Everyone stood still and silent as Eric Somers took the bag from
his caddie, paid the boy, then walked down the 16th fairway. He
had gone about 100 yards when the voices began.
Ive never seen anybody caught cheating!
He walked across the 16th green and cut across the 17th and 18th
fairways to the parking lot. He put his clubs in the back seat of
the old, wood-paneled Wagoneer, got in, and started for home. One
dreaded question wouldnt go away: What is Allison going
It was Labor Day weekend, and summer was over. Last night, they
had packed up everything, and this morning, the au pair had flown
back to Cincinnati with the children. He and Allison were scheduled
to go back this evening. Eric had imagined ordering champagne on
the flight. What better way to celebrate winning the club championship?
He liked the image: flying into the evening sun, winging off in
Ten minutes ago, Allison had walked off the course -- before the
official made his ruling. She had followed the match from the first
hole, part of the crowd of New England Yankees, all dressed in khakis,
summer colors, and straw hats. The older women gathered around Allison
and, between shots, he heard them saying, Oh, this is so wonderful!
You won yesterday, and now Eric can win today! Allison, its
been decades since a husband and wife won the mens and womens
championships! Not since your parents! The Scotts are back on top
-- just like old times!
The Scotts. The great Scotts, he thought. They were everything
here in Catiannet, the wealthiest summer community on Cape Cod.
It was the Scotts who won the golf tournaments and the tennis tournaments,
who threw the best parties and who had the most beautiful daughters.
The three Scott girls had married men so similar-each of them being
tall, square-jawed, and handsome-that one neighbor said she was
pleased that "husbands are finally being genetically engineered."
Good looks, brains, and athletic ability were the entrance requirements
for the Scott family, but once you were in, it was made clear you
were expected to be the best at everything.
Jack had played tennis at Yale, and Mark had crewed on an Americas
Cup boat. So, Eric, whats going to be your sport?
he was asked several times at the wedding reception on the familys
wide, back lawn, overlooking Nantucket Sound.
I was thinking about golf, he lied; having never considered
the question. Most of the responses were hearty, back-slapping enthusiasm
-- except one. Bad choice, someone said, and walked
away without explanation.
(End of excerpt)