The car turned down the road leading toward Jekyll-Hyde. The air was cool. The growers would soon be lighting their smudge pots. Tommy would have to be up at sunrise the next morning to water the greens, clearing them of frost. He must have thought of the distant course, and how it was so much of his life. Beside him was his son, who represented the other part of his existence. He had watched both grow from nothing, all part of the Plan.
"You know, Andy," he said, "I think we could make a million dollars when they four-lane this highway in a few years. Property is going to jump in value then." There was only silence. For months Andy had been trying to get his father to sell the course, to retire. Tommy works more than 12 hours a day now. It's too much at his age, but it's hard to let go of something you love. Half of his life is only mementos now. He wants to keep the other half a little longer.
The silence deepened in the car. Tommy chewed on his cigar. Finally, he said, "Guy called from West Palm Beach the other day. Wanted to, know if I would sell. I told him I would."
Andy Bean smiled inwardly and thought, "I'll win that U.S. Open for you, old man."