CaddyGirls (12 page)

The minutes dragged by until the foursome ahead finally cleared the fairway.

“All right,” Josh waved to them, “get up here. We’re ready to go. Finally,” he added, his voice laced with impatience.

Julian pulled the driver out of her bag and took off the head cover. “Want to go first?”

Torrey didn’t hesitate. Better not to have to wait a minute longer.

“Absolutely.”

She dug in her pocket for a tee, took the driver from Julian and walked up between the white wooden squares that designated the tee line. She felt as if every eye within range—golfers and caddies alike—was burning into her back as she bent over to tee up the ball.

Relax, honey. Clear everything out of your mind and let your body take over. It won’t let you down.

A shiver raced through her as her dad’s voice jumped into her consciousness. How many times had he repeated those very same words as she stood over a shot, her nerves jangling?

She stood up and backed away from the ball.

See the ball rise, high and straight, long and true. Believe it and it’ll happen, Torrey. Believe in yourself.

She looked straight down the fairway, visualizing the high, arcing flight path of a perfect drive.

God, I miss you, Dad. I won’t let you down, I promise.

She took a smooth practice swing, shutting out everyone and everything but the
whoosh
of the big metal club as it cut through the air on her downswing. Her morning practice had stretched out her long muscles, and she was ready to go. Moving up to the ball, she took her stance, fixing her gaze far down the center of the fairway. Again she visualized the arc of the ball as it rose and rose, straight down the middle, reaching its zenith and then descending and rolling to a stop, perfectly placed for her next shot.

Last thing, honey. Keep your hands loose on the club. Grip it like you’re holding a baby.

Torrey relaxed her tight hands. She glanced at Julian, standing close, hands on his hips, his eyes radiating encouragement—exactly as her dad had done for all those years. She smiled and swung away.

The Titleist ball rocketed off the face of Torrey’s driver. Before it had even reached the top of its flight, she bent down to pick up her tee, just like a pro does when he knows he’s nailed it. Torrey didn’t have to look—she knew as soon as she made contact that the long drive would bisect the wide fairway.

Applause erupted behind her. She turned around to see Julieta and Annie practically jumping up and down with excitement. Krista, her face glum, hadn’t joined in their enthusiasm.

“Holy crap!” Josh enthused, gazing down the fairway. “That’s gotta be two-seventy.”

“Fabulous stroke, Torrey,” Michael congratulated her.

“Sweet.” Brendan grinned.

“Thanks, guys,” Torrey said, handing Julian the driver. “It sure felt good to get the first one out of the way.”

Julian carefully put the head cover back on the driver and slid it into her bag. “Great start,” he said, giving her a playful squeeze on the shoulder.

Confidence surged through her. She could do this. She
had
to do this.

Josh hit away, followed by Michael and Brendan. Only Josh managed to outdistance her by a few yards. She strode up the fairway with Julian, stopping well behind Brendan’s ball. Farthest from the hole, Brendan would be the first to hit his next shot.

“I’d say you’ll only have about a hundred and ten left to the pin from up there, Torrey,” Julian said, looking ahead to where her ball sat on the manicured grass. “That’ll just be a wedge for you, right?”

She nodded her agreement with his assessment.

“You know, you’ve got amazing mechanics,” he said with a teasing grin. “Textbook smooth. Your dad must have been a great coach.”

“I couldn’t have had a better teacher.” Torrey still felt her father’s loving presence whenever she had her hands on a club or her feet on a golf course.

Brendan chunked a six-iron and shook his head in disgust as the ball landed well to the right of the green. Julian picked up her bag, and they moved up a few yards to wait for Michael to hit.

“Your father was a club pro?”

“Yes—around the time I was born. Dad got a job as one of the pros at Torrey Pines, near La Jolla where we lived. That’s how I got my name.”

“I wondered about that. Most women spell it T-O-R-I.”

“I know. Whenever anybody asks my name, I always have to spell T-O-R-R-E-Y.” She shrugged her shoulders. “What can you do? Parents do weird things with kids’ names.”

“I hated being called Julian when I was a kid,” he grimaced. “But now I’m okay with it.”

“I love your name. It’s a good, masculine name. Strong.”

“Thanks. My mother insisted on it. She was a classics professor, so she wasn’t about to name me Ronnie or Kevin.”

Torrey laughed. “Is she retired now?”

His turned to look down the fairway, following the flight of Michael’s ball. “She died fifteen years ago.”

She could tell it still hurt him to say that. The pain might have diminished, but she knew from her own experience it would never completely disappear. “I’m sorry, Julian—you were way too young to lose her.”

“Older than you were when you lost your mother, though. But we have a lot in common. My dad and I became closer after that, just like you and your father. I don’t have any siblings either.”

