Chapter 33

I had a theory that times of emotional bonding would trip my ‘had enough of my girlfriend for the moment,’ circuit breaker, so I was nervous the next day. When would I snap? How bad would it be? Dad and I rose early, joining our small boxing class at the ‘Y.’ It was more basics today, jump rope, conditioning, that kind of thing. At this rate, I thought I might see gloves and the bag sometime around my birthday ... which was ten months away ... in November. I worked extra hard on the ropes, trying to burn off some of my nervous energy. It was not quite seven when we returned to the house. I was never so glad to find that Paige wanted to sleep in.

My preternaturally keen hearing caught Evie asking Dad what was up with me. She used one of those southern expressions that he always liked, calling me jumpier than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

“No idea. He’s been like that ever since he got up this morning. You should have seen him at the ‘Y’ on the jump ropes; he was going like he wanted to burn the devil out of him.”

“Is it guilt? Is he feeling guilty about something? Did he do something to my baby?” That last was higher in volume and was accompanied by the sound of her moving from the living room to the kitchen where I was currently eating breakfast.

“Calm down, Honey.” Dad’s voice was near but pulled away as he talked to her. “That’s not what guilt looks like on him. It’s close, but it’s clearly not guilt.”

“So what then?”

“I don’t know, but I’m not going to worry about it. Let me take my shower and get some breakfast and we can go. If you’re so all-fired interested in what has him worked up, go in there and talk to him.”

Between the crunching of Peanut Butter cereal in my mouth, I heard him leave to take the stairs up. Evie came to join me, drawing a cup of weak coffee from where it resided in the Mercer carafe this morning, before sitting down.

“Sleep well?” she asked between sips.

“Uh, huh,” I answered, trying to shovel in the food fast enough to exit the kitchen before Paige joined us and I inevitably blew up at her.

“Slow down, Tim! You’ll give yourself indigestion.”

“Uh huh.” The last of the cereal made it in, the milk was swallowed as I tipped the bowl up to my mouth, and I almost ran for the counter where the dishwasher awaited my sullied china.

“Sorry, Evie, gotta run. I need to get the lawn mowed before it rains.” I dashed to the mudroom for my boots, coat and gloves, exiting as I found them.

I was mowing half an hour later near the road when the Audi pulled out, stopping on the drive close to where I was. Dad rolled down his window and let out a piercing whistle, calling me over to the car.

“Evie and I are going to spend the day in Savannah. I called Pop and he’s bringing your grandma over in a few minutes. Just so you know, they’re not babysitting, so do something with them, or not, it’s up to you. Have a good day and try not to burn the house down while we’re gone.”

He started to roll the window up, but Evie’s hand stopped him. She leaned over so I could see her from the driver’s side window.

“Tim, I checked with James and it’s not supposed to rain today. You can take it easy. Go inside, enjoy a day with your girlfriend.”

I visibly tensed at that and Dad took mercy on me. They drove away while raising the glass, but the car engine was quiet enough that I heard laughter until the pane it made its way to the top. The lawnmower called me, so I got back to making hay.

Grandma and Grandpa pulled in about fifteen minutes after Dad and Evie left, surprising me when I found that they had brought his truck and not her car. They drove down to the house without stopping and let themselves in. I kept mowing.

“You need any water, boy?”

Grandpa snuck up on me. Well, not really. I had my earphones in, and the mower was loud enough that I really couldn’t have heard him coming anyway. It was the tap on my shoulder that destroyed the Zen-like peace I had achieved. Water was welcome once my heart rate slowed a bit.

“So, Dad said you guys aren’t baby-sitting. What would you call it?”

He shrugged and nodded his head. “Baby-sitting.”

He looked at the work I had done. “When are you thinking you’ll be finished? I still have in me a bucket of balls that are waiting to be hit.”

Oh, golf. That would be pretty cool. I looked around at the grass. If I pushed, I had about fifteen minutes left; not too much longer if I took my time.

“Give me a half hour Grandpa.”

I wanted to ask, but I didn’t want to know. “Is Paige up already?”

Lionel McKenzie is a really good Grandpa. He saw me tense with my question but unlike Dad and Evie, he didn’t laugh, simply nodded his head.

