The Front Nine

“Masie? Is that really you?” Josh sucked in his beginning of a paunch. “Where’s Sam?”

The pro shop guy looked confused as he turned to return to his post.

“Oh, he went to the harbor with Kevin to pick up Jimmy Dufresne. And Billy. Come on, I haven’t played a decent course since last time I was home.” Masie drained her Bloody Mary and hopped down from her barstool. “Where’s the cart? I’m driving.”

“Hang on, let me do a shot and catch up to you. I only have beer and water in the cooler.” Josh flagged the bartender and ordered a Wild Turkey, handing him his card. “I’ll get Masie’s Bloody, too.”

Josh downed the generous pour and gave a silent prayer of thanks that South Carolina had finally abandoned mini bottles in bars and restaurants.

“Where are your clubs?”

“Oh, I don’t have mine with me, so that cutie patootie from the pro shop said he’d load my rentals on the cart.”

Josh pulled the door to the cart corral open and held it for Masie. “Cutie patootie is a bit young for you, and anyway, I think he. . . nevermind.” Josh cut himself off as he realized that Masie was who Christopher was interested in being in a sand trap with, shaking his head and laughing at himself. “He might think you’re a lesbian. And I may have accidentally cockblocked you.”

The sun crept higher in the sky as Masie stepped into the cart on the driver’s side and took off for the first tee as soon as Josh was seated, laughing. “What in the world are you talking about, Mizzou?”

“Alright, Henry Clay. You know I’m married.” Josh twisted his wedding band on his finger. “But damn, you look good. And smell good.”

“Dumbass, I’m not wearing anything, and the fact that you’re married is why you feel compromised. Jesus, I bet you have a gravy boat in the Blanchard pattern. There’s no fucking hope for you.” Masie pulled up to the tee and slid out of the cart.

“Since when do you use the ladies’ tee?” Josh opened the cooler and cracked open a beer.

Masie jammed a tee in the ground and pulled a driver out of the rented bag. “Since I’m playing with clubs I’ve never touched before while your set looks like you hold your putter more than your wife.” She dropped a ball on the tee, then stepped back for a couple of practice swings. “Ready to have your ass handed to you, Blanchard?”

Josh nearly spit out his beer. “Goddamnit, Masie.”

“You can call me ‘Adams.’ I haven’t given up my identity for lunch at the Pinnacle Club and a plot in Westover.”

“Can you give me a break for one minute?” Josh watched Masie knock her ball out of sight down the fairway. “You know you have no business using that tee with your drive.”

“All in the hip, baby.” Masie cocked her hip as the words left her mouth. “Wanna make this interesting? How ‘bout a friendly wager?” She leaned on the driver and held out her hand. “Pass me a cold one, cowboy.”

Josh pulled his driver out of his bag. “What do you have in mind, Adams?” He placed his half-empty Bud Light in the cup holder and looked Masie dead in the eye. “Truth or Dare? Truth on odd holes, dare on even?”

“You’re speaking my language, but you’ve got that shit backwards if we’re only playing nine.” Masie grabbed Josh’s beer and took a sip.

“Are you saying you have fewer than five questions for me?” Josh dropped a ball on his tee.

“No, I’m saying you’ve always been scared of my dares.” Masie sat down in the driver’s seat and put her feet on the dash.

Josh was halfway into his swing when his phone rang, playing the chorus of “Every Breath You Take,” and he sliced into the rough.

“Okay, you can stop laughing now. And I’m not scared of your dares.” Josh pulled a fresh beer out of the cooler as another cart pulled up to the tee.

Masie walked over and said, “Y’all can play through if you want. Mulligan here just hit his ball so far in the rough that I need to run back to the house and grab a pair of hip waders. He never takes the stroke.” She leaned into the cart and winked at the passengers. “Oh, shit. Hi, Marty.”

Martin Blanchard climbed out of the cart and shook his son-in-law’s hand. “Good to see you, Josh. Where are Mary Elizabeth and the twins?”

Josh returned the handshake and smiled. “Knox and Lizzie are at Betty’s with the rest of the kids, and Mary Elizabeth’s at the resort pool.”

