Chapter 26
Twenty-Six
J.P. opened the door of the garage that, from the outside, looked like a smaller version of Mr. Cunningham’s beach front monstrosity on Marlin Manor.
Mr. Cunningham didn’t drive expensive cars, own a yacht, or take lavish international holidays but he spared no expense when it came to his “coastal cottage.” Outsiders or the envious labeled the compound as pretentious and wondered who would need a home of such luxury and extravagance.
But those who knew Mr. Cunningham and his lifestyle admired and viewed the estate as they did him—a pillar of the community.
Mr. Cunningham was the wealthiest man on Hilton Head, possibly in all the Lowcountry, and the only thing bigger than his bank account and business smarts was his heart.
He donated more money than he could spend and was hands-on in all his philanthropic endeavors.
Several weeks of the year he invited visitors to stay at his home for a much-deserved vacation.
He would host veterans who recently returned from deployment; single mothers who worked full time while also going to school to earn a degree, along with their children and a team to provide childcare; nuns from the Order of the Immaculate Heart of Mary who served in the Diocese of Savannah and foster children who struggled to survive in an overcrowded system.
Mr. Cunningham was well-traveled and well-educated and used his inherited privilege and wealth to better the lives of the less fortunate.
He had doormats at every entrance, of which there were many, inscribed with the words Is E Mo Theach Do Theach meaning My House is Your House in Gaelic.
The only price to pay for lodging was to commit to doing something kind for another, every day without fanfare.
With Cliff on his heels, J.P. rolled the two-wheeled kayak trolley to the center of the garage and lifted two blue, sit-on-top kayaks from the storage rack that hung on the wall.
He wondered if Kenny had ever seen this kind of cart before.
He strapped the first kayak to the trolley and secured an oar under two bungee cords that were fastened to the front and the back ends of the boat.
He scooped up two purple and green zip up life jackets from a large plastic storage bin with his right forearm and pulled the trolley out of the garage, over the crushed oyster shell and concrete driveway, and down the private beach walk.
Cliff darted for the water as soon as his paws hit the sand.
It was a rare day when J.P. didn’t have to be at the clubhouse for an early morning lesson or tee time and today was one of those days.
Which meant he took advantage and slept in, leaving Cliff with more pent-up energy than usual for this time of day.
He ran in and out of the water with abandon and only stopped for quick breaks to scratch his back.
J.P. didn’t always encourage Cliff to jump the waves and roll around in the sand-—he loved Cliff, not the smell of ocean wet dog—but didn’t mind when they were staying at or passing by the compound.
Mr. Cunningham didn’t have a dog of his own but installed a stainless steel dog grooming tub next to the outdoor shower for humans.
At first glance, it could be mistaken for an industrial sized Weber grill-smoker combo.
Upon closer inspection, there was no denying it was the equivalent of a car wash for pets.
J.P. had time to spare before Kenny arrived, so he dropped the trolley and life jackets a few feet from the water’s edge, took off his shirt, and walked into the ocean until the waves reached his knees.
The temperatures hovered in the eighties.
He didn’t remember September waters being so warm; but then he didn’t remember the last time he took a few hours to enjoy the ocean.
He took Cliff for walks on the beach almost daily, but he rarely took time to enjoy the water.
J.P. continued to walk until his waist was submerged and, without thinking, dove headfirst into the waves.
He bobbed up and down for a few minutes and when he turned around to face the shore, he saw Cliff pacing back and forth at the water’s edge, frantically barking in J.P. ’s direction.
This dog J.P. laughed to himself.
“I’m coming, Buddy! Look, I’m fine!” J.P. yelled, waving his hands in the air as he waded in the water and closer to shore to appease his panicked pup.
J.P. had a hard time admitting it to himself or anyone else, but his life while he was on the tournament circuit had been a lonely one.
There was a fellowship among competitors, an inherent appreciation and respect that everyone shared a similar existence—eat, sleep, golf, repeat—with the common goal of becoming the next Tiger Woods or Phil Michelson.
The golfers bonded over the free breakfast buffets and talked about Sports Center which seemed to always be on the television during prime workout time in the hotel gyms. They’d share nightcaps in the lobby lounges to commiserate about poor performances and occasionally grab a meal at one of the restaurants recommended by the locals in whatever city they were competing.
But the lifestyle made it hard to maintain meaningful relationships.
Tournaments lasted days at a time and often ran consecutive weeks, making the dating scene difficult.
Most women J.P. was attracted to wanted something more than on-again, off-again flings when he happened to be available.
Even when he was physically present, he wasn’t always mentally.
He knew that his drive to succeed ruined a few potentially good romantic relationships, but it was a price he was willing to pay for his dream career.
He missed holidays with family and reunions with friends during the years he dedicated to the Korn Ferry Tour to earn his PGA Tour card.
And since giving up on his aspiration of qualifying for The Masters, he was content living the bachelor life on Sea Pines.
After parting ways with his swing coach, mental coach, and trainer, J.P.
’s relationship with Cliff was the most time-consuming and accountable one he had in years.
Cliff sprung up J.P.’s hips on his hind legs like a pogo stick when the trusty owner emerged from the water. J.P. laughed and enjoyed the attention and affection he didn’t realize he was missing.
“Come on, Cliff. Let’s get you up to the house before Kenny gets here. Your little heart wouldn’t be able to handle seeing both of us in the water,” J.P. said as he removed the kayak from the trolley and pulled it back up the beach to collect the second one.