“Inside. Skittish as a polecat in a perfume parlor. You wouldn’t know anything about that now, would you, Boy?”

I found I was eager to see her, which made me nervous again. What if my body wasn’t in sync with my mind, and some of me wanted to hug her while the other half wanted to get away? The eagerness won out. “Tell her I’ll be done in fifteen minutes, Grandpa.”

“I thought you said thirty.” He just nodded sagely before taking back the water bottle. I replaced my earbuds, started the mower up, and happily finished the little patch of lawn that I had left to do.

I came in through the garage, having wiped down the mower that was stored in there before removing my boots and padding into the kitchen.

“Hey, Sweet Pea,” I greeted Paige as she stood by the island talking to Grandma. She received a quick buss to the lips as I passed them by on the way to the shower.

“Good morning, Tim.”

I found my way out of the kitchen, wanting to whistle for joy, but made myself restrain my lips.

“Good Morning, Grandson!”

Oops, forgot about Grandma. She got a mumbled good morning and a hug once I retraced my steps. The trip to the bathroom saw me filled with joy once more.

Paige was practicing scales when I finished changing into clean clothes. Grandpa was smiling in his sleeping chair, while Grandma sat and knitted on the love seat. His eyes were open so he saw me enter the room.

“Give any thought to what I said?”

“Yeah, Grandpa, I’d love to go hit a bucket of balls with you.” I thought about my girlfriend. “I don’t want to split up though, so is it okay if Paige comes with?”

“Does she play?” He looked surprised.

“I don’t know, I’ll have to ask.”

“She might not want to. Golf isn’t really a girl’s game.”

I looked at Grandma looking at him, and wisely decided that the conversation would end right there. She was shaking her head.

“You old chauvinist. They have a whole brand new category among golfers called ... wait for it ... women. We even have our own association, the LPGA.” I found out where Dad had learned that whistle as she put her fingers in her mouth and blew. Paige looked up at the interruption.

“Yes, Grandma?”

“Tim and Lionel are going to go hit a bucket of balls and Tim wanted to know if you’d like to join them?”

That piano lid slammed down. “Sure, give me five minutes to change and I’ll be ready.” She ran from the room, pausing on the landing. “Are you coming too, Grandma?”

“No, I left my clubs at home. You three have fun.” She went back to her knitting.

Something occurred to me. “You tried to set me up with that crack about women.”

“Just keeping things lively, Boy.”

I couldn’t believe that I hadn’t seen Paige’s clubs before when I had been in the garage. It must have been a matter of seeing only what I expected to see. I opened the gate on the Tahoe, loading them when she handed them to me. Grandpa handed me Dad’s set to load for him. He explained, when Paige was confused that we were only taking two bags.

“Tim just took up the game when you kicked him out of the house ten days ago.”

“Ooh, a neophyte,” she crowed, climbing in on the passenger side, ‘Sporty Paige’ not needing any courtesy to help open her door. “This is going to be so much fun.”

“Girl,” Grandpa told her, “don’t get cocky. Laugh when he’s on the putting green, otherwise just hold judgment.”

He was telling an athletic, competitive, obviously accomplished sport-loving female golfer to not make fun of someone who had spent less than four hours with a club in his hand. Obviously she listened to him. The municipal course was only fifteen minutes away. When we got there, we unloaded and I carried Paige’s bags into the clubhouse. It took me more time to rent my clubs than it did for them to get a couple of buckets of balls.

I walked out to see the previously abandoned right side of the driving range where Grandpa set up, now teeming with Saturday golfers. Well, my girlfriend was standing there in tight golf slacks, a sweater that made sure you knew she was a woman, and a visor for Nike sports on her head. She was pulling on her glove, trying to fend off various offers to provide lessons to her, as I walked up.

“I don’t think my boyfriend would appreciate that,” she told the most persistent of the guys. He looked to be in college, with the confidence that a playa carried with him. He was smart enough to leave us alone when he saw me looming over him.

Still, a playa’s gonna play, “Well, the offer stands.”

“So does the refusal,” she told him.

“Does that happen a lot?” Grandpa wanted to know when the furor had died down.

