Written by Stephen F. Moloney
“Ah! There you are …” said Ray, sounding a touch irritated at the momentary panic he’d inflicted upon himself with the thought he’d lost it. “I knew I’d put you in here.”
With that, he pulled out the key he’d gone rummaging for through the drawers of the glass-panelled cabinet in the corner of the LaFleur Suite and turned around to look at Maggie, who, in the time he’d been searching, had migrated over towards the glass doors which led out onto the balcony on the opposite side of the room.
“Here …” he said, before casually tossing the key in her direction.
Having not been expecting her sometimes questionable hand-eye coordination to be called into action, Maggie quickly locked her eyes onto the key and caught it, surprisingly safely, in her two hands.
“Open ‘em up while I get this tidied,” continued Ray, gesturing loosely at the drawers behind him after seeing Maggie successfully grab the key.
“Uh … yeah, sure,” she replied, a touch hesitantly, as she maneuvered the surprisingly small key in-between her thumb and index finger.
Given the ‘museum-like’ feeling to the LaFleur Suite, the thought of having to physically interact with anything in the room, beyond the superficial act of just sitting down on a chair, felt almost wrong to do – like climbing over the barriers in the Museum of Natural History and petting the T-Rex. Safe in the knowledge that there, at least, wouldn’t be an angry employee coming to scold her for ignoring the signs strictly prohibiting interacting with the exhibits, however, Maggie reached out and parted the net curtains where they met in the middle of the two doors, exposing the small keyhole hidden behind them.
Even though she still hadn’t fully exposed the glass, the brightness outside – spying a breach in the curtains’ defences – flooded in through the gap she’d created and forced Maggie into squinting slightly as she carefully navigated the key into the keyhole. With a smooth, unencumbered turn that drew a satisfying click from inside the door as the deadbolt slid out of the way, Maggie unlocked the doors and then gently pushed the pair of them open. Straight away a cool, refreshing breeze found its way in through the opening and began to billow the curtains ever-so-gently; the smell of summer and long grass a welcome reprieve from the slightly musty and stale quality of the air inside the LaFleur Suite.
“Do you mind if I head out?” asked Maggie, back over her shoulder, as she stared longingly out beyond the net curtains; the balcony almost calling to her like a devious siren attempting to lure an unwitting sailor onto the rocks.
“Naw, go on ahead …” replied Ray, distractedly, as he tried to free up whatever obstruction his rooting around had caused near the back of the drawer. “I gotta try and figure out what’s goin’ on in here anyway …”
Having received the go-ahead, Maggie, excitedly, parted the two net curtains, stepped out through them, and then, just like that, there she was. Standing on the famous balcony at Crescent Creek Golf Club … and it felt oddly strange. This was a place she had only ever seen in photographs containing glamorous-looking members of the LaFleur family and their partners. A place she knew only so few people in history had ever set foot on. And now she was there too. Standing on the same painted white floorboards. Hands resting on the same wooden balustrade. And her eyes taking in the exact same view as theirs would have – and what a view it was.
Of course, she had already known what to expect to see from this particular vantage point, albeit as unexpected as it was to wind up there; she’d spent so long studying and researching, not only the history of the club but the actual course itself – through old course blueprints, written accounts and even topological surveys – that, at this stage, she was fairly confident she could be blindfolded, dropped anywhere on the course and still manage to find her way back to the clubhouse without picking up so much as a single scratch.
For instance, just below her and slightly to her left was the 18th green; the angle and height of the balcony ensuring that, no matter how big a crowd was crammed in around it, those spectators standing where Maggie was would have had a completely unobstructed view of every centimetre of grass on the green.
Off across the lake that ran all the way along the left-hand side of 18, the 14th green could be seen nestled into the far right corner of the water; a notoriously tricky par 4 where, though technically seen as a good birdie chance before entering Dead Man’s Alley, it had a reputation for being a potential scorecard-wrecker as your second shot down the hill to the green, depending on the direction of the wind, could leave you a flick with a wedge if it was to your back or needing to punch anything from a 6 to a 5-iron down through it if it was blowing up off the lake and into your face – in essence, a nightmare of a hole for a caddie to try and pull a club for.
