Home At Last Chance (Last Chance #2)(22)
Author: Hope Ramsay

I love you,

Uncle Pete

Tulane’s voice faltered, and he had to take a couple of deep breaths before he made a total sissy of himself. Around him, the room had gotten so quiet that you could hear the traffic outside on Palmetto Avenue.

He sat there, his hands shaking, his eyes watering up, and the lines of writing blurring. What the hell.

“Damn it.” The curse came from Stone, who stood up in the back of the room. “I swear, Tulane, if you do what Uncle Pete asks, I will never speak to you again.” And with that, his oldest brother—the strong, silent ex-marine who avoided losing his cool at all costs—got up and stomped from the room like the world had just come to a freaking end.

“Well, for what it’s worth,” Elbert said as he also got to his feet, “I don’t want your charity. So you can just take your money and shove it sideways.”

And Elbert, dressed today in a pair of black jeans and a black T-shirt with the words “You Think It’s Hot Here?” printed on its front, turned and followed Stone out the door. Momma said a cuss word that Tulane was pretty certain she had never, ever uttered before in her entire life and that the FCC would have condemned if said over the airwaves. Momma ran after Daddy. Then, Aunt Arlene burst into tears and followed after them both, while Cousin Alex slunk from the room.

Clay stood up and slapped Tulane on the back. “Well, if you decide to help Daddy out, I won’t blame you. But I sure do wish you wouldn’t. It’s time to put a stake in the heart of Golfing for God.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” Jane said as she stood and came to Clay’s side. She gave Tulane a sober look. “You do exactly what Pete told you to do. That’s a dying wish, and you really don’t want to mess around with the universe when it comes to stuff like that. It would be really bad karma not to do what Pete asked you to do.”

Jane was not exactly a Christian, which was something the family was coming to terms with. But since Jane was one of those sweet, optimistic people everyone naturally loved, she got a big pass on her particularly weird brand of spirituality.

“Besides,” she continued, “Golfing for God is a special place that should be preserved. Something miraculous happened at that place the day Woody West tried to kill me. And I still feel responsible for what happened out there.”

“Little gal,” Clay said, “if you and me are going to settle in this town, it just might be best if we let the place go to the kudzu. I mean, you have no idea the crap our kids will take if we let that place go back into business.”

“Clay, shame on you. I’m not going to listen to this nonsense. You’re the Christian. Can’t you see how Golfing for God is a wonderful place to teach children about the Bible?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Well, I’ve said all I’m going to say on the subject.” And with that, Jane turned and strode out of the office.

“Aw, c’mon, darlin’…” Clay called after her as he followed, his black Stetson in his hand.

“Well, that went well, didn’t it?” Rocky said as she stood up. “Boy, Tulane, I sure wouldn’t want to be in your shoes.” She gave him a little peck on the cheek. “Gotta run; I have to call the senator. He’s up in arms over some English lord who wants to buy land in South Carolina to put up a factory.”

She turned and left him standing there all alone with Pete’s letter in his hand. As usual, Rocky had not taken sides. That was Rocky’s particular talent. She would straddle every argument and when the going got tough, she would disappear. Rocky was real good at running. Hell, she’d run so far that she’d lost her good-ol’-girl wardrobe and even changed her name.

He backhanded the tear that managed to escape his suddenly streaming eyes. He was utterly alone with this dilemma, and no matter what he did, someone would be unhappy with him.

It occurred to him right then that the least of his problems was having to race on Sunday wearing a pink bunny suit.

Sarah stared down at what passed for a green salad at the Kountry Kitchen Café—iceberg lettuce, a few cherry tomatoes, and buttermilk ranch dressing.

“You should have ordered the pulled pork sandwich,” Hettie said.

Sarah looked up from the less than appetizing fare in time to see Hettie cut her barbecue sandwich with a knife and fork. “I’m trying to lose some weight,” Sarah said.

“Aren’t we all? To tell you the truth, I don’t usually indulge. But I’m in the mood today.” Hettie conveyed a dainty bite to her mouth, chewed it politely, and then closed her eyes and let forth a wicked groan of pleasure.

Sarah suddenly wished she had ordered the pulled pork, too.

“I declare,” Hettie said on a sigh. “Fred Carter sure does know how to make barbecue. I should come here more often.”

“Well, we’d sure like to see you more often, Miz Hettie.” This pronouncement came from the waitress, a curvy woman in her middle thirties with dark hair. She was waiting on a full house of men in work shirts and John Deere hats, all of whom seemed to be eating barbecue.

The waitress refilled Hettie’s coffee cup, then turned toward Sarah. “I’ve been dying to ask you. Are ya’ll that woman who works with Tulane that everyone’s been talking about?”

Sarah forced a smile to her face. “Yes, I’m Sarah.”

