Lost & Found

She found the first golf ball years ago on a walk with her mother and the dogs. It was not hidden in the treeline under leaves and brush like the many balls she would find a decade later, when she resumed the walks after her mother and both dogs were gone. It was sitting in the grass in their direct path as they approached, clean white and brand new. She did not play but pocketed it anyway. There was a gap through the trees not far ahead that connected to the course. 

“You could toss it back for them,” her mother suggested. But it was late in the day and they could see no carts or walkers, so she kept it. She still had it somewhere, buried in her boxes in the storage unit with her other found trinkets. It was a strange thing to be fond of, like the other bits and pieces she could not get rid of, but fond she was. 

Cleaning out her mother’s things, who had passed recently, as well as the rest of her father’s, who had been gone for years, did make her question her growing collection of lost balls, which was already two dozen and counting in the weeks since her return. Who was going to clean out all of her things when she was gone? Did she care? It won’t make any difference to me, she thought. She corrected herself. A lot of time left to get her life back together. Hopefully. 

The bitterness and hopelessness were new, were not her. They were rightful byproducts of the last few years and especially the last few months. Death of a long term relationship, death of a beloved career, death itself. Her life was established and then it was broken. The things behind her she could not change, but everything in front of her was her choice.

Routine was the key to sanity. Wake, eat, work, eat, walk. The trail along the river was prettier but shorter, while the walk down the road to the golf course was longer and lonelier but offered more shade against the summer sun. If there were golfers, she stayed out of sight. Sometimes the grass offered easy finds, but most of the golf balls needed to be found, and it surprised her how much she enjoyed searching. Many were white and only bore their brand name, but there were also colors and logos and sharpied initials and alignment aids. The town was small and the golf course was public and relaxed. On nights when no one was out, she ventured onto the course and combed through the tall grass traps and opposite treelines. Tried to reach her 10,000 steps. Tried to focus. 

“That doesn’t happen to have ‘PT,’ on it, does it?” She jumped at his voice. She had been crouched down, lost in thought, picking up the ball now in her hand, and had not heard him walk over. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” She stood.

She had not lived here for many years – thankfully most of the people she graduated with had not either – and she could tell by the look on his face he was also wondering if he knew her or not. His head tilted slightly. Brown hair, brown eyes. He was around her age, wearing tennis shoes, not golf shoes, gray shorts with a navy t-shirt, topped off with a backwards baseball cap. Golf could be uptight, but he did not give off that energy. He smiled, and affable lines formed at the corner of his eyes. 

It occurred to her how strange she must look to him in her mismatched, somewhat though thank god not overly dirty walking clothes, her own baseball cap, holding in her right hand both her long stick for swinging through the leaves and tall grass and, more embarrassingly, the expandable golf ball retriever she happened across in the clearance section at the Walmart an hour away (finding it had been its own strange serendipity); the found golf ball clutched in her left. It also occurred to her that she had been staring at him without answering his question. She rotated the ball around in her hand and there it was, PT. 

“No, that’s my fault,” she started. “Usually I pay better attention. Don’t know how I missed you playing.” In one way she did know how, because she had been deeply lost in thought the whole walk to the course and even more so as she started her search. But to not hear the whack of his club nor the ball hit the ground, which could not have happened but a few minutes before they came upon the ball, was a new level of absentmindedness for her. 

She held the ball out to him. “I’m so sorry. It is indeed yours.”

His right hand was gloved while his left hand was bare. She knew enough about the sport to know this meant he was left-handed, like her. He did not reach for the ball.

“Were you looking for your own ball? Did I hit into you?” He glanced around and, not seeing another set of clubs or a cart, looked back at her. His eyebrows raised and creased.

She did not know what that meant but guessed by the new concerned look on his face that it involved etiquette. “Oh, no. I like to walk here and…look for lost balls.”

“Really?” There was no judgment, only surprise. “Do you play?”

“No. I just like to collect what I find. It’s oddly fun.”

“Not odd. I get it, kinda like a daily mini scavenger hunt.” 

“Exactly.” She remembered the ball in her hand. “You can have yours back though of course.”

“Nah, keep it. I have a bag full. Don’t wanna break up your collection.”

“Well thank you.” She put it in her pocket.

“Are you left-handed?”

She laughed and nodded. “I am.”

“Sorry, that's a weird thing to ask someone I met minutes ago.”

“No, I noticed you were, too.” She pointed at his glove. “Think it’s a lefty thing to point it out when we see it.” 

“It really is.” His smile got bigger; more lines appeared. He looked around the course again. “Would you want to play? Not right now I mean, but sometime? Maybe when I’m less of a stranger and we’re not alone out here? My clubs might be a bit long for you but they face the right way for both of us. Well. Left way.” He smirked at his joke and she returned it.

“I would like that.” 

“Patrick, by the way.”

“Harper.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

The conversation lulled for a beat. A cart carrying a duo went by and waved. Harper was relieved they were not alone. Not because she was wary of him, which she technically should be, but because she was so sure that she knew him somehow, had at least seen him before, but it would not come to her, and she wanted to keep talking to him. The feeling was mutual.

“I know we just said another time, but actually would you mind if I joined you? It’s not been my day, as you can see, and I think I’d enjoy looking for other lost balls instead of my own. Totally get it if it’s your thing though, don’t want to intrude.”

“No, no intrusion. Happy for the company.”

He walked over to his bag and slung it over his shoulder.

“You want to carry that? Otherwise I have a spot you can leave it, no one’ll bother it.”

She showed him the gap in the trees and the dead end road on the other side.