And then, almost directly across from the balcony – right on the opposite shoreline of the lake – was the tee box for the par 4 15th; or, in other words, the very beginning of the aforementioned Dead Man’s Alley. The hole itself played away from the lake, so Maggie figured that if you’d had a decent pair of binoculars to hand – and the weather was cooperative – you probably would have been able to get a good enough view of players getting their tee shots away as they attempted to navigate their way around the sweeping dogleg right. It was, generally, seen that taking more of a conservative play off the tee here was the way to go; play for position with a wood or long-iron in order to ensure you gave yourself the best possible lie for your second shot into the treacherously small green. If you had the length, though – and the stomach for it – it was possible to pull driver and attempt to cut the corner in search of where the fairway widened closer to the green, but to pull off that particular feat required a 320-yard carry and acceptance of the fact that even the slightest deviation off to the right would see you quickly needing to ask your caddie for another ball.
So, it was all there in front of Maggie; everything exactly where it was supposed to be – like landmarks on a map. And, yet, as crazy enough as it was to finally be seeing all of this in person, what was truly blowing her mind was how everything looked. When she’d been planning to go visit Ray at Crescent Creek, she’d imagined a picture in her head of how the course might possibly look like if she managed to get a look at it. And after being closed for just over a decade – so since Mustang went missing – that picture pretty much boiled down to resembling a golf course one might see in a movie set in a post-apocalyptic universe; one massively overgrown and deep into the process of being reclaimed by the wilderness from which it was first whittled.
Instead, though, what lay before her eyes, astoundingly, was the exact opposite to that – because it was in immaculate condition. The 18th green was so tightly mown and had such a perfectly smooth surface that it wouldn’t have looked out of place at a fully-fledged Tour event. Every layer of grass radiating out from the putting surface itself – from the fringe to the first and second collars of rough – were all expertly blended into one another so that, even though they each retained their own unique definition, the change in height between them was so gradual and measured that it was just incredibly satisfying to look at. The fairway stretching away from the hole, like the green, was cut to absolute perfection as well; the pattern of thick, long stripes in contrasting shades of light and dark green working to elongate the already runway-like patch of short grass and lure your attention off down the length of it.
And no matter where Maggie let her eyes roam, whether it be further into the details of the 18th or back off across the lake towards 14 and 15, the story was the same – not a single blade of grass out of place.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” said Ray, finally emerging out through the doors and onto the balcony. “Somehow a coaster got stuck on its edge, and then it got jammed between the bottom of the drawer and the top of it; long story short, I had to employ some ‘blunt force and ignorance’ to rectify the situation.”
“Have you been doing all of this by yourself?” asked Maggie, sounding as if she hadn’t been listening to a word Ray had just been saying.
“Doin’ what all by myself?” said Ray, trying to catch up to whatever page it was Maggie had, obviously, skipped ahead to in the time he’d been away.
“This!” she replied, the excitement which had been building up inside her now pouring out as she wiped her hands across the vista lying before them. “This course! I mean, look at it! It’s incredible!” She looked back at Ray, who was now just taking to leaning against the balustrade in order to take the pressure off his back. “Have you been taking care of it all by yourself?!”
“Uh … yeah, pretty much,” answered Ray, modestly. “I mean, I draft Bill in from time to time for some of the bigger jobs that need a second pair of hands – but, yeah … other than that? It’s just me.”
“But how do you find the time to do it all?” asked Maggie, still struggling to wrap her head around how Ray, with all his obvious back problems, was able to handle the herculean effort of managing the entirety of Crescent Creek near single-handedly.
“Well, when you’ve got nothin’ but time on your hands you’d be amazed at what you can get done,” replied Ray, still sounding as though he didn’t quite see what the big deal was. “Plus, it’s not like I’ve any members to be dealin’ with, so I don’t have to be rushin’ to any particular timetable, you know? So that makes things easier, obviously.”
Maggie joined Ray in looking out across the lake. With the severe lack of breeze, the surface of the water was mirror-still – save for the odd halo of ripples as a fish darted up from the depths to nab an unsuspecting fly for its lunch – and, as a result, it was perfectly reflecting the crystal clear, blue sky sitting overhead. Maggie could only imagine what the course would be like on a day like this if the club were still open. The faraway sounds of drives being swept away off tees, cheers of delight from birdie putts made, and frustrated cries of swear words at those missed echoing on the wind. The scores of people rambling along the fairways in search of misplaced Titleist Pro-V1 Z’s, Taylormade TPX’s, or whatever other ball it was they were desperately trying to navigate around the course. The smell of food cooking in the kitchen downstairs wafting through the air, tempting the rumbling stomachs and aching legs of those coming up 18 to hurriedly get their rounds finished and make for the dining room. The groups of kids huddled together on the low wall running along the top of the bank that flanked the 18th green, each of them hungrily devouring their makeshift lunches of a hotdog and a can of soda before they eagerly headed out for their second round of the day. Basically, the sights, sounds, and smells of any golf course bristling with activity on an idyllic day in high summer.