“Please tell me your father is still alive.”

Julian chuckled. “Oh, yeah. It’ll take a nuclear attack or the black plague to knock off Dad. He’s sixty-six now and still works harder than I do.”

“Is he in business too?”

“Big time. He started out in the insurance business but then got into real estate, venture capital—all kinds of investments. We weren’t rich when I was growing up, but he made an absolute killing in the nineties. Dad’s a classic type-A workaholic. Totally driven.”

“Sounds like the acorn didn’t fall far from the tree then,” she said, picking the sixty-degree wedge from the bag.

“You think?” He grinned. “Anyway, it’s your turn. Knock it on the green.”

Torrey lined up her shot, took two quick practice swings, then stepped up to the ball and took a full rip with the wedge. The white sphere arced high into the air, heading straight at the pin. Landing fifteen feet past, it spun and rolled back to within ten feet of the cup.

“Nice spin and beautifully judged,” Julian enthused. “You’ve got a makeable birdie putt there.”

“Yeah, just what I needed on the first hole,” she sighed. “Exactly the kind of putt that sets my knees knocking—ten feet downhill.”

“You’ll be fine,” he said reassuringly as he took the wedge and handed her the putter.

Torrey knew what Julian said was true, at least in one sense. Even if she missed the putt—which was far from a gimme—she’d end up with an easy par. But to nail a birdie on the first hole—now that would be the way to kick-start a great round. Psychology and momentum meant so much in golf. Sink this putt, and her confidence would shoot up like a Roman candle. Miss it, and she might have the yips for the rest of the round.

Josh knocked his wedge onto the green, inside Torrey’s ball. Brendan chipped on, almost holing out. Michael, plugged in the sand trap, blasted out and rolled to a stop three feet from the cup. Torrey—only ten feet from the hole—would be first to putt. Good. Less time to have to fight her nerves. She wasn’t anywhere near the green yet, and her knees felt like they were about to fold.

Brendan tapped in while Josh and Michael marked their balls. Torrey eased down onto one knee directly behind her marker, gauging the slope of the green between her ball and the hole. Julian squatted right behind her, resting a hand on her shoulder as he read the line.

“Looks like an inch outside the left edge,” Torrey estimated, enjoying the comfort of his hand as it gently squeezed her shoulder. She wondered if he could feel the tension that threatened to lock up every muscle in her body.

“I agree. The toughest part is getting the right feel for this downhill slope. It looks pretty fast.”

“I know. If I hit it just a fraction too hard, it won’t break enough on that line.” This was definitely
not
the kind of putt she’d hoped for on the very first hole.

They rose to their feet. “You can do it,” he said. “Visualize the line of the putt right into the center of the hole, then hit it. Okay?”

“Okay.” She nodded, her pulse racing. “Thanks.”

“I know how badly you want to make this, but it’s only one putt, Torrey. Don’t forget that.”

He was trying to keep her calm, but Torrey knew better. It might only be the first hole, but the stakes were high. She closed her eyes and took two deep breaths. Her clenching gut warned her that this putt could tell the tale of her whole round.

Torrey took up her stance and glanced over at Julian. He gave her a smile and a thumbs up. She took two deep breaths then swept a practice stroke inside the ball. Moving a few inches forward, she carefully placed the blade of the putter behind the ball and willed herself to relax her tense hands and shoulders. One last glance at the cup, and she brought the putter smoothly back and through its arc, barely tapping the ball. Her heart seemed to stop as the ball trickled down the line she’d chosen, curling and picking up speed as it neared the hole.

“Break,” she whispered, “break.”

But the ball refused to obey. Her heart slammed against the wall of her chest. The ball skimmed the left edge of the hole and sped ten inches past.

“Damn!” Her curse came out so softly that she hoped the others wouldn’t have heard it. She circled around the other guys’ markers and tapped her ball in for her par.

“Nice par, Torrey.” Michael gave her a gentle pat on the rear as she passed him.

Normally a par on the opening hole would have been just fine. But not when she’d just blown a very makeable birdie try. She put her head down and walked slowly to the edge of the green where Julian stood waiting.

“Torrey, stop looking like your dog just died.” He kept his voice low, but with a firmness she couldn’t miss. “You parred the hole.”

She could hardly look at him. The confidence she had when she teed off had evaporated in the four seconds it had taken that miserable putt to miss the hole.

“I’m sorry, Julian,” she finally managed. “We had the line right. I just pulled it to the left a half inch when I struck it. I can’t believe I screwed it up!”

“You need to let it go. Right now.” His dark eyes bored into hers, willing her to obey him.

She couldn’t take his gaze right now, so she turned her head away. “I know. But confidence is everything to my game. And you know how much I’ve had to struggle with my putting. A birdie here would have set me up for a great round. Now I feel like I’m going to worry every time I get the putter in my hands.”

