A Vacation Miracle

Wednesday, the 12th of July, was the very first real Maine day of our vacation. By this I mean it was the first day that felt like Maine is supposed to feel. The weather was transcendent, bright blue sky, a steady refreshing southerly breeze in our faces all day, with not a hint of humidity. Consequently I made the decision to play golf in the morning.

Although the conditions were perfect and I was paired with a delightful couple from Marietta, Georgia, I played terribly—like a blind man with epilepsy. I had one birdie and four pars and a host of other scores so horrifying that I didn’t even bother keeping my score. But what made this the worst golfing experience I’ve had in years was not the level of my play, but what happened to me just after I shook hands with Wayne and Kathy as we walked off the 18th green. I reached in the left pocket of my shorts to retrieve my wedding band and found nothing. 

Ever since I got married nearly 40 years ago I have always removed my wedding band before a round of golf. The reason is because if I leave it on I end up with a blister. Yes, yes…I know its because I grip the club too tightly, but it is what it is. So, before I play I take the band off and place it in my left pocket—never the right, always the left. Sometimes I perform this ritual in the parking lot, mostly I do this on the first tee box, occasionally I remember as I’m walking down the first fairway. But…I always remove it. So, when I reached in the pocket and discovered it missing, something like panic and nausea visited me simultaneously. 

I had played with very nice rented clubs so the first thing I did was search every nook and cranny of the voluminous bag. Zilch. Then I walked back to the first tee box, since I was 70% certain that I had removed the ring before hitting my first tee shot (one that I hit out of bounds left, incidentally). The very kind starter along with the threesome on the first tee—all men—dropped everything to scour the area. They all gave me knowing looks of solidarity, knowing that if I didn’t find that ring I was sure and truly a dead man walking. One of them even mumbled, “losing your wedding band is one thing…losing it while playing golf is a f**king disaster” After an exhaustive search we found nothing. As I trudged back to the clubhouse the futility of my situation began to dawn on me. There was a very real possibility that I did, in fact, place that ring in my pocket on the first tee box, which means it could have slipped out of said pocket anytime I reached in there to remove my cellphone throughout the round…probably three times that I could recall. Since the entire round I walked 5.6 miles up hill and dale, there was literally no possible chance anyone was ever going to find that ring. I explained my nightmare to the woman at the clubhouse cash register who looked at me as if looking at a man condemned to die. I gave her my name and cellphone number on the no chance in hell possibility that somebody found it. She wrote it down carefully and posted it on the bulletin board with feigned optimism, then briefly touched my arm as I turned to leave. “You never know, dear.” That’s Yankee speak for…bless your heart.

I was not ready for the genuine grief I experienced while driving back to camp. I wasn’t really worried that Pam would kill me. I simply felt so much anguish over the fact that I had lost my wedding ring. I am not a jewelry guy. In fact, that wedding band is my only ring, my only any kind of adornment. But a wedding ring isn’t just a piece of jewelry, its part of who you are. It tells the world that you are married and that there is someone else out there who you would kill for. And now, mine was laying somewhere on the grounds of Rockland Golf Club, most likely in deep rough!

I got back to the cabin and tidied up a bit then joined Pam on the dock. No. I did not immediately tell her. I gambled that she wouldn’t notice, perhaps for days. That would give me time to craft an acceptable narrative. I merely gave her a kiss and sat down in the Adirondack chair next to her soaking up the perfect Maine day.

Then my cellphone rang. 

I didn’t answer. In the two weeks I’ve been here I have received no fewer than 20 random calls from unknown numbers from people trying to sell me this thing or that. If it was important they would leave a message. This one did…

“Mr. Dunnevant? This is Beverly at Rockland Golf. Just wanted you to know that someone found your wedding ring. I’ve put it here at the front desk. You can pick it up anytime you want. Congratulations!”

I turned to Pam with a sudden burst of confidence in my communicative abilities. “You are never going to believe what happened to me today at golf!!” She listened respectfully without expression then when I was done said, “Good thing you found it. No way you were going to get rid of me that easily!”