“Every time, Grandpa. Every time. They usually back off when they see me blasting the ball twenty yards past where their best shots land.”

His eyebrow went up. “What if we put you between the two of us?” He was referring to the middle of the three spots he had claimed and the protection from ogling eyes that we could offer.

“I don’t think so. I’d rather have a body between us when Tim starts hooking it. As big as he is, I bet it hurts when you get hit by a ball he mishandles.” She looked like she was waiting for Grandpa to confirm that.

“Okay. I guess you know what you’re doing.” He walked over to me where I was setting up. “First two shots don’t count, Tim. I want you to shank it into the netting.” He pointed to the netting to my right.

“How do I do that?”

“Step a little closer to the ball and hit it with the heel of the club where the face meets the shaft. That’ll send it into the net.”

Paige stopped to watch what I was doing. She let the first ball fly without comment, but she couldn’t help herself as I lined up on the next one. “You’re crowding the ball. Back up a little.”

I did, and then extended my arms a little more than felt natural, bringing the heel into contact again. Just like the first shot, it flew into the netting.

“No. Let me show you.” She abandoned her station, bringing her driver with her to where I was standing. She addressed the ball, telling me to step up behind her as she got into position. “Now, extend your arms along mine, and I want you to feel how relaxed my stance is.”

There was a collective groan from the rest of the guys warming up as I did what I was told. I turned my head, big grin ready, and gave them a wink. The groans got louder.

“What are you doing back there?”

“Nothing.”

“I bet. Okay, I’m going to take a gentle swing, and you’re going to follow my arm motions.”

I had no idea if this was how you’re supposed to teach golf, and I suspected not, but I was willing to learn from her. She began her backswing, and I had to duck a bit which put my head at the same level as hers. I got a naughty urge and gave in to it, blowing gently on her neck just as she was about to contact the ball. Predictably, she hooked it.

“You jackass,” I was told in the most loving way possible. “Now it’s your turn.”

When Paige moved in behind me to check my lines, Grandpa stopped her. “He’s a little wild at first. Maybe you should give him some room.” She did as suggested while he stepped up and tapped my shoulder.

“Half strength,” he whispered. My nod was barely perceptible.

Address the ball, shoulders back, head down, feet perpendicular to where I wanted the shot to go, easy swing and contact. I brought my head up to see my ball flying toward the 100 yard sign. It bounced then rolled up to the 125.

“That’s good,” Paige told me. “Over time you’ll develop power and distance. Watch me and you’ll see how I do it.” I, along with everyone except the guys at the other end who were too far away, watched as Paige hit a wood so it landed between the 200 and 250 signs, eventually rolling up to the latter. Heads went back down to concentrate on their shots when she looked around.

Grandpa tapped again. “Keep sandbagging her and you may get her to drape herself on you for your next lesson.”

Another half power shot resulted in the same distance. I hit the sign this time. Grandpa leaned back in. “Were you trying to do that?”

Small nod. He pointed at the 75. “Hit that.” He handed me a five iron. “If you keep the club face down a bit, you can reduce the loft.”

I did what he told me, hitting a low screamer that skimmed over the sign he told me to aim for.

“Take it easy, Boy. Don’t make her suspicious.”

I kept my voice low, “Like me hitting the signs that you point at won’t do that all on its own?”

“Well, you may have a point. Golf casual.” He had obviously seen the Star Wars trilogy.

I had no idea how to do that, but I waited until Paige hit one and was barely lifting her head to watch it, before I smacked a ball into the sign. Everyone on the driving range found out that they made their signs out of painted plywood. It makes a distinctive sound when you hit it with a practice ball. I was all innocence when my girlfriend’s head snapped around.

“Nice shot, Paige. What was that, 200? 250?” I was guessing but it seemed like a safe bet.

She nodded. When she put her head back down, Grandpa pointed at the 150. I angled the club face back a little so I could get more distance while still keeping it low. Paige swung, her head coming up to watch the trajectory of her ball. Whap, smack.

Grandpa was having a hard time not laughing. He gave me a different iron and a challenge – 250. This would be tougher. If I hit that one it would be pure luck. I waited for Paige to set up again. Her club went forward, her head came up, whap ... smack, and Paige was looking right at me. This time Grandpa didn’t bother trying to hold it in.

