Chapter 13 #3
“Is it weird that I enjoy this? It’s like origami,” Augie said as she and TC stood at a round, linen-less banquet table, the
bare wood ugly and exposed.
“Not at all. You’re giving us life!” TC said in a cartoonish voice as he dipped the head of his recent fold.
Augie pressed a swan to her cheek, stroking it like a pet.
“So, who do you think will take it all this year?” TC glanced out the west windows toward the eleventh hole.
“I don’t care so long as the happy hour ends at a decent time. They always stay so late. It’s, like, because it’s for charity,
they feel good about drinking all night long.”
“J?gerbombs in the name of a good cause.” TC pulled the last stack of laundered napkins from the plastic wrap. “I think my
money’s on Bill and the manny.”
Augie creased a fold with her thumb, sliding it back and forth until the friction hurt.
“They’ve been playing together nonstop. It seems kind of weird to bring your nanny as a guest, but whatever. As always, the royals do as they shall.”
Augie grabbed another napkin, silent.
“Not that I’m being sexist,” TC continued. “I love the idea of a male nanny. Kid is nice, too. Polite. Maybe I should have
been a manny. You’ve met him, right?”
Augie set her finished swan in the plastic bin, squishing it against the others. “Yeah, here and there with the boys. The
swim meet.”
“He plays hockey, too, you know. Athletic little asshole,” TC joked. Augie knew TC was a big hockey fan, that he even taught
skating lessons in the winter.
“We were shooting the shit the other day at that kids’ golf night, too. I got caught with him and Danika at the bar while
Bill was out there on the Putt-Putt greens, trying and failing to get Cooper to practice. Hate to tell the guy, but I don’t
think they’re gonna be future partners. Maybe that’s why he likes playing with the manny.”
Augie kept her face down but cleared her throat. “You talked to him and Mrs. Crawley?”
“Yeah, it was so funny, the three of us were all talking hockey. Mrs. Crawley was getting kind of drunk, she kept ordering
mojitos, but she was so into it. She knew all about it. All the positions, the different leagues. Even the European rankings.
Wouldn’t have guessed it.”
“European rankings?” Augie looked up.
“Yeah, we were talking about how Chat—that’s his name, right? Weird name. Anyways, we were talking about how he’d hoped to
go pro, play for France Two or Belgium, but he got hurt or whatever. That’s a bummer. That would have been so cool. I wish
I had been even close to good enough to play in Europe.”
“What did Mrs. Crawley say?”
“She was so into it. She was slurring, sure, but all the same. She was telling me all about the import rules, the Optibet
Baltic league, how she’d gone to games in Sweden and Estonia and Norway. I was surprised. Impressed.”
Augie stopped folding. Mrs. Crawley had gone to hockey games in Europe? Wasn’t that where Chat had been trying to play? Maybe
this was why they were so close—was it as simple as bonding over a sport?
“Did she say anything else?”
“Not really. She was pretty out of it by the end. Ah, alas, we’re out.” He crumpled the plastic wrap that had held the clean
napkins into a ball. “We need sixty total, right? Did Aida say there were more in her office?”
“Oh, yeah. I think so. I can go check,” Augie said, suddenly eager to be alone.
As Augie walked down the hall, she imagined Mrs. Crawley and Chat talking about hockey, traveling. She wondered how Mrs. Crawley
had gone from design school in California to gallivanting across Europe. But with money, Augie supposed anything was possible.
Maybe it was a long vacation. Maybe she’d grown up with some hockey-obsessed dad. Augie felt another swirl of jealousy. She’d
never been to Europe. She didn’t know the first thing about hockey. She didn’t know which sports her dad liked.
The office was always a mess, and Augie shoved the door open, fighting a pile of boxes.
It wasn’t Aida’s fault. It was the only place they had within a stone’s throw of the ballroom to store extra place settings and uniforms and votives and the like.
Luckily, Augie spotted the napkins right away.
She stepped over a bushel of fake flowers to grab another plastic-wrapped stack before noticing that Aida’s computer was logged on.
Aida had always told them if they ever noticed she forgot to log off, to please do so immediately. Mr. Dryer was a stickler
about privacy; he’d scolded her for breaching protocol before.
Augie adjusted the napkins under her arm and stepped to the computer, moving the mouse to the bottom left to exit. She paused
before she clicked. Discovering the open computer at this exact moment felt too destined to ignore. And while she looked over
her shoulder, hesitating just so, she sat down.
