mother Superior's office. When I got there, a fat man, who I'd never seen before, was sitting in one of the waiting chairs outside her office. I sat down next to him while Sister Clara went in to tell the Mother Superior that she had brought me. Sister Clara came out right away and motioned with her hand for me to come inside the office. As soon as I got up, the fat guy did too, and we both went into the office, him following me.

"Sit down Kenneth. This is Mr. Chalmers. He is your attorney, appointed by the court to look after your interests. The other sisters and I have concluded that it would benefit you more to leave St. Cecelia's, and to make your transition back into main stream society. We all feel that we've done as much as we can for you. We wrote to Mrs. Donovan, your case worker for the county and informed her of our decision.

"Mr. Chalmers has managed to find you a foster home placement in the town where he lives, and you will be attending the local public high school. I know this is sudden, Kenneth, but we didn't find out about how soon you would be leaving us until Mr. Chalmers arrived here an hour ago, with a court order releasing you into his hands. I wish we had been given a little more time to get you prepared for such a sudden change in your circumstances. Mr. Chalmers, do you wish some privacy to discuss any matters with Kenneth?"

"Only if the boy has questions. You have any questions, son?"

Actually, I was in shock over this news. Living like I had though, I'd learned to not put my own feelings on open display. The sisters were experts in finding a guy's weakness, and then exploiting it for some advantage. If there was already a court order, it didn't make any difference what I wanted anyway. Since I was going to be leaving anyway, I decided to let my guard down, just this one time, and ask Mother Superior for a favor.

"Can I go say goodbye to Marie in the kitchen? She's always been good to me here." Mother Superior looked over at Mr. Chalmers, obviously wanting to see if he was in too much of a hurry to wait around for me to do that. He nodded his head that it was okay with him.

"You may go see her and tell her goodbye then. We will expect you back here in fifteen minutes with all of your personal clothes and belongings. Fifteen minutes, Kenneth, not one second more." I got up and left the office. I walked to the kitchen and told Marie that they were kicking me out, and that I wouldn't be able to help her clean up anymore after breakfast. She hugged me and told me she was sure going to miss me around there. She told me to be good, and to come visit her sometime, after I got settled, and had some free time. I was almost ready to cry when I left her, but there was no way I was ever going to give in to something as babyish as that. When I got to my bed, someone had already packed all of my things in a black trash bag. I checked through it quick, to make sure it had everything I wanted, but I didn't notice anything missing. On top of the pile, there was a new toothbrush and a whole tube of new toothpaste. I figured that was from Sister Clara. Of all the sisters who ran the orphanage, she was the nicest to me.

By the time I got back to the Mother Superior's office, only about ten minutes had elapsed. I walked in without knocking and being told to come in first.

"I'm ready."

"Goodbye, Kenneth. All of us at St. Cecilia's will pray for you tonight." She waited for me to say something back to her, but I didn't. "Aren't you even going to tell me goodbye?"

"Are you ready, Mr. Chalmers?" I saw what I thought might be a brief flicker of a smile on his lips, but it was gone before I could really be sure if that was what it was. Instead of answering me, he just turned and opened the office door, waving me through it ahead of him. I went through the door, noticing that he was following close behind me. We went right out the front entrance, and I saw a big, black car parked directly in front at the curb.

"Let me open that trunk for you Ken. You don't mind me calling you Ken, do you?"

"I like Kenny better."

"That's good too, Kenneth makes me think of nuns with those real hard rulers they used to whack your hands with from back when I was a boy. I felt like that with that old nun in there too. I'd be willing to bet you a dollar against a donut that she has one of those eighteen inch long thick wooden rulers, and that she's cracked quite a few knuckles with it too." He had gotten his trunk open, and I put my trash bag and all my belongings inside. He had a set of golf clubs in his trunk, so I had to wedge my bag to get it to fit without moving his bag. He must have seen me staring at his clubs.

"Do you play, Kenny?" I turned and looked at him, wondering if he was asking if I still played like the little kids, on the playground. "Golf, do you play golf?" I shook my head no. I'd seen people playing golf on the television in the recreation room, but I'd never even held a club. "I don't really play either, but I try to play, and that's fun too. I was going to play today, but this came up instead. Would you mind if we stopped off at the country club, its on the way, and I could get in a quick nine holes? I'll let you drive the golf cart, and we'll go get something to eat in the clubhouse afterwards. I don't get many days as nice as this one where I have the time to get away and play."

"I don't know how to drive. I'd like to see a real golf course though."

"Golf carts are a snap to drive, and it would be good training for you, for when you get a driver's license later. Best way for a person to practice learning how to steer. Kenny, I don't know how you feel about any of this, but I've got to believe almost any place will be better than what you're leaving behind here. While we're at the golf course, I need to tell you a little bit about the couple you're going to be living with. I'm the one who set it up with them, and I think you need to be filled in about some things before you actually go to meet them. Golf courses are a good place to talk about things like that."