“You two have been sandbagging me. Tell me the truth, how long has wonderboy here been playing?”

When Grandpa finished laughing he turned palms up to her. “Honestly, he only took it up ten days ago.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not. Wait until you see him putt, then you’ll know I’m telling the truth.”

“Jig’s up, Boy. You might as well show her what you can do.”

“Paige, hand him the driver.”

She stood with Grandpa, her toe tapping impatiently while I teed up. I hadn’t had this club in my hands yet, so I took a couple of practice swings, setting her foot to almost stamping the toes into the turf.

“Okay, here goes. Half power still, Grandpa?”

He carefully didn’t look at the five foot, ten inch tower of annoyance beside him. “Swing for the hills, Tim.”

So I did, hitting it square, keeping my head down, and only looking for the ball once it was in the air. “Where’d it go?”

He pointed to a ball bouncing close to the end of the field. Our female companion had words for us. “You suck! You both suck.”

She returned to her station while Grandpa handed me club after club, telling me to aim for the various signs. I was able to strike the near ones fairly consistently, while the farther away ones were hit-and-miss. He let me strike most of his balls; when we were done, Paige wanted to try putting.

We accompanied her over to the green where she watched and was finally able to laugh at my attempts. She came up to help, realizing I could read the green, but my power was way off, either too little or far too much, usually the latter.

“Okay, you’re gripping the putter like it’s a hammer. Ease up a little. Still too tight.” She thought a moment. “Squeeze it like you’re squeezing...” she looked over at Grandpa, then leaned in to whisper what part of her anatomy I should think I was squeezing, gently. We both blushed, but my grip loosened. “That’s better, Mister.”

“Now, and this is important. That ball,” she pointed toward my feet, “is not a nail. It does not need to be driven through the hole. Try again.”

Loose grip, lined up, fired ten feet past the cup.

“He’s hopeless,” she told Grandpa. “I can’t take him to the golf coach with a greens presence like that.”

“He’ll get better,” Grandpa promised her. “In the meantime, think of how well we could do with him in a scramble tournament.”

A big smile crossed her face at that.

Grandma and Grandpa retired to the sleeping chairs and couch after lunch, leaving Paige and me to clean up and then find various ways to amuse ourselves. We worked together on the detritus from our meal, after which we started a fresh batch of dough rising for bread, to go with whatever supper we ended up making.

Once that task was completed, we retreated to the basement, mainly to escape Grandpa’s light snoring. Paige wanted to talk about the morning.

“So, I got up and Mom said you were outside mowing the lawn. James asked if you had done anything to me that would make you feel nervous or guilty. I told them ‘no.’ What was that all about?”

I was lying down on the comfortable sofa in the gaming area, and Paige had my head and shoulders in her lap, stroking my hair, something she seemed to like doing. I tried to sit up so I could look her in the eyes, but she put a stop to that.

“No way, as long as your head is in my lap I have you hostage. Now answer my question.”

I shrugged as best I could. “Okay, but you’re going to laugh.”

“I’ll try really hard not to,” she promised.

“You know how I pulled away from you last time?”

“Yes. I’m aware of that incident.”

“I’m serious, Paige. If you’re going to make fun of me then I’m not going to tell you.”

She leaned over to kiss my nose. “I’m sorry, I’ll be good.”

“Okay. Well I thought that maybe my need to pull back was caused by intense emotional bonding, and I was worried this morning.”

“Worried about what?”

“Well, mostly worried that if I saw you, I’d pull away, you’d chase, and I’d end up blowing up at you. I really, really never want to go through that again.”

She started laughing.

“Hey, you promised,” I told her, mildly irate. I pulled away, only to have her grab my ears and hold on. Not fair at all.

“Come back here, Timothy Ryan McKenzie.” She gently tugged until I lay back down. “I’m not laughing because I find it hilarious, I’m laughing with relief.”

“Oh?”

“Why do you think you didn’t see me when you got back from the ‘Y,’ or at breakfast, or until you finished the lawn?” Those violet eyes peered into my baby blues.

“I thought you were sleeping in.”