He let go of the golf bag and gripped both her shoulders, squaring her until she had to look him straight in the eyes. “Okay, listen to me. You’ve convinced yourself that success in your life depends on making the pro tour, and that means absolutely everything is riding on how well you play today. Am I right?”

“You know you are.” She glanced away again. Michael had just tapped in his putt, and the rest of the group had started toward the second tee.

“Well, you’re wrong, Torrey.”

She stared at him, puzzled. “What do you mean by that?”

The hard line of his mouth and jaw had morphed into a half-smile. “I mean that whatever happens today, Torrey Green is going to be all right. You know why? Because you’re already a success. You faced the biggest challenges anyone could have, and you overcame them. You told me you hit rock bottom, but just look at you now. You’re strong, self-sufficient and determined. And a damn fine person. Whatever happens in golf isn’t going to change that.”

The lump in her throat might as well have been a grapefruit. “I guess this is where you read me the Riot Act, right?” she managed.

He nodded grimly.

Dropping the putter, Torrey thrust her arms around Julian and hugged him with all her strength, then hustled up to the next tee.

Julian couldn’t help himself. He hadn’t meant to give Torrey a lecture, but he couldn’t bear to see her walk off that green like she’d already been defeated. He’d meant every word he’d said, too. It frustrated the hell out of him to see the way she got down on herself.

Give her credit—she’d stowed her frustration and listened. And when she’d given him that impulsive hug, he could almost feel the weight of having to perform start to lift. The girl was a fighter. She’d clawed her way back from unthinkable personal tragedy. She knew what she wanted and was determined to do whatever she had to do to get it.

Julian had always been able to tell what his partners were thinking from their eyes and the way they set their jaws. By the second hole, he already knew Torrey didn’t really need to worry. As the guys traded barbs on the tee, he could see both Josh and Michael had come away from the first hole so impressed with her that he could almost take their support to the bank already. Unless she tanked the rest of the round, of course, but he didn’t think she would do that.

Brendan was another story. Always the cautious, conservative partner, his eyes remained expressionless even when he congratulated Torrey on her par. Julian knew he’d be the toughest sell—the one most reluctant to break a rule or a policy.

For the rest of the front nine, Torrey didn’t say much, and he followed her lead. He could see her becoming more focused, more in the zone, as the holes passed. By the time they took a break at the halfway point, she’d fought her way to an even par thirty-six—a very solid score on a tough course.

Julian pulled two Dasani bottles out of her bag and handed one bottle to Torrey. “So far, so good,” he said. “Here’s to a below-par back nine.” He held the bottle out for her to clink in a toast. She tapped hers against his, making a soft plastic thud.

“I think I can do it.” She looked more relaxed than she had on the first green, though grimly determined.

“No, you
know
you can do it.”

“Right,” she said, a small smile lightening her face.

“And don’t forget it.”

Her gentle laugh was the nicest thing he’d heard all day. Nicest thing in a long time, in fact, although he preferred not to think about that right now.

The laughter faded from her eyes. Suddenly, she looked pensive, almost nervous. “Julian, what you said back on the first green?”

“Yes?”

“I can’t tell you how much that means to me. I guess I’ve just been so single-minded in my ambition that I tend to forget the bigger picture.”

“I meant every word. You’re a remarkable woman, and everything’s going to turn out fine.”

She reached out and gently squeezed his hand, her eyes full of gratitude and open affection. He couldn’t remember when a single touch had ever held more meaning for him.

“I think I actually believe you. I want to believe it’s true.”

“Don’t think, do.” He grinned.

For the rest of the round, Torrey continued to pound her drives and hit accurate irons into the greens. Her putting steadily improved, and she missed only one putt of less than eight feet. The guys rooted for her on every shot, and so did the caddies except for Krista, who looked indifferent and bored. Julian guessed she was miffed at not being the center of attention today. Plus, Josh seemed less interested in her now that the bet had been decided, which might also explain her attitude. Unfortunately, the scenario was all too predictable.

They marched up to the eighteenth green, and Torrey practically skipped onto the putting surface. For the last time today—probably for the last time ever—Julian handed her the Ping belly putter. Radiating confidence and joy, she stepped up and drained her five-foot par putt. She dropped the club, whipped off her visor and threw it high in the air.

Julian hung back, letting the others thump her on the back or give her congratulatory hugs. When Torrey turned, looking for him, he opened his arms. She jumped into them, almost knocking him over. She clamped her arms around his neck, squeezing him as if she never wanted to let him go. He hugged her and kissed her flushed cheek, noting with a touch of alarm the growing bulge in his pants. When she loosened her grip, he set her down gently.