But, instead, there was only silence.
And Maggie couldn’t help but think what a shame that was.
“Still, though…” she began, carefully picking her words. “It’s an awful lot of work to burden yourself with without members, isn’t it? I mean, we’re talking hours and hours of work here to keep a course maintained – to, undoubtedly, an incredibly high standard – but … I guess I’m just struggling to see the reasoning behind it if no one ever gets to play it.”
“The same thought’s crossed my mind over the years as well,” replied Ray, after expelling a tired-sounding sigh. “Like, when I’m enterin’ my thirteenth straight hour of work? Legs and back feelin’ like they’re ‘bout one more step away from just goin’ on strike, but I know I still have to walk back up the hill at 14 over there to do some other job or whatever? … Well, let’s just say, the ‘why’ is somethin’ I often find myself strugglin’ to remember.”
“And are you ever able to pin it down? The ‘why’, I mean.”
Ray, again, took a moment as he let his eyes wander across the lake. This time, however, instead of looking across at the 15th tee box, Maggie could tell Ray was taking in the view of the hill at 14 he’d just mentioned. She suddenly wondered if her being around today had interrupted his, clearly, incredibly busy schedule; that instead of being out clocking up the miles on a fairway mower or giving the greens at Crescent Creek a haircut (not that they looked like they needed one), he’d been stuck talking to her – and, as a result, had that now created a situation where he was going to have to work even harder once she stopped peppering him with questions in order to get back up to speed?
“I guess …” said Ray, the fact he was ready to answer her question forcing Maggie to stop worrying about the potential workload she’d inflicted on him. “It all just comes back to the distraction of it. I mean, when I came back here after that year of searchin’ for Mustang and closed the club? I was a mess, and I continued to be one for the next six or seven months – like, drinkin’ too much; not sleepin’ … just all-round strugglin’, basically. Anyway, one night, I’m in bed – not sleepin’, as per usual – and I’m just miserable; I mean, just twistin’ and turnin’ for hours. Eventually, though, I look over, check the time, and see it’s nearly five-thirty in the mornin’. Now, given it was the middle of June, I can already see that the sun is startin’ to come up outside, right? So, I’m lyin’ there and thinkin’ to myself, ‘well, I can either stay here not sleepin’ or I can get up’ … so I got up. And for whatever reason – I still can’t remember exactly why – I decided to go for a walk. Next thing I know I’m standin’ here.”
“Like, here ‘here’?” asked Maggie, pointing down at the floor of the balcony.
“Yep,” confirmed Ray, with a nod of his head. “Right here. Dunno how it happened; hadn’t thought of goin’ near the clubhouse, nevermind all the way up here, since I’d come back … yet, that mornin’, for whatever reason, I ended up doin’ both. But when I saw 18 here?”. Ray shook his head and let out a sigh at the mere memory of what he’d seen that morning. “Man, I was disgusted with myself. I mean, the fairway was all overgrown; the green was a mess; the bunkers were like concrete; and the rough was so tall the only thing it looked fit for was a head of cattle to come through and have at it like an ‘all-you-could-eat’ buffet.”
“So, just a little different to how it looks today, then?” said Maggie, smiling cheekily over at Ray.
“Just ever so slightly, yeah,” he replied, smiling back. “So, of course, after seeing just how bad things had gotten up here, I say to myself, ‘Look, I’ll just give the fairway a quick trim, maybe do the same with the green – I’m lookin’ at an hour and a half … two hours’ work … max.’ Eight hours later, after God knows how many passes with both the fairway mower and the green mower – plus hackin’ away at all the bunkers – I finally have the hole, from the tee box all the way to the green, at least looking some way bit passable. What I quickly realized, though, is …”. Out of nowhere, Ray trailed off into silence and returned his gaze back out over the lake. Clearly, whatever he was planning on saying next was going to require more composure than what he’d first thought.
“What I quickly realized, though …” he began again after a few seconds, each word falling slowly and perfectly crafted from his mouth in order to keep himself focused. “Is that for however long I’d been workin’ on the hole? I hadn’t thought about Mustang – like, not even once. And it wasn’t in, like, a guilty way or anythin’ like that. It was just … you know …”.
“In a relieved kinda way?” offered Maggie, gently, as she was getting the impression Ray was somewhat reluctant to say it himself. “It’s alright to say it.”