“Damn, it’s weird to hear that phrase, ‘resort pool,’ on this island.” Ben Skinner slid from behind the wheel and joined in the “good to see you”s being exchanged. “Why don’t we just play as a foursome? Might find Josh’s ball faster with four sets of eyes looking.”

Josh looked from Ben to Marty to Masie, who shrugged and finished the beer in the cup holder.

“Fine by me, but we’re playing a truth or dare front nine. Truth on odd. Y’all in?” Masie gave Marty a hard look before smiling at Ben. “We’ll keep it PG.”

Marty returned Masie’s look with interest. “I would hope so, seeing as Josh is spoken for.”

Ben gave Masie an appreciative look. “You can get NC-17 with me, sweetheart. I didn’t catch your name.”

Masie smiled back at him and said, “Then I guess you better win the next hole. I’m Masie, wayward granddaughter of Eileen Adams and perpetual rescuer of that rogue gambler, Billy Adams.”

The Police sang another chorus of “Every Breath You Take” from Josh’s pocket, and this time, he answered it. “Hi, honey. You won’t believe who just joined me on the tee.

“Well, not exactly, but yes, she’s here.”

Mary Elizabeth shrieked so loudly into the phone that Martin simply held out his hand for it. Josh handed it right over.

“Mary Elizabeth.” Martin walked back towards the clubhouse. “Mary Elizabeth, calm down.”

The rest of the group couldn’t make out the rest of what he said as he walked away from them.

A dragonfly lit on Josh’s beer, and Ben spoke up. “Pass one of those over here, Miss Masie. I’ll go ahead and tee off, then mosey down the fairway to look for Josh’s ball.”

The arc of his ball rivaled Masie’s and earned him a respectful nod of her raven-haired head as well as a fist bump when he retrieved his beer. Ben rummaged in his bag and came up with a coozie that wrapped around his beer, calling over his shoulder to Masie, “You know, six is a par three. Maybe we should up the ante for a hole in one.”

“Don’t you fucking dare call me Blanchard in front of Marty!” Josh hissed at Masie as soon as Ben was out of earshot. She stepped into the shade, poking at the pinestraw with her foot. A pelican flapped its wings over them, flyover fishing the water hazards on its way to the open water.

“Relax, Mizzou. Henry Clay has business outside the Capitol this weekend. I won’t make trouble for you.”

Josh climbed into the cart and said, “I’ll drive down to Ben. You ride with Marty.”

Masie pulled the elastic band off her ponytail and doubled it around the gearshift before pulling a ball cap out of her bag and threading her hair through it. “Damn, that’s a short leash, even if it has diamonds on it.” She grabbed her phone out of the cart and said, “Hurry along, Blanchard. Wouldn’t want you to feel compromised.”

When Marty returned, Masie was sipping a Stella from his cooler. He cast his eyes around and saw that Josh and Ben were out of earshot down the fairway.

“I certainly hope you’re not planning to make trouble in my daughter’s marriage.”

Masie put her phone in her pocket and rose from her seat, returning Marty’s dangerous stare across the top of the green Club Car cart.

“Is this the speech your dad gave Dena Daniels around the time Lila was born?”

The pelican saw something in one of the ponds and circled back, arcing higher into the cloudless sky to torpedo into the water for his prey.

Masie didn’t wait for an answer, just started walking down the fairway, not bothering to turn her head as she called, “Yell ‘fore’ if it looks like your tee shot might hit me, or I’ll have Strom serve you at the Boardmans’ party.”

The pelican came back up and spat Sam’s ball out before taking off for the ocean. Marty teed up and yelled “fore” just in case he sliced and thought about how Dena had struggled to raise Lila by herself all those years. DNA tests weren’t a thing back then, just blood tests, and everyone knew everyone in the Azalea medical community, so there had never been any certainty, but Lila definitely had his eyes. Marty opened a beer before driving down the fairway, bracing himself for what was certain to be the most catastrophic front nine ever played.

Marty sped past Masie on the fairway, then checked himself and slowed to a turtle’s pace before he reached Josh and Ben, who were gazing at the water hazard.

When Masie joined them, they were talking about Rory’s missed putt. “Josh, “ she interrupted, “ you have to take a stroke—that ball’s out of play.” She gestured at Martin. “You can ask Marty. He saw the pelican dive for it then spit it out, too. “