“No. I had the same thought you did, except that I was worried that after last night I’d be needy and put pressure on you, just as you were trying to get some distance so you could recharge. How pathetic are we?”

My hand came up to caress the side of her face. “Not pathetic at all. I love that you were so concerned about my well-being that you hid from me. I did the same to you.”

“That doesn’t sound right. ‘I love you, so I’m going to go away and you won’t see me again.’ Really?” She was smiling though.

“You know what I mean. You’re right, it was stupid. How about, from now on, if I feel myself pulling away, I just tell you that I need some alone time and you give it to me without chasing me down?”

“What if I’m at a low point and need reassurance?”

“Well, then I guess we just break up on the spot.” At one time in my life, I would have looked at her with a little annoyance, now I simply smiled. “We work through it, Sweet Pea. You give me the space I have to have, and I provide reassurance to you when you need it.”

“You won’t think less of me or feel that I’m trying to nag you?”

“No,” I tried to reassure her, “I believe you have depths of strength to you that mean I won’t be reminded of things without reason, and you’ll know that even at your lowest point, I’ll still love you.”

Grandma found the dough that Paige and I had left to rise on the counter, shaping it into loaves and setting it to rise again once it was nestled into the pans. I was really coming to love that about the family we were creating – members pitched in to help each other. We baked the bread when it was time for it, and later, after it had cooled, we sliced it, putting meats and cheeses and sandwich fixings on the island.

The four of us dragged chairs around that centerpiece, made our own creations, and ate there without need for anything more formal. It was a lot of fun! Even Grandma, who was initially scandalized by my spur-of-the-moment improvisation, ended up getting into it.

“Tim, Paige, you two are amazing, and you bring so much joy into my life.”

“Our lives, Candace,” said Grandpa who had been smiling silently throughout the meal.

“Our lives. I’m going to love living here with you, and I’m only going to leave reluctantly. You make my days brighter, and I hope you do that every day while we’re here.”

“Way to not put pressure on the kids to perform, Candace.” He looked at us, adding, “What she means is we love the two of you.”

“I don’t need you to interpret for me, Lionel.” She gave him a cross look before smiling again. “What he said.”

The following week was quiet. I asked Paige for some space on Thursday, we found each other again Friday, culminating in a visit to Grandpa’s shop for another dance lesson, and we spent part of Saturday just chilling. Dad finally got around to taking his F 350 with the flatbed trailer to the equipment dealer where we ended up getting a used Bobcat skid-steer machine and a riding mower, so that grass could be cut at an expedited rate.

At home, we unchained the skid-steer and carefully drove it down the trailer ramps onto the asphalt. Paige was provided with a few minutes of instruction by Dad, after which he let her maneuver the construction equipment up and down the drive several times. It reminded me of when I had learned on a similar vehicle. When she was finished with her first lesson, there was the admonition from Dad that she was never to operate it unsupervised, at least until she gained a certain level of proficiency. She looked a little perturbed by that restriction.

The riding mower had me excited though. I now no longer had to put in a significant amount of effort with the hand mower, and I spent a lot more time cutting the grass that first day we had it than was absolutely necessary. Paige was even given the opportunity to operate it when Dad insisted she have a chance; she proved to have a little better touch than I did. Oh well, no one said she was perfect.

When the large expanse of grass had been mown with the bigger cutter, the push mower was let out of the garage along with the edger, and the more tedious part of the job began. Paige surprised me again, coming over to ask which job she should do – mowing or edging. I glanced at the two gas-powered devices.

“Why don’t you take the edger, Paige,” I suggested, gesturing to the purring implement. “It’s easier to push around and I’d bet almost anything that you’ll edge a straighter line than I would.”

We got her fitted out with safety goggles and hearing protection, and then she went to town on the lawn. I was right, she kept a straighter line than I would have, and she did it with finesse. I looked over at her occasionally and had to smile to myself at the glimpse of her tongue gripped lightly between her teeth as she concentrated on the job she was doing. She finished before I did and was waiting for me in the garage after I had dumped the last bag of clippings onto the compost heap.

“So what now?”