“Hey, I’m Ricki.” Ricki leaned in with a little wink. “For what it’s worth, honey, I think it’s a hoot that Tulane’s sponsors sent a woman to keep that boy in line. How you making out?”

“Fine,” Sarah said in her best this-is-none-of-your-business Boston voice. Luckily, a big dude at the corner table called Ricki by name and demanded a coffee refill, so the waitress scurried away.

“Don’t mind her. She’s just jealous. She’s got a thing for the Rhodes boys. Almost had Clay, too, but she messed it up. She’s after Dash Randall now, but I don’t think Dash is interested.”

“Is this all you talk about here in Last Chance? I mean, Jane told me last night that I’ve been the subject of gossip for weeks, and I only spent one night in Last Chance before Pete’s death. Isn’t there anything else happening in this town?”

Hettie sat up a little straighter in her chair and managed not to look very happy. “No, as a matter of fact, there is nothing very interesting happening in this town. So it’s only natural folks are going to gossip about you, especially since Millie and Thelma have led everyone to believe that Miriam has handpicked you for Bill.”

“I’m not interested in Bill,” Sarah said.

“You aren’t?” Hettie put her fork across her plate, and Sarah swore that she sounded relieved.

“Nope, I am most definitely not interested in Bill. I’m working on being a success in business, not someone’s wife.”

“Probably a good plan,” Hettie said. “So, where to next?”

“You really don’t have to chauffeur me around, you know. I could probably borrow Rocky’s car.”

“Hmm, that’s true, but then I’d have to go home, and I don’t want to go home. So, where to next? We’ve covered the funeral home, the dry cleaners, and the florist.”

“Caterers?”

Hettie snorted politely. “This is a Southern funeral. Caterers are redundant.”

“Okay, then, how about taking me to Golfing for God?”

Hettie startled. “Why would you want to go there?”

“To see it up close.”

“It’s not in business anymore, thank goodness.”

“Thank goodness? Why do you feel that way?”

“Well, it’s just that it’s… well…” Hettie exhaled deeply, probably so she wouldn’t blurt out something unpleasant. “You wouldn’t understand,” she finally said. “You’re not from around here.”

“Okay, try me. Explain to me why Tulane is so ashamed of that place.”

“Golfing for God is a mini-golf place with holes depicting Bible stories. It’s pitiful. It’s an eyesore. It’s a stereotype of what we in the South would rather not be about.”

Sarah dug in her purse and pulled out a ten-dollar bill. She slapped it on the counter. “You know, everyone around here says that, but I’m just not getting it. It’s a funny idea, I’ll admit that, but it’s also an idea that has a lot of marketing potential. Family values are hot these days, you know.”

“Marketing potential? Are you crazy? What do you want to do—bring Northerners down here to laugh at us?”

Sarah shook her head. “No. I’d like to see people of all kinds coming to your town to play the course. It’s quirky, I admit, but it’s fun. And it could put this town on the map.”

“Fun?”

“Have you ever played the course?”

A little blush colored Hettie’s alabaster cheeks. “Well, of course, when I was little.”

“And…?”

Hettie gave a little shrug. “It was fun. When I was six. I’m older than that now. You don’t need to see the golf course. Really, we would just as soon that place didn’t exist.”

“But I do need to see it. Sooner or later people are going to find out what Tulane’s father does for a living. And I need to be prepared. And the best way to be prepared is to go and see the place up close and personal.”

Hettie guided her little silver car into the gravel parking lot of Golfing for God. She killed the engine and gazed through the windshield. “So, here it is, in all its glory.”

“Thanks for bringing me,” Sarah said.

“Oh, I’m just waiting for the moment when you realize how horrific this place is.”

Sarah stepped out of the car and onto the gravel in her dress shoes. She tottered over the uneven ground toward the wreckage of what had once been a large statue of Jesus.

“You know,” Hettie said as she followed across the gravel in her equally impractical shoes, “have you thought that maybe Tulane is right—that this part of his life is best kept secret?”

“He doesn’t have a choice. Tulane is a celebrity now. He won’t be able to keep his secrets for long. Sooner or later, someone is going to figure out that his father owns this place.”

“Poor Tulane, he’ll be so embarrassed.”

“I’m sure he will be. But maybe I can help him minimize the damage.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m here. I’ve got to figure out a way to make sure that when National Brands consumers learn about this, it won’t affect diaper sales.”

“My goodness, that’s pretty cynical, isn’t it?”

“I guess it is. But it’s my job.”

Sarah turned and inspected the path that led to the golf course. The walkway resembled a scene from a war zone. The older-growth pines lining the walk were charred. Kudzu had invaded the space, crawling over the blackened tree trunks and crowding the walkway. The aroma of burned wood hung on the air.