“I’ve played several rounds here so far and never noticed this.”

She took the opportunity. “Have you lived here long?”

“Just moved last week. Though I visited a few times when I was a kid. My uncle lived up here for a bit. Always liked it. His house was on the course, which was like, the epitome of cool for a twelve year old obsessed with golf and Tiger Woods. He passed recently and left me the house, so here I am. Golfing to avoid unpacking. You?”

“Born and raised. Moved away for a long time. Moved back. Now spending my time looking for golf balls instead of unpacking as well. And deciding if you can or can’t go home again. Cause you hear it both ways but it’s hard to know which one is true.”

“You don’t like it here?” 

“Hmm. This was home. Then it wasn’t. And I really, really loved Harbor View, where I was for the last ten years, but…” she trailed off. No need to get into details.

Patrick stopped walking and tilted his head at her again. Harper could not tell if he did it intentionally or naturally.

“Pelican Point Books?” he asked, and a blush of love and longing hit her without warning. Not for him, the stranger whose name she knew now but who was still a stranger, but for her bookstore, her other home. And then she met his eye and it finally came back to her.

“Hitchhiker’s,” she said.

“Yep.”

He was older now, of course, his face and what hair she could see under the hat looked a bit thinner, but she remembered him. “Wow. Yeah. Small world personified. Good taste, by the way. If you were buying it for yourself, that is. You looked familiar but I could not place it.” 

“Same, and it was bugging me! And I did buy it for me, yeah. Had just watched the movie, wanted to read it.”

“Oooh,” she exaggerated for a laugh, which she got.

“Very sacreligious, right? Movie before book?”

“I’d say so. Watching the movie, what, some thirteen years after its release, and then reading the book.” 

“What if I enjoyed the movie more than the book?” 

“Typically, we would have to part ways here. But I’ll grant you that for Hitchhiker’s and like, two others. Probably Practical Magic and Jurassic Park. Oh and Atonement.” 

“Devastating movie,” he said with genuine inflection.

“And devastating book,” she commiserated.

“I didn’t know Practical Magic was a book, but then I’ve also not seen the movie. Jurassic Park is timeless cinema and I doubt that dinosaurs in print would be as exciting as the animatronics.”  

“Probably why my bookstore went out of business.” Her tone was teasing in keeping with their banter, although it was true the store closed for a number of reasons, but his face tumbled from laughter to horror and she immediately wanted to take it back.

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” his voice was low and soft. “I didn’t know.”

“Don’t be. I mean, thank you, I appreciate that. I just mean, I meant it to fit in with the back and forth. Not chiding you with any sincerity. Owning a bookstore is tough. Can’t blame anyone for not buying books or buying them as cheap as possible when they are so expensive to begin with. I’m glad I was able to for as long as I did. Ah, look!”

Harper expanded the retriever and fished it into the grass.

“I might need one of these,” Patrick said as he watched her grab the ball. “Also how did you even see that?” 

She pulled the retriever back through the grass, a neon orange ball secured in the end.

“A practiced eye motivated by procrastination and denial, and the thrill of the hunt.” She handed him the ball. “Memento for you. Okay a tad dramatic. Not a thrill or hunt. Cathartic passtime.”

“Because you don’t want to be here? Not here here, but. You know what I mean. May I?” He motioned at the retriever and she handed it to him. 

“I know what you mean. I didn’t have anything permanently tying me to Harbor View anymore besides my friends obviously and love of the town itself, and I miss them and everything there terribly. I’d just rather be back here under better circumstances, specifically ones I had a say in, which has created resentment and..all that.” Harper inhaled. His gaze was on the treeline, angling for another ball before the remaining sunlight turned dark, but he was listening. Walking and talking side by side without eye contact was quite enjoyable. She had not felt at ease in a long time.

“My parents don’t get why I’m here. My friends either. It’s a no-brainer to them to sell the house. But it came into my life at a weird time, and trying something new made sense to me. I’m lucky that I can work anywhere. Lived in Harbor View my whole life, so why not. I can relate to resentment. And wanting a say in things. Like finding a ball before it gets dark.” He swished the grass with his shoes. 

“Hey!” He expanded the retriever with a flourish, dug it into the grass, and raised it triumphantly, white ball secured. The ball had been close enough to him that he could have bent and picked it up, but such was his enthusiasm to use the tool. 

“I am a big fan of this thing,” He noticed her laughing at him. “Don’t usually look too hard for lost balls. Didn’t know it could be so entertaining. Here. I believe they call that manifesting. For you,” he added, removing the ball and offering it to her. He closed the retriever back down to its collapsed length and began twirling it like a baton. They turned around to make their way back to his bag.

“Why thank you,” Harper said, and added it to her pocket next to his initialed ball. The walk back was made in companionable silence. He slung his bag over his shoulder again. 

“I have to say this was almost more fun than golf itself.”

“Only almost?”

“Only almost.” Her kingdom to see those eyes and smile lines again after tonight.

“I’ll take that. Do it again sometime?”

“Yes, please.”

“Great.” Harper started walking backwards so she still faced him. “I won’t let you sneak up on me next time.”

“We’ll see. Hey wait, I forgot you still have to walk home and now it’s getting dark fast.”

“It’s okay. I’m only fifteen minutes away and I’ve got my big stick.” She held it up.

“Oh, and your retriever.” He took a few steps toward her and held it out.

“Keep it. You can give it back to me tomorrow, how about.”

The anticipation was so tangible she could reach out and put it in her pocket. Carry it home.

Patrick saluted her with the retriever. “Same time and place, Harper.”

She saluted back with the stick. “Patrick.”