I didn't say anything, so we both got in his car and drove away. I didn't look back. It wasn't that I wasn't grateful for the orphanage being there, or didn't appreciate the fact that they had given me a place to live, and food for me to eat. I appreciated that, and the school too. They could have been nicer about it though, and not tried to force feed me their religion, and their curious ideas about piety and decent behavior.

For them, decent behavior always started and ended with me doing exactly what they wanted me to do. If I didn't like that, or agree to do it, to them, that meant I was being bad. I went along with almost anything that I could see made any kind of sense, but a lot of what they wanted wasn't sensible, and I didn't go along. When you are six or seven, not going along always meant you were being obstinate and were automatically in the wrong.

By the time I'd turned fourteen, almost fifteen, the number of things I'd been willing to go along with had dwindled to the point that they weren't willing to keep putting up with me, not even for all that money the County had been paying them for all those years.

When we got to the golf course, I was amazed at how nice everything was cared for. There was lush grass everywhere, and there were nice trees throughout the whole place. Mr. Chalmers got his golf bag and we walked from where he had parked to behind the big white building that he said was the clubhouse. A young guy came running out, and he took the bag right out of Mr. Chalmers hands, taking it over to a golf cart where he strapped it on the back so it wouldn't fall off.

"I need to go use the facility, Kenny. You go with George here, and let him show you how to drive the cart." I saw Mr. Chalmers give George a five dollar bill and a wink. From George's smile, I guess he was pretty happy to be doing what Mr. Chalmers wanted. It wasn't much of a driving lesson. He showed me how to put it in forward and reverse, and showed me how to use the gas and brake pedals, and how to set the brake.

He also asked me several questions about who I was to Mr. Chalmers, but all I said was that he was my lawyer, and he wanted to discuss some family business with me. Mr. Chalmers came out and took George's place on the right side of the golf cart, and pointed me over to where he wanted us to go. Driving the cart was going to be fun. At first, I took it slow, but as I gained confidence, I went faster.

Mr. Chalmers told me where to stop, and after I did, he went to the back and got out a club and a ball and what I later learned was a tee. I saw that he had changed shoes, and his new shoes had metal nails sticking out of the bottoms. I asked him about them, and he told me they were to give him traction. He took a few swings with his club and then put the tee in the ground and put the ball on top of it. He took a couple more swings, and on his third swing, he really hit the ball, and it went a long ways, before he hit a tree.

"Shit!" I laughed when I heard him say that. If we had been back in Mother Superior's office and he said that, she would have shown him that ruler he was wondering about.

"How many swings do you get before you're out?"

"Too many, Kenny. We are going to visit nine holes today. Each time I hit the ball that's one stroke. We add up all the strokes at the end, and that's my score. The lower the score, the better I like it."

"What about when you miss it, is that a stroke too?"

"No, those were my practice swings. I usually take two practice swings before I hit the ball. Those don't count unless I'm trying to hit the ball and then miss it."

"You hit that one a long way, how come you didn't like it?"

"Did you see it hit that big tree? I'm probably stuck behind it and I'll have to chip out onto the fairway, wasting another stroke to do it."

"No you won't. It bounced out to the left when you hit that tree. Can't you see that ball? It's right there in the short grass. I can see it easy from here."

"If that's true, than that's good news for me. I sure wish I could see things that far away. You actually saw the ball after it struck the tree? That is just remarkable."

I already knew I had good eyesight. When I was little, I used to be able to hit a baseball every time when I came to bat. I wondered how easy it was to hit that little golf ball with those clubs. I would wait, and maybe Mr. Chalmers would let me try it if he got tired. I drove him right over to his ball. As soon as he saw it, he had a big smile. He did the same thing with his next stroke, hitting it to the right, and hitting another big tree.

"Did you see it come out that time, Kenny?"

"No, this time it went to the right further back. It went under that big bush near the tree you hit."

"God damned luck! I don't know why I keep playing this stupid game."

"Are you supposed to hit it in the middle of that thing on the end of your club?"

"That's the idea, why?"

"You lean in a little from where you swing, but not when you practice, only when you hit it. I think that throws your aim off."

"Show me what you mean."

I got out of the cart, making sure to set the brake first though. I showed him how he swung when he practiced, then when he was hitting the ball, he sort of gave a little lunge forward when he brought the club towards the ball. It was like he clenched his muscles when he knew he was really going to hit the ball. He didn't do it on the practice strokes.

"Are you sure? You could tell that from just watching me swing that one time?"

"I'm not sure that's why you hit it in the woods, but I'm sure that's what you did when you hit it, and you didn't do it when you were just practicing to hit it."

