Read No Show for Free Online Page B

mumbled to himself.
    Terry returned his putter to the ticket booth.
    “Well done, you won a free pass,” the attendant said.
    “But the ball came back out.”
    “Well, the bell rang. That makes you a winner in my book.” The attendant put a winner’s pass on the counter. “You won a soda too. Sprite again?”
    “That’s good of you,” Terry said, pocketing his winner’s pass. “Thanks.”
    “You’re welcome.”
    Terry took his soda and found a booth seat in the restaurant area. He scooped out a handful of ice from his soda and massaged it into his neck. His skin was hot and tight. He’d have to get used to putting on sun block. The sun rarely reached this sort of intensity on a regular basis in the UK, where the need for the stuff was for special occasions only.
    “Do you mind if I join you?” The attendant slipped into the bench seat opposite Terry. “Because I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone as miserable as you walk through my doors.”
    There wasn’t a lot Terry could say in reply. His face must have shown it.
    “Sorry,” the attendant apologized. “I suppose I was a bit insensitive there. What I meant to say is you look like you need to get something off your chest.”
    “Is this a service you offer to all your customers?”
    “Nah,” the attendant said, shaking his head. “Most of my clients haven’t gotten past the Harry Potter stage yet. But you, you look like you know your ABCs.”
    “Finished learning them last week.”
    “There you go. See, I knew I could help. That’s a fancy accent you’ve got yourself. What is it? English? Australian?”
    “English.”
    “You’ve come a long way for a game of minigolf.”
    “Feels like it.”
    “So why are you here? I doubt you’re scouting for PGA locations.”
    “No, I’ve just moved here.”
    “Cool, when did you arrive?”
    “Yesterday.”
    “Yesterday. Wow, you did just arrive.” The attendant slurped his soda. “You here on some business gig or something?”
    “No. My wife’s American.”
    “You don’t sound too happy about it.”
    Terry had said
my wife
as if he was recounting how his dog had just died. “Yeah, well.”
    “Oh, I get it. That’s the reason for the long face. Just found out she’s no angel?”
    “No, just haven’t found her.”
    The attendant looked confused.
    Terry told the attendant about Sarah’s no show at SFO, his arrest, Pamela Dawson’s lack of compassion, and Holman’s reluctance to file a missing persons request. Although he wouldn’t have guessed it, it felt good to share his problems with this stranger. It was a lot easier than if he’d confided in a friend. And in shedding a load, he was gaining an ally at last.
    “Wow,” the attendant managed after a long moment. “You’ve done well for being here”—he checked his watch—“less than twenty-four hours. You’re the reason people have to buy insurance.”
    “Some people just have a knack, I suppose. I’m Terry Sheffield, by the way.”
    “I’m Oscar…Oscar Mayer.” Oscar ground out his name like he was reciting a foreign language. “I own this rattrap.”
    “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Oscar Mayer.” Terry offered his hand.
    “The name doesn’t mean anything to you?” Oscar said suspiciously, shaking Terry’s hand.
    “No.” Terry sucked on his straw. “Should it?”
    “You’ve never heard of Oscar Mayer?”
    “You’re the first I’ve met.”
    “Oh, I can see we’re going to be good friends.”

    Around midday, Terry returned home with his new friend’s telephone number and a healthy slice of optimism. Oscar was taking the day off from the Gold Rush tomorrow to act as a guide. Oscar’s offer to help Terry any way he could was unbelievably kind, especially seeing as Terry had only known the guy for a couple of hours. He was overcome by Oscar’s kindness. America wasn’t such a bad place after all. He parked the Ford in his driveway.
    As Terry got out of the car, a man pushing a lawn mower