We’d spent a lot of time at the Kellys’ club that summer, and while Matt and I were in the process of becoming members, we weren’t officially in, so we were charging everything to his parents’ account. Matt didn’t think twice about this, but it made me feel funny. Sometimes we’d see Babs and Charles in the dining room and they’d come over to say hi—Babs thought Jimmy was “a hoot”—and I always felt like we’d been caught stealing from them. Once, I asked Matt about paying his parents back for those dinners, but he just shook his head. “They love when we use the club,” he said, like we were doing them a favor.
That weekend, Matt had insisted on an 8:00 a.m. tee time, “to get the most from the day,” and we were outside the gate at Beekman Place to pick up the Dillons at 7:15, a little bleary with coffee cups in hand. When we saw them coming toward the car, I got out and climbed in the backseat.
“Beth, stay where you are,” Jimmy said, when he saw me. “I’m fine in the back.”
“I’m already here,” I said, shutting the door behind me.
We often rode like this, and it felt weirdly old-fashioned to have the men up front and the women in the back—something grandparents would do—but Jimmy was tall enough that I always felt bad making him squeeze in the back.
“Not necessary, but thank you, sweetheart,” he said as he got in.
Ash placed two large bags between us, one with clothes to change into for dinner and another with a bathing suit and magazines for the pool. “It is hotter than Hades out there,” she said, fanning herself. “I’m glad we decided to only play nine, because I’m already dying to get in the pool.”
In the front, Matt and Jimmy started immediately discussing the interview that Matt had had the week before for a position as the White House liaison for the Department of Education. When he’d first mentioned the interview to me, I’d told him it sounded great and then paused and said, “Although I have no idea what that means.”
He’d laughed, looking happier than I’d seen him in a while, and said, “I doubt anyone really does.”
The job would mean that he was the go-between for the DOE and the White House. It wasn’t a clear upward move—in fact, everyone that Matt talked to agreed that it was probably lateral. But he was excited at the idea of not being in the office all day, of going to meetings, being a part of different projects. “This could be my chance to get involved in policy,” he’d said, and I’d nodded but hadn’t asked him to elaborate. He was pretty sure he was going to be offered the job—Jimmy had asked a friend he had in the Personnel Office, who had insinuated that Matt was as good as hired.
I badly wanted Matt to find a job that he liked so that he would be happy and also so we could stop talking about it. His job search had dominated all of our conversations in the past few months, and it was exhausting. I felt a little ashamed as I settled into the backseat that day, because while I probably would’ve given Jimmy the front anyway, it was just an extra bonus that I didn’t have to be up there, listening as Matt listed the pros and cons of the liaison position for the hundredth time.
—
As we got ready to head out on the course, we noticed that they’d put our clubs on the carts so that my bag was with Jimmy’s and Ash’s was with Matt’s. If this had happened with Bruce and Colleen (or any other couple, really), there would’ve been an awkward moment where we tried to switch the bags without being rude. But that day, we all just jumped into our carts without thinking about it.
“Are we betting today?” Jimmy asked, looking over at Matt and Ash. “You two want to take us on?” I already knew that I was the worst golfer out of the four of us, so this wasn’t a great bet for Jimmy to make.
“Absolutely,” Matt said. “Get ready to lose.”
“Oh, I’ll get ready,” Jimmy said. “I’ll get ready to crush you.” He drove the cart away as fast as it would go, and I saw Ash rolling her eyes at me.
They went ahead of us after the second hole, because we were searching for my ball that had gone sharply left when I wanted it to go straight. When we joined them at the third hole, Matt was bent over and at first I thought he was sick, but as we got closer, I saw that he was laughing helplessly, tears in his eyes.
“Stop,” we heard him say to Ash. “Please stop!”
“What’s so funny?” Jimmy asked, pulling up next to them.
“I was just telling Matt about Hector the pig and how he attacked Daddy’s ankles that one time. Daddy learned the hard way that you should never smack a pig.”
This sent Matt off in a new laughing fit, and when he was finally able to sit up, he had to wipe his eyes. “Jesus,” he said, trying to catch his breath.
His laughter was contagious, and I couldn’t help but join in even though I had no idea what they were talking about.
“Ah, Hector,” Jimmy said, turning to me. “The most famous pig in Texas. He was Ash’s pet growing up, lived in the house like a dog because Lauren Sybil was too allergic to have a pet with any fur.”
“Seriously?” I asked.
“Seriously,” Ash said. “He was a great pig until he turned. Daddy was happy to get rid of him, because we didn’t eat pork while he lived with us, out of respect, of course. Daddy smacked him when he was just a piglet and years later, Hector got his revenge on him. Pigs have a long memory, you know.”