From: Dwayne Spencer
Subject: Re: Off-campus PE form
Miss Perkins,
If you are unable to turn in a signed form stating you have met the requirements for the class, you will be short of what the state requires for you to graduate. Since we are a public institution, I would be unable to make any exceptions. This is the risk you run when you decide to take a class off-campus.
Sincerely,
D. Spencer
God, could he be any colder? And now I’m really panicking. It’s only seconds before I’m pulling my car out into the street, headed for the public golf course nestled deep in the middle of an old neighborhood not far from mine where our class met on Tuesdays and Thursdays during the semester.
The sky is crystal blue and we’re in that really small patch of time where it’s warm out but the humidity doesn’t feel like you’ve walked into a wet, hot blanket. So it’s no surprise the parking lot is completely full. For the next couple of weeks, this place will stay packed from sunup to sundown.
This course has seen better days, but it is well loved for its location. All the newer, fancier courses, especially the one that was completed last year right outside of town, require a hefty membership and certain social standing to feel comfortable.
This one is as low-key as it gets.
I pull in the back where the employees park, since I’ll only be here a few minutes.
There’s a groundskeeper in the small garage where old golf carts go to die. He’s piling landscaping tools into a trailer attached to one of those side-by-side vehicles. The smell of gasoline and freshly cut grass permeates the air, and the patch on his grease-stained uniform saysMitch.
“Excuse me, I’m looking for Coach Cantu?”
The man’s brow creases like he doesn’t know who I’m asking for.
“The golf pro here. Coach Cantu,” I repeat.
Mitch’s face lights up. “Oh, you mean John! Yeah, he’s not here,” he says, then turns his back to me to grab another piece of handheld equipment.
I try to swallow down my frustration. “Do you know when he will be back?”
Mitch stops and looks up as if the answer is somehow written on the cobwebbed ceiling. “Well, I think he’s gone.”
“Gone? What do you mean, gone?” I can’t keep the panic from crawling into my voice.
“He doesn’t work here anymore. We had a cake on Friday to say our good-byes. Chocolate.”
The floor is sucking me in. “Do you know where he went? Is he still in town?”
“Maybe check with Susie. She probably knows.” He tilts his head toward the front office, shrugs, and gets back to work.
I race inside and make a beeline for the woman at the counter, prepared to do whatever I have to so I can get a clear answer when I repeat the same questions to her.
Susie flinches as if in pain. “I’m right here. No need to yell. He’s the pro at Ellerbe Hills now. Not sure when he’s starting over there, though.”
“Can you give me his number?” It feels like my knees are about to give out.
She’s shaking her head. “Sorry, I can’t give out employees’ numbers.”
“But you said he’s not an employee here anymore.”
By her look, she doesn’t appreciate the reminder. “But hewas.”
We stare at each other long enough for it to be clear she’s not budging, so I leave and walk numbly back to my car.
I’m sitting at the kitchen table, staring out the window that looks onto the driveway and the side of the neighbor’s house.
