let Mr. Ray know that, though. “No
problem. We got it covered,” I said.
After fighting the bag for the first
20 minutes, adjusting the straps
and then trying to memorize where
each club belonged, we finally got
to the practice green. Jake looked
great, sinking just about every putt.
And then, on the driving range,
where his father still loomed heavily
over my shoulder-how the heck did
he get in there without a pass?-Jake
could not hit a bad shot. I couldn’t
wait until it was time to go.
And then it was. I shook hands
with several folks on the first tee.
I was trying to figure out who was
who. I was able to spot the other
two caddies-they were in shorts. I
wasn’t allowed to wear shorts. My
husband had told me I needed to
wear khaki pants with deep pockets,
of which I had none. So, at 11
o’clock the night before, I’d been in
Wal-Mart getting dress slacks with
pockets-and now I was the only one
in them. Peculiar. I said nothing,
though. I was a good caddy.
The first guy in our group,
Tom Gillis, was called to tee it up.
Swoosh! Right down the middle.
Then came my first mistake-the
clap. “Honey, we don’t clap; we
say good job.” My face was on
fire. And, of course, the other two
caddies immediately knew I was the
ultimate rookie. Doggoneit! Jake
did make up for my embarrassment
when he birdied the hole. Thank
God.
“This is the first time I’ve ever
been under par in a PGA Tour
event,” he said. I smiled and gave
him a gentle hug. Ooops, no wife,
just caddy. It was also the last time
he’d be under par for the event. He
bogeyed the next hole, bringing
him to even par, and leading him
to the worst nine holes ever. And,
another oops, I almost stepped on
his ball in the rough! He thought
that was pretty funny, but I’m sure
he wouldn’t have if I had actually
cost him a couple of strokes.
“There’s too much in your
hands.” “You’re walking too slow.”
“You’re walking too fast.” “No, I’ll
rake the sand.” Now, that really
cheezed me off! Any idiot can rake
sand. I was insulted, but I was cool.
Then, splash. His ball went into the
water, and he had to drop a new one
back into play. When he dropped
the ball, I should’ve been the one
making sure it didn’t fall back into
the water, but the other two players
picked up my slack. “You should’ve
been the one doing that,” Jake said.
But he was very patient with my
mistake. He then introduced me to
one of the other caddies, Rick.
After the round, I told Rick
that I had actually prayed for
one of the other caddies to be
really nice and help me out.
After the round, I told Rick
that I had actually prayed for one
of the other caddies to be really
nice and help me out. He got a
kick out of that. I don’t think I’ll
ever forget him and his Marlboro
Reds. He was definitely a great guy,
and a great caddy too. I told Rick
that I’d never caddied before, and
that I didn’t really play, either. He
actually said I was doing pretty
good. I appreciated his dishonesty.
He helped me out a lot. A couple
of pointers around the green, ways
to help Jake out a little more, where
to put the bag. I’m thankful to him
for saving me lots of grief from my
player.
I certainly didn’t want to cause
any waves with Jake, especially
during those nine holes. This was
not pleasant at all. And then, it
happened. “Don’t try to comfort
me,” he snapped. I had to remember
the promise to Mike. I didn’t yell at
him, but boy, I wanted to!
The tears welled in my eyes. I
was so hurt, thinking things like,
“To heck with this, I’m doing you a
favor. You’d think you’d appreciate
the fact that I’m standing here at
all.” If I’d had a voodoo doll of
him at that point, he would’ve been
jumping. Still, I said nothing. And, I
didn’t cry either. After all, Rick and
Kyle weren’t crying, so obviously,
caddies didn’t cry.
Later that night, Jake told his
sister, “Amber had to bite her tongue
off eight times.” He was right. But
still, I knew I had one more day with
him, anot