Augie opened the master file and scrolled to the singular number blaring in her mind: 9119. The Crawleys’ member number.
At first, the spreadsheet of contact information and invoices looked standard, and Augie felt a little regretful as she studied
the columns of numbers, but a second later, she saw something strange—in the notes column were the red capitalized words:
“PAST DUE.” And as she scrolled all the way to the current billing cycle, she saw it was in the negative.
$59,989.43 in the negative.
Augie sat back, blinking, when she heard someone at the door. She rushed to close the page and log off.
As Aida pushed into the office, cursing the mess at her feet, Augie stood up, raised the napkins, and yelled, “Found them!”
It was difficult for Augie to focus after that. She knew she shouldn’t be this obsessed with the Crawleys, but she couldn’t
help it. On top of everything, they were in debt to the Club? More and more, Augie sensed something was awry. More and more,
she wondered how much Chat really knew about them.
Augie wished she could text Leah about what she’d seen, but it felt tone deaf after their previous conversation. Augie needed to apologize first, needed to call her. So, for now, she told herself not to overthink—just lie low and get through the day.
Yet as she and TC finished the swans and returned to the kitchen, Aida raised a set of golf cart keys from her pocket and
instantly, Augie cringed.
“It’s your lucky day. The golf staff is falling way behind.” Aida handed Augie the keys. Usually, everyone coveted the chance
to help drive the snack carts and escape into fresh air, but today, Augie dreaded the thought of running into Chat and Bill
out on the course. As much as she wanted to see Chat, she didn’t want to be cornered with him and his foursome. How awkward.
“Are you sure no one else wants a turn? If Liss wants to drive, I’m fine to stay. Really.”
“What? You love this. And Liss is already out there working the midway station. I swear the pros did a horrible job organizing
this year. Though to be fair, it is record numbers. I don’t trust any of these new kids to drive, either. It’s all you! Have
fun. Start on eleven, please.”
Augie grew increasingly anxious as she made her way to the lower patio, checked that her cart was stocked with beer and Gatorade
(it was impressive and unsettling how plastered these guys could get while still scoring under par), and started the engine.
All she could hope now was that the other carts would hit the Crawley group on their rotation, that they wouldn’t fall to
her. She said a silent plea as she finally pressed the gas.
The first two holes were fine. The men were tipsy already, their colorful polos vibrant in the sun, but they were harmless. Augie handed out Leinenkugel’s and waters and took down numbers with no fanfare.
Augie relaxed a little as she drove. It was gorgeous out there. The breeze pulled at the wisps of her ponytail, the blankets
of grass spread out around her like an alien planet, and light danced off the lake in the distance like sprinkled salt. Still,
everywhere, she searched for Chat.
Another three holes later, Augie thought she might be in the clear when, as she rounded the putting green of hole fifteen,
which practically skimmed Crystal Bay, she spotted Mr. Crawley. Then, to make matters worse, she heard the unmistakable cackle
of Joshua Mike—finally spotting him leaning on his putter dressed head to toe in lime green. Augie held her breath as she
scanned for the rest of their group, confused as she suddenly noticed Wyatt Greene, Leah’s dad. While he and Mr. Crawley were
golf rivals and often paired in the same group, it didn’t make sense he was partnered with Joshua Mike.
Mr. Crawley, Joshua Mike, and Wyatt were gathered on the edge of the green now, peering into the valley between them and the
water, their silhouettes framed by the blue beyond. They had fallen silent, and Augie braked the cart as she heard the light,
hollow clip of a chip, then saw a speck of white arching up across the sky like a spotlight. She focused on the ball as it
landed on the green, rolled to the left, right, and straight into the hole.
Joshua Mike screamed in agony. He fell to his knees, his head tilted back as he raised his hands to the sky.
“How!” he yelled.
“That’s my boy.” Mr. Crawley clenched his fist in an excited uppercut.
“Excellent shot.” His hand unfolded into a high five as Chat appeared from the other side.
He was smiling and wearing a monogrammed white Club hat, tufts of dark hair fighting out above his ears. He pressed his hand to Mr. Crawley’s.
Augie’s heart smacked against her ribs as she waited for the men to notice her. She didn’t want to see any of them—even Wyatt.
While she and Wyatt were close (they always teamed up against Leah and Robin, teasing them on trips about being picky eaters
or jet lagged), it was strange running into him at the Club. He and Robin were always polite, as were the rest of her peers’
parents, but it humiliated Augie all the same.
“You bastard! You’re too good.” Joshua Mike shoved Chat as they walked off the green.