“Well … yeah,” he replied, a touch quietly. “In a relieved kinda way. And … it felt good. I mean, up until that mornin’, for the bones of nearly a year and a half all I’d thought about was Mustang. Where he’d gone? Was there anythin’ I’d missed or not thought of when I was out lookin’ for him? Was he even still alive? Just question after question, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week – and it was exhaustin’. So, to then suddenly get eight full hours without any of that? It just changed everythin’. And right there and then – right down on the green there…”. Ray pointed down over the front of the balcony at the 18th. “I decided that gettin’ this place back to the condition it was in before I closed the club was what I was gonna do. And lookin’ back now? I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that makin’ that decision … well, I think it near-on saved my life – I really do. And if not for any other reason than it finally helped me sleep again. Because if you’re workin’ on a golf course for thirteen or fourteen hours a day? Well, I don’t care who you are – you’re gonna sleep after that!”.
“Don’t I know it!” said Maggie, knowingly. “To this day, no night’s sleep has compared to the ones I used to get after a day of caddying – none! Like, that slight achy feeling in your legs and back? But then feeling it all just melt away as soon as you lie down? Heaven!”
Ray smiled as he let his eyes drift, once more, off across the lake. He could see a few large, white clouds just beginning to sail in over the horizon. The course could do with some rain, he thought to himself. It had been around two weeks since there’d been a good, solid downpour over the Creek, which was unusual given the time of year – normally, June would see Ray trying to combat the rain as opposed to trying to summon it – so the way he looked at it the place was well overdue.
“Speaking of being properly exhausted …” said Maggie, her voice enough to pull Ray’s attention off the horizon and thoughts of whether or not there’d been any changes to the weather forecast he’d checked earlier that morning. “You must have been pretty tired by the time you and Travis reached Orlando from Texas, right? Like, what is that? A twelve-hour drive?”
“Yeah, around twelve, thirteen hours – so it’s a bit of a trek.”
“And if you were leaving the farm at eleven that night, that had you arriving in Orlando at …” Maggie fell silent for a second as she did the math in her head. “Around noon the next day?”
“Well, if we’d just straight gunned it? Yeah, I’d have expected us to be hittin’ Orlando ‘round then,” replied Ray. “But when you factor in the pit stops we had to take – you know, between bathroom breaks and Travis just needin’ to get out of the car and loosen up from time to time; plus the fact we ran into some pretty heavy traffic once we crossed over into Florida on account of it bein’ the first day of the Memorial Day weekend; when it was all said and done? I think we were parkin’ up outside Tess’ office at, maybe … 2:30? 2:45? Which, given the context of why we were there, was probably cuttin’ it just a little too close for comfort; but, in reality, with a car as old as the Mustang was – even back then – I think we did pretty good all things considered.”
“And how did things go once you two actually went into the office?” asked Maggie, eager to know every last detail. “Were there any problems or …?”
“No, everythin’ ran really smoothly, actually,” answered Ray, pushing himself away from the balustrade and forcing his back to allow him to return to an upright position. “Tess had done all the leg work in gettin’ together all the other forms I needed to sign – and there were a lot – so all that was really left to do was combine those with the form I’d gotten Travis to sign back at the farm; she faxed them off to whoever needed to see ‘em; and just like that we were in business.”
“Wow, that quick, huh? It must have been a tad overwhelming, no?”
“You know, I remember thinkin’ on the drive down that I might feel that way once everythin’ was ‘signed and sealed’; even prepared myself for how to deal with it,” replied Ray, as he spied another few promising-looking clouds just floating in over the trees on the horizon. “But when that moment actually arrived? Like, when Tess got through the official document that rubber-stamped everythin’ and she shook my hand to congratulate me? It might be strange to say, but I didn’t feel overwhelmed – like, at all. I just felt happy … though, that was, of course, until somethin’ very important suddenly dawned on me.”
“Oh no …” said Maggie, not expecting there to be a twist at this point in the story. “What was it?”
“Well, I’d gone to all this trouble to have Mustang be allowed to stay with me, right? I mean, I’d driven to Texas and gotten Travis’ blessin’; then driven all the way to Orlando to dot all the i’s and cross the t’s with Tess on the paperwork side of things; but not once in the midst of doin’ all that had I – or anyone else for that matter – stopped to ask the question …”
“What does Mustang want …” said Maggie, unable to help herself from quietly finishing Ray’s sentence as the point he was building towards popped into her head.
“Bingo,” said Ray, punctuating the word with a point of his finger.
“So, what did you do?” asked Maggie, her head tilting, involuntarily, to the side, as tended to happen when she was listening intently.
“The only thing I could do,” replied Ray, smiling. “Go find him and ask him if he actually wanted to come stay with me.”
“And where did he end up being?”
“Funnily enough, where he used to work …” said Ray, turning to head back in through the balcony doors. “Wild Cat Oak Golf Club.”