He looked at me for a minute, and then took another ball out of his pocket and put it down on the grass. He got off to the side of it and took a few practice swings. When he started to swing at it for real, he stopped right before he hit the ball.

"Son of a bitch! I do lunge at it. I never noticed I did that. Why do I do it?"

"Maybe you're trying too hard? You want to hit it so good, that you try a little extra hard and that throws you off?"

He didn't say anything, but I could see he was thinking about what I'd said. He went back to his stance again, and went through his practice routine. This time he took about five or six practice swings.

"Watch me close this time, Kenny. See if I lunge at it or not." He took two more practice swings and then moved in a little closer. This time, when he hit the ball it lifted up, and headed straight for where the blue pennant on the stick was. It hit in front and didn't roll much. It was about twenty five feet in front of the stick. "Did you watch me that time? Did I lunge or not?"

"I didn't see it if you did. That was a good one, right?"

"Good for me, Kenny, I'd take that one all day long."

He got back in the cart and I started driving over to the golf ball under that bush.

"Where are you going? Forget that ball. I'm taking a mulligan."

Mr. Chalmers played another eight holes after that with mixed results. A few times he hit good shots, right in the direction he was aiming. When we finished the nine holes, he had hit the ball fifty seven times, not counting the one he hit before the mulligan. Amazingly, he seemed content with that result. When we pulled back behind the clubhouse, George again ran out and retrieved Mr. Chalmers bag. I saw Mr. Chalmers give him his car keys and another five dollar bill. He led me upstairs to the main clubhouse and over to the restaurant that was part of it. He asked me what I wanted to eat, and I told him whatever he was having would be all right with me. He smiled at me, and when the waiter came, he ordered for both of us, a cheeseburger with fries and two Pepsi's.

"Okay, Kenny, while they are getting our order ready, I need to tell you about Tom and Roberta, the couple you are going to be staying with for awhile. Tom Parsons is one of my friends. We became fraternity brothers together in college. Roberta is my sister. Like me, they've both lived in Ridgeline their entire lives. They never had any children of their own, because there is a slight problem with 'Bertie'. They've never made any attempt to adopt children either. Some people have suggested they should adopt. I know 'Bertie' wanted to have children of her own, but Tom put his foot down and wouldn't allow it. He is still not in favor of becoming a foster parent.

"The thing is, and this is where you come in, Kenny, 'Bertie' has taken it into her head that she wants a child, and she has decided she wants one right now. In spite of her strong desire for this, Tom still isn't going for it. As a direct result of this impasse, she came to me last week, asking me to represent her in a divorce action. I had already told her that I couldn't represent her, because I'm also Tom's personal attorney. I talked her into holding off on seeking a divorce for awhile, telling her that I'd talk to Tom and see if I couldn't work something out. I had hoped to strike some kind of a compromise that both of them could live with. I want you to be that compromise, Kenny. You're almost fully grown already, so you won't need too much in the way of being cared for or really need to be looked after.

"I talked to Tom, and when I did, I laid all the cards out on the table for him. I told him that he had to agree to give 'Bertie' something. If not, I told him that, in addition to the divorce, he would be removed from his position at the company he now heads. Given all of this, he has agreed to let you come and live with them, at least for a suitable trial period. This isn't going to be a normal foster home situation, I'm not going to try to kid you about that. Tom and 'Bertie' are both good people, but they are in the middle of what I can only call a crisis situation. Something will have to be done in order for them to keep their marriage together.

"First, let me tell you the good parts of it for you. They have scads of money, and 'Bertie' is going to shower you with anything you want, anything to make you happy. She wanted a boy, although she was thinking of one a whole lot younger than you at first. When I told her about you, well frankly, she had her doubts. You will have your own large room, and it will be equipped with a television, stereo and everything you will need for school, including a new electric typewriter. You won't lack for anything you need that money can buy for you. You will go to the public high school, and will be able to live a normal existence, far different from what you have previously known, and much better than what you have been used to. There will be much more personal freedom than you have been used to having. Do you have any questions with what I've told you so far?"

"You said her husband had agreed for me to come live there?"

"Yes, he did, but with some conditions. While you live there, you are going to be almost exclusively 'Bertie's' concern. You shouldn't believe that this means that Tom will be in anyway antagonistic towards you. I'm certain that won't be how it is. It will be more a case of benign neglect from him. As far as he is concerned, it will be you and 'Bertie' that will be interacting together. That is one of the bad parts that I was going to come to. Tom doesn't really want any part of this, other than giving his permission for you to live there with them. For all practical purposes, all of the money is 'Bertie's'. Tom has spent his entire adult life, since finishing college, working in, and later, running the business that my father founded over forty years ago. Under Tom's stewardship, the company has thrived. In truth, it was apparent to me that Tom cares much more about losing his position in the company than he does about the possibility of losing 'Bertie'."