Chapter 5
5
CHAMPION GOLFER OF THE YEAR
Lana
Pulling down her beanie over her ears, Lana wished it was cold enough to justify wearing earmuffs so she could drown out the noise from the massive crowd attending the final round of the Women’s British Open on this wet and dreary last Sunday of August. Especially the thousands seated in the gallery and scattered around the 18 th green, showering the world number one golfer, Kelly Danor, with hoots and shouts of praise for her excellent second shot onto the green. From her view three hundred and fifty-four yards away on the 18 th tee, Lana estimated Kelly’s ball to have settled around ten feet from the hole.
Lana deliberately averted her gaze from the huge scoreboard by the green. No need to see it. She was well aware of where she stood on the leaderboard—tied for the lead with the Olympic gold medal winner and newest Hall of Fame inductee, Lynda Yo, who had finished her round two groups ahead.
She was also aware of the stakes. Her first win after nearly two years of placing high enough to qualify for all the tournaments she wanted to enter. Her first-ever major championship, the last of the five and the one she coveted the most. Only the third woman to earn a victory at the Home of Golf. Top five in the world rankings. Winnings of more than 1.4 million dollars, a record-breaking amount. All within her grasp, depending on how she tackled the final hole, named Tom Morris.
Mitch shifted closer to her and said in a low voice, “Birdie ties the clubhouse lead. By no means a gimme.”
Lana looked up at her caddie, who looked so ruggedly handsome despite the unsightly bib covering his muscular torso, and felt all her worries whoosh out of her. The birthday boy. Turned twenty-five today and free of the curse at last. They’d celebrate tonight. And every night afterwards.
He made all the difference in her game. Through the most brutal conditions she’d ever played in—which included miserable sideways rain, unpredictable wind speed, unreadable greens, patience-testing slow play, and sometimes unbearable chill—Mitch had steered her around the course with the minimum of mistakes. After seventy-one holes, she’d successfully avoided all one hundred and twelve bunkers all week and never scored worse than a bogey. Best. Caddie. Ever.
And best lover too.
Warmth spread through her at the memory of their reunion when she’d surprised him with her arrival from Paris after she won silver at the Olympic Games. They barely left his bedroom for three days in their attempt to make up for six months of separation. If she hadn’t had to practice and acclimatize herself to the most unusual summer weather she’d ever experienced—almost like the winter weather when she was last here—she was sure they’d still be locked in there until the tournament started.
“Lana?”
So deep was she in her musings, Lana didn’t realize she hadn’t reacted to his statement. She glanced at the green where the highest ranking South Korean golfer was finishing up her tournament at a possible sixth place. “Kelly will make it. She’s eighty-four percent from that distance.”
A complete, almost eerie hush fell over the entire course. All the attention was on the twelve-time winner who held a three-shot lead after thirty-six holes only to falter on yesterday’s third round and ended up in the penultimate group instead of the final pairing.
Lana had been six shots back, but she’d surged into contention on Saturday with a bogey-free five-under sixty-seven that had given her a slim one-shot lead over her Filipino-Japanese friend Susi Yoko, and two over the world number one.
Cheers erupted as the birdie putt dropped and Kelly gave an emphatic fist-pump. Three-way tie at the top.
This is it. Three strokes or fewer to win the championship.
Having birdied the previous hole, Susi had the honors, so Lana and Mitch moved to the side to discuss their strategy as quietly as possible.
While the conditions had been different in the last three days, Lana had birdied the 18 th hole every time. With the rain stopping and a sliver of sun peeking through the clouds, today should yield another good score.
The driving tactic off the tee had been consistent—aim at the clock face on the side of the clubhouse of The Royal and Ancient Golf Club. Every golfer she knew used it because it was highly effective except for instances of a mishit or a rogue wind changing direction.
Lana had other plans for today. “I’m aiming for Old Tom,” she told Mitch, in reference to the statue of the golfing giant up the hill a few yards to the right of the clock.
His brows furrowed slightly and she understood why. If she pushed it, her ball could go out of bounds. Goodbye first major. Hello choker allegations.
“You’re going for it.” A statement, not a question. He knew her already.
She nodded in the direction of the putting green beside the Old Pavilion where Lynda was practicing in preparation for a possible playoff and talking with a falconer. The predatory bird let out a harsh cry.
“Aah.” Mitch nodded. He gazed at her with so much trust and love, she could weep with joy. “Soar to the sky, Iolana Aguilar. You got this, my royal eagle.”
Polite applause greeted Susi’s drive, which landed safely in the middle of the wide fairway. Silence reigned as Lana stepped up to the tee and prepared to hit her final drive. She looked to the sky to send up a short prayer to the gods of her parents’ religions and to the ancestors before taking a deep breath and launching the ball with all her might.
It took only a few seconds, but to her, everything played in slow motion. The ball bounced high off Grannie Clark’s Wynd, rolled and rolled past the Valley of Sin, climbed onto the putting surface, and finally stopped five feet past the hole.
The loudest cheers Lana had heard all week erupted around her, but she only had eyes for Mitch. She acknowledged Susi’s and her caddie’s congratulations with a nod and a slight smile while she waited for her partner to take the couple of steps to get to her side.
She held out her left hand to him, the one closest to her heart. An invitation to share her victory walk that he accepted. “Come with me,” she said. The same words from six months ago when she’d asked him to be her caddie for the first time.
He took out a booklet from the side of her golf bag and showed it to her. It had a dark blue, nearly-black cover and a gold royal crest. It said British Passport United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. “Yes,” he said simply, making good on his promise that he would accept when she asked him again.
It was only then that she let out a whoop. She could no longer contain her joy. Her smile grew wider. Her heart was so light, she skipped and waved to the applauding crowd as she and Mitch crossed the Swilcan Bridge together.
When they stood there next, hours after her winning putt had dropped and the awarding ceremony had ended, their hands were joined in lifting the championship trophy. Their lips met in a sweet kiss worthy of a Hallmark movie. The first of many in their long-term partnership in the game of golf and in love.
The End