He remembered. I felt so foolish that I’d declared my love to my boss, to my best friend’s older brother, to my next door neighbor and to a gay man to boot. I almost felt as if he was mocking me, but something about Albert’s smile told me he wasn’t. ‘I want to tell you a story,’ he said. ‘I’ve never told anyone, and I want you to promise me you’ll listen without interrupting me. It won’t take that long.’ I nodded my agreement. ‘If you listen without judging me or trying to ask too many questions, I will be in your debt.’ ‘Okay, I won’t talk, nor will I ever tell anyone,’ I said. ‘Whatever you tell me, is for me and for me only.’ ‘Thank you.’ I waited while he gathered his thoughts and then he began his story. ‘When I was a young man, first starting to travel with my parents and beginning to be interested in making my living assisting the lives of plants and flowers, a client took me into his garden, and without going too much into the details of how he got his way, he took my pants. Ted did not like to be showed up. His frustration mounted very quickly as we hooked and sliced our way through the first nine and then missed the hole, putt after putt, on the greens. When one of the guys kidded us about our poor play, Tom came unglued. It was uncharacteristic of him. “What’s up?” I asked Ted as we approached the back nine. “It’s Heather,” he confided, “We‘re having issues.” Issues? Mr. and Mrs. Perfect? I was shocked. “I’m sorry to hear that,” I replied. “I hope you guys can work it out.” “We might, and we might not,” Ted confided. I didn’t know what else to say. We boogied eleven and twelve and birdied thirteen and made par on fifteen, sixteen and seventeen. On the final hole, we were so far behind the guys we were playing with, that we decided to let them play on. Finishing the hole, Ted said he wanted to keep playing. It was one o’clock and we had been out on the course since eight. I was spent. Eighteen holes were enough for me. Ted looked at his cell phone..
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