“Thank you, Mr. Cross. But of course, a mere handshake doesn’t go nearly far enough. I’m pleased to have the honor to announce that the board of directors has just held a special meeting and has unanimously voted to award Conner Cross the Bob Jones Sportsmanship Award for exemplary performance both on the course and off.”

Conner didn’t know what to say. He was utterly floored. He couldn’t think of anything that didn’t sound stupid, so he mumbled a “thank you” and left it at that. He felt as if he were walking on air. His eyes were even getting misty. Could the other guys see? This could be totally embarrassing… but somehow, he didn’t care.

The other pros surrounded Conner. One by one, his peers, many of the golfers he respected most in the entire world, offered their congratulations. Conner was so unaccustomed to this kind of treatment he didn’t know what to do. So he just stood there gaping, as the parade passed by.

And at the end of the line, he found Fitz.

Fitz pressed his hand into Conner’s. “I’ve caddied for a lot of fine players,” he said, and there seemed to be a bit of a catch in his voice. “I’ve caddied for men who won the U.S. Open, the British Open, the Masters-the whole tour. But I never before had the honor of caddying for someone who won the Bob Jones Award. Congratulations, son.” Fitz gave him a quick wink. “I knew I could trust you.”

Conner walked with Fitz outside, where a throng of reporters were waiting. En masse, the journalistic assemblage pressed forward, rolling cameras and pressing microphones into his face. “What will you do now?” and “What does this mean to you?” and “Where will you put the trophy?” Conner was too stunned to put on a show; he figured he’d be lucky if he managed to sound coherent.

A female reporter sidled in from the left and positioned herself in front of him. “Dozens of men have won the Masters,” she said. The rest of the crowd stopped to listen. “But only three have won the Bob Jones Award. Many golfers have sought it, without success. How do you explain this?”

Without hesitation, Conner put his arm around the shoulder of the older man standing at his side. “Those other guys didn’t have Fitz.”

39

That night, Conner dined in the Augusta National’s private ballroom, which he had never even seen before. He was being treated to a seven-course meal-a special extravaganza arranged by Artemus Tenniel. Caviar, pâté fois gras, steak tartare, and several other dishes Conner didn’t actually like but felt classy as hell eating. There were no patrons, no members. Conner had the place to himself-himself, and his special guest for the evening.

Lieutenant O’Brien was out of uniform and wearing pearls and a black decolleté gown-and looking very uncop-like in it, too, as Conner couldn’t help noticing.

Somewhere between the soup and the sorbet, O’Brien asked, “So… what are you going to do with the trophy?”

“I’m sending it to Stanford,” Conner answered, as he poured her another glass of champagne. “They’re going to put it in a display case with all of John’s trophies. They’re going to call me John’s prodigy. Part of his living legacy.” He smiled. “I think John might like that. He always wanted an Oklahoma boy to make good at the Masters. He just didn’t know exactly how it would happen.”

O’Brien nodded. “By the way-thanks.”

“For what?”

“You know perfectly well for what. For saving my ass. And the rest of me, too.”

“My pleasure,” Conner replied. “And may I say-it’s a very fine looking-”

“About time you noticed.”

“I noticed a long time ago. It’s just that the badge and the gun kept blocking my access.”

“Why, Conner,” she said, fluttering her eyelashes. “Are you making a pass at me?”

“I don’t know,” he answered. “Are you going to arrest me again and haul me back to the police station?”

Nikki peered back at him. Their eyes met across the table. She placed a hand delicately on his arm. “Actually… I’d rather haul you back to your cabin.”

Conner’s eyes glowed like light bulbs. Maybe he could learn to like the Masters tournament after all.

Epilogue

After his term of office ended, Eisenhower visited Augusta eleven times, returning again and again to the home away from home that gave him so much pleasure during his presidency. In May, 1961, at a gala party, Eisenhower thanked each of the forty members who had contributed funds to pay for Ike’s Cabin on the club grounds. In October of 1965, he and Mamie celebrated their fiftieth wedding anniversary, and were given by the Augusta National members an elaborately carved, eighty-four-ounce gold bowl. Bobby Jones himself drove in from Atlanta to serve as toastmaster, but by that time he was suffering from a rare and severe neurological disorder, and the journey tired him so much that he had to stay in bed during the party.

On his last visit, Eisenhower is reported to have gazed out at the gorgeous greens and rolling hills and said, “This place is so beautiful. Never in my life have I been so happy as I was right here.”

He died in 1969. At his funeral, in addition to notables such as President Nixon and president of France Charles de Gaulle, were Cliff Roberts and many others from the Augusta National, Ike’s old gang, all together for the last time.

About William Bernhardt

William Bernhardt is the author of many books, including Primary Justice, Double Jeopardy, Silent Justice, Murder One, Criminal Intent, and Death Row. He has twice won the Oklahoma Book Award for Best Fiction, and in 2000 he was presented the H. Louise Cobb Distinguished Author Award "in recognition of an outstanding body of work in which we understand ourselves and American society at large." A former trial attorney, Bernhardt has received several awards for his public service. He lives in Tulsa with his children, Harry, Alice, and Ralph.