She's Perfect

My uncle Fred was the Greenskeeper on our family-owned golf course.

You may think it morbid to spread his ashes in this little garden of powder‑blue Forget‑me‑nots by the pond of swans near the eighteenth hole.

I think it’s an honorable remembrance.

Sometimes I hear him mutter things like “reseed before spring,” which, apparently, is hereditary. My family has a difficult time relinquishing the greenskeeper title—even after death.

Now I, Godfrey Franklin, have inherited the title of Greenskeeper.

I sit here at the pond, remembering his words of wisdom and missing him, especially that glint of humor in his eyes.

The sound of tires crunching over the green. “What the—”

A golf cart lurches, and before I can shout a warning, she drives straight through the Forget‑me‑not garden.

I freeze, horrified, as she skids over Uncle Fred.

I can practically hear him yell, “Fix your divots!”

I snap at the girl climbing out of the cart. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done? My uncle’s ashes are scattered here.”

“Ew!” she yelps, jumping back into the cart. “Wait—are you telling me I just ran over your uncle?”

I stride over to her. “Do you even have a driver's license?”

“Well, excuse me! If your golf cart had brakes, maybe I wouldn’t have run over Uncle Fred! Wait—that’s… grass. You’re yelling at me about grass.

“You drive like a maniac,” I say, even though I know I sound ridiculous.

She puts her hands on her hips, squints her eyes. “You know, for someone who talks to grass, you’re awfully judgmental about my driving.”

I open my mouth to tell her a thing or two, but Uncle Fred mutters, “She’s got spirit. Keep her.”

I wince. “Not helping,” I whisper.

Her eyes narrow again. “Did you just… argue with the lawn?"

I straighten, trying to salvage my dignity. “I was not arguing. I was—correcting.”

“Oh!” she says, stepping closer. “So, you correct grass. That’s so much better.”

Uncle Fred speaks again, smug as ever: “Ask her name, boy.”

I glare at the turf. “Stop matchmaking.”

She blinks. “Matchmaking?”

 I sigh. “My uncle has opinions.”

She glances down at the crushed Forget‑me‑nots, then back at me, a smile spreading. “Well… he’s not wrong.”

I stare in disbelief at her. “Not wrong about what?”

She sits on the bench, brings a handful of the Forget-me-nots to her face, and inhales. “Uncle Fred wants to know my name.”

I cross my arms and grin. “Well, you’d better tell him. He’s not one to ask twice.”

“What’s your name, Mr. Greenskeeper?”

I stifle a laugh. “Are you asking Uncle Fred or me?”

A breeze flutters through her hair. “Uncle Fred, of course. He seems like the one in charge.”

She moves towards the golf cart and trips. “I’ve got you,” I say, catching her before she hits the turf. “I’m Godfrey, by the way.” I set her down gently.

“I’m Lila,” she says, looking away, cheeks flush, wearing a smile that says she’s enjoying this more than she should.

She looks up, and her eyes meet mine, steady and startling, and I forget how to breathe.

“Nice meeting you, Godfrey…and Uncle Fred.”

“Golf is a game of misses,” Uncle Fred chuckles. Oh, yeah, Uncle Fred knew plenty about those misses.

I look at Lila, praying that comment stays in my head. But then I catch the twinkle in her eye. “What’d he say this time?” she asks.

I just laugh. “So what brings you to my corner of the green?”

Lila exhales slowly. “Well, first let me say—I like your corner of the green, Godfrey. And I like Uncle Fred.”

I fold my arms, trying not to smile. “Thank you, Lila. And let me say, Uncle Fred likes you.”

She plucks crushed Forget‑me‑nots from her sleeve. “Okay, I’ll just say it. I’m here for the assistant greenskeeper position that was advertised.”

I laugh when she ducks.

“Maybe I should go,” she says.

“Don’t let her get away,” Uncle Fred murmurs.

She turns toward the golf cart. I walk with her. “So you planned to jump in a golf cart and run over Uncle Fred?”

She turns back to me, and we both laugh—really laugh—until our eyes sting and the swans are disturbed.

“That’s some shady putting,” Uncle Fred says.

Lila doesn’t seem to hear him, so I ignore it and sit on the bench. “What are your qualifications?”

She stands before me, looking hesitant. “I love nature.”

“You love nature. Well, that surely helps.”

I feel laughter rumbling in my gut, but I clear my throat and continue. “Do you have experience?”

“Sure she does,” Uncle Fred says. “Ignoring cart rules and damaging greens.”

I cough and roll my eyes.

“Of course, I have experience,” she says. “I’m a golfer and even got a hole in one!”

“That’s impressive, Lila. But do you have experience maintaining a course?”

 “Well, it’s an assistant position. Doesn’t that mean the greenskeeper will tell me what to do?”

“I think she’s lost between holes,” Uncle Fred grumbles.

“I’m a fast learner,” she adds.

“That’s important,” I say. “Are you good at following instructions?”

“Oh, yes…to a tee!”

“Just hire her,” Uncle Fred says. “I don’t want to stay in this eternal struggle against wayward balls. You need a distraction, and she’s perfect.” His voice was quieter.

I take a slow breath, acknowledging the labored commentary beneath my feet. “Lila, this job isn’t just mowing and watering. It’s tradition. My uncle took it seriously.”

She softens. “I can take things seriously. I know I didn’t make the best first impression, but I really do want this. I love being outside. I love taking care of things. And I could use a fresh start.”

Uncle Fred whispers thoughtfully. “She’s honest. That’s rare as a straight drive.”

I rub the back of my neck. “It’s not just about skill. It’s about… trust.”

Lila steps closer, her voice quieter now. “I’m trustworthy. I promise I won’t run over your uncle again.”

A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. “That’s a good start.”

The swans glide past. The Forget‑me‑nots tremble in the breeze. And for the first time since Uncle Fred died, the course feels less like a burden and more like… possibility or even purpose.

Uncle Fred whispers, softer than I’ve ever heard him. “Let her in, boy.” And I realize ... this is his last call.

I meet Lila’s eyes. “All right. You’re hired."

“Really?”

“Really,” I say. “But first lesson: no more reckless driving.”

She grins. “Deal.”

Uncle Fred sighs with satisfaction. “About time.”

Time moves swiftly when one is content.

We’re three years in the green. The Forget-me-nots sway by the pond, the swans glide past with cygnets riding warm and protected on their backs, and Lila and I are… well, tending to more than just the greens. Uncle Fred's last call was right; she’s perfect.

I haven’t heard a word from Uncle Fred since Lila and I clicked. I like to think he’s finally at peace.