E VA N M A N D E R Y
Chapter 17 ***
W
HEN HE TEED OFF ON SATURDAY, David had regained conscious-
ness. He noticed things again: a chubby volunteer hoisting a “Quiet” sign and urging silence in a voice louder than any of
the fans; a yellow warbler perched in a spruce near the first tee; a man eating a hamburger while his son crouched between his legs and watched the action with an unnoticed dollop of mustard on his head. He noticed Bobby Rancourt’s lean body, a sinewy coil of muscle. Rancourt arrived last, just moments before tee time, striding through the parted crowd with the practiced indifference of royalty. He acknowledged the applause and the schoolgirl giggles of swooning women of all ages with only a subtle nod, a condescending gesture that seemed to say they couldn’t appreciate his greatness and, thus, shouldn’t have the right to watch him play, but he would tolerate their presence so long as they afforded him the proper respect. David offered Rancourt his hand warmly, in the manner one would to an old friend. Though they’d never met before and they were competitors, the tradition of the game, as David had been taught, was that one offered a greeting before embarking on a shared round of golf. “Nice to meet you, Bobby,” he said. Rancourt stared at David as if he were an alien. He pumped once 179