Imagining the housekeeper relaxing at the pool, I wonder if I should have a few words with her when we get back.
“Lizzy Anne’s opinion doesn’t mean shit to me.”
“You ought to get a prenuptial. I saw on TV how you need one.”
“Well, if it’s on TV, it must be true.”
“Don’t mock me, boy,” he says, frowning under his goofy, wide hat.
“If I want to piss away my money on a woman I love, what’s it to you or Lizzy Anne?”
“Just looking out for you.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I like Candy,” Baltazar says. “She’s a horrible driver and will probably kill you while you sleep, but I think she’ll make a good mother to your kids. That’ll be important after you’re dead.”
Rolling my eyes, I look at Candy doing circles around the next hole. “Candy is my Gladys. I’ll be happy to die first, so I don’t have to live without her.”
Balthazar frowns at me. He’s probably pissed at me for comparing his precious wife to my future precious wife. Or maybe he thinks it’s strange to see me sentimental. Either way, I park the cart next to Candy’s and climb out.
“My grandpa crashed his cart one time,” Chipper tells me as I carry the club to where the ball rests.
“Old people aren’t great drivers. They’re usually better than your mother, though.”
Candy pokes me with her club and then plays swords with Cricket.
“No, Grandpa was drunk when he crashed.”
“Well, that would do it,” I say, leveling the club with the ball.
Chipper watches me hit the ball and then imitates me when I cover my eyes to see where it landed. Balthazar stands next to me and shakes his head.
“You’re rusty. I best take you golfing more often back in White Horse.”
I smile at his comment before hiding my grin by scratching my beard. Chipper scratches his chin like I did. He follows me around, imitating my every move. Chipper even decides to join me in my cart, and not because he’s afraid of his mother’s driving.
Candy and Cricket have no interest in golfing today. They keep mentioning how much better miniature golfing is and how this course needs more windmills. I consider telling them to wait for us at the hotel if they’re so bored, but the girls have fun goofing around in the cart and acting out scenes from Caddy Shack. At least for the first hour.
“We’re thinking about going back to the park and shop for souvenirs,” Candy says while adjusting my baseball cap. “You and Balthazar can spend quality time alone.”
“What about this little man?” I ask, patting Chipper’s shoulder.
The boy stares at me and then looks at his mother before finally focusing on his sister. He doesn’t know where he wants to go. He likely wants to go with his mom and sister but is afraid to leave my side.
“This kind of golf is pretty boring for a kid your age. Why don’t you go with your mom?” I suggest and then add, “When we get back to White Horse, we’ll go to a miniature golf course. I own one, you know?”
Chipper looks back at Candy. “We’ll go to his miniature golf course when we get home,” he tells her, and I realize the kid is nearly in tears.
Kneeling down, Candy hugs him and whispers something in his ear. He nods and a single tear spills down his cheek. Her fingers tickle at his gut, and he laughs. Just like that, he’s happy again.
“We’ll see you back at the hotel,” she tells me and stands on her tippy toes to kiss me goodbye. “Call me when you’re done here, so we can meet you.”
“Have fun. If anyone messes with you, call me.”
Candy walks to the cart before glancing back with a smile. “It’s Disney World, boss. No one is going to mess with us.”
Sitting next to her brother in the cart, Cricket says, “If they do, I’ll nail them in the balls.”
Before I can respond, Candy speeds away. I watch her make sharp turns and hear the kids screaming in delight. They’re as bad as she is.
“I don’t like her,” Balthazar says after taking his shot and missing badly. “I’ll take the penalty.”
“Why exactly don’t you like her?”
“She hassles Lizzy Anne.”
Picking up the balls, I walk to the cart. “Lizzy Anne’s job is to take care of you. Candy’s job is to make sure Lizzy Anne takes care of you. She stays on her ass, so I don’t have to.”
“She’s too rude about it.”
“That’s how Candy is.”
“No, she’s nice to me. She only gives Lizzy Anne shit,” Balthazar says, sitting next to me.
“She’s only nice to you because she thinks she has to be. Candy is rude to pretty much everyone. She regularly hangs up on people for mumbling on the phone or if they mispronounce my name or a million other reasons. She annoys half of my employees and the other half straight out hate her. Lizzy Anne isn’t special.”
Balthazar says nothing until we stop at the next hole. He’s slow to leave the cart, and I suspect he’s already tired.
“So she’s like a girl version of you.”
“Yeah.”