Chapter 21

Greg was hard-pressed to match that score, but he did—with a twenty-five-foot putt that shot across the hard, closely cropped grass and dropped in. Arnie pounded on his shoulder in congratulations as the gallery clapped and cheered.

The golf wasn’t always that great. The tension and fatigue were there, expressed in shots that went into the trees or into the rough. Once River’s ball went into the water hazard, and the swimming mallards rose in the air in protesting flashes of iridescent green-and-black, brown-and-white. He lost a stroke and distance, but Greg’s ball landed out of bounds. He, too, lost a stroke, but putted poorly. They ended tied, still at one under.

Good Lord. How in hell did we manage that?

As they approached the final hole, Greg was hoping they wouldn’t tie and have to play again tomorrow. The stress was getting to him. His hands, feet, and back protested every motion he made.