I saw that she had used the broom to brush debris off the edger and had found the rags we used to wipe it down. I inspected the job she had done and was extremely satisfied with the results she had obtained. “Well, now you go inside and relax unless you want to hang out with me for a little bit longer while I clean up here.”

To her credit, it wasn’t a difficult decision to make. “I’ll wait for you.” She watched me begin my last task.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” I said, preoccupied with sweeping the grass clippings out of the garage.

“Why did James say that I needed to be supervised on the Bobcat?” Her voice was even and not accusatory, so it told me that she really wanted to know and wasn’t looking to bust my chops over this.

“I suspect it was because those machines can get away from you in a hurry, and he didn’t want to have to explain to your mother how he let you get hurt because of his carelessness.” I caught her nodding at my answer.

“Okay, that makes sense,” she said, then paused. “Did he give you the same restrictions when you were learning?”

I laughed, thinking back to the first time I had driven a skid-steer. I was probably ten, it was a completely flat worksite, Dad lectured me on its operation for fifteen minutes before he let me start it up, and then he stood in the cab with me as I slowly drove it around. “No, for me it was a lot worse. Of course, I was just ten years old at the time and he made me promise to keep it a secret from Mom until he could figure out how to let her know that he was endangering my life like that.”

She laughed. “And how long did that secret last?”

“Oh, until about supper that night. When I spilled the beans, Mom was angry at first, but I think it was because she was scared for me. When she realized how much fun I had being on-site with Dad and being allowed to drive his equipment, she relented. I think she also decided that he loved me as much as she did and he wasn’t going to be irresponsible when it came to my safety.”

She saw that I was finished with my chores, came up and hooked her arm through mine. “Thank you for explaining. Now, get inside and use the shower; you need to go first since I want a bath.”

As for me, I was interested in having an explanation before I went to clean up. “Let me ask you a question before I go in.”

She looked at me quizzically for a minute before assenting. “Fine, but be quick about it. I really want to hit the tub.”

I smiled. “You looked like you weren’t too happy with Dad back there. What made you change your mind?” I asked for two reasons: I wasn’t interested in a mercurial relationship, and I was curious.

Her lips pursed, her expression serious for a moment. “I decided that it wasn’t worth getting upset over. You and your dad have so far shown that you generally have good reasons for doing things. I decided to hear James out, and it made sense. Now that you’ve told me your story too, I can see that I’m not being penalized or my contributions minimized because of my gender or age. I can respect that.” Her eyes were open to me, asking if that was enough of an explanation.

I pulled her close, sharing some of my manly scent with her and causing paroxysms of coughing. “Thank you.”

“Get in there and take your shower.”

As I may have mentioned, Paige was on the Lady Wildcats golf team which meant that she spent weekday afternoons on the links. Despite my ability to hit the long ball, I was never extended an invitation to join the team; whether that was because of my poor end-game or Paige’s desire to have space to herself separate from me was a tossup. I didn’t begrudge the time we spent apart as it was beneficial to both of us. I used my free afternoons to help Grandpa with the new house he was building, beginning February first.

That reminds me – we had much the same crew available to join us to move Grandma and Grandpa’s belongings, splitting their worldly goods between storage and my new home as Grandma directed. Once again, it was a Saturday and once again Trent handled the labor logistics to offset Paige’s blanket invitation to all her girlfriends. I made converts of those still ignorant of the distinction between pizza and pies.

After she moved in, Grandma laid claim to my kitchen, although I made sure that she knew she was a temporary tenant and that I retained rights to use it as I saw fit. She loved me, so she didn’t kick up too much fuss. Still, it was nice to have her fried chicken, (with Seattle enhancements) once in a while. She said she liked my cedar plank salmon too, but as they hadn’t been big fish eaters prior to our arrival in Georgia, I wasn’t one hundred percent convinced of that.

February was moving right along until Valentine’s Day. That was when, at breakfast, Paige confounded many of my plans.

“What does James have in store for my mom tonight?”

Really? We’re guys. We don’t typically share that kind of stuff.

“I have no idea,” I told her between bites of Captain Crunch.

Somehow she managed to insert her face between my spoon and my mouth. “Not good enough McKenzie. I asked Mom this morning what they were doing tonight, and she started crying.”