Once the storm had passed, John waited until the clubhouse had cleared out a bit before approaching a staff member. This young lady paged a manager who paged a maintenance guy named Barry, who drove John out to the eleventh hole in an impressive four-wheel-drive cart with towing power. Their golf cart was just where John had left it, but Scott was nowhere in sight. John stared out over the fairway, and the grass was brilliantly green. The air was thinner now, clean and clear as glass. The clouds were dissolving, the temperature already rapidly increasing with the return of the sun.

Barry spat out of the side of his mouth and said, “Where’d your partner make off to?”

John said, “I don’t have a clue.” He looked in every direction, but no Scott. The golf clubs were there in the zippered bag, but when John peeked inside, he saw that Scott’s prized putter was not among them. Scott must have taken that with him, wherever he’d gone.

Barry confirmed that the problem with their cart was the alternator and said he would tow it back in order to do the work in the shop rather than out on the course. John helped him attach the cart to the tow line.

Barry said, “I’ll give you a lift back. We’ll get you a new one of these rented out for the rest of the week.”

John gazed out over the course again. “I guess so,” he said. “Can’t imagine where he went . . .”

“I’d say you’ve done your part,” Barry said. “The island’s only a few miles long. I’m sure he’ll find his way back just fine.”

John was not sure about this at all. “I don’t know,” he said. “Guy doesn’t seem to have much in the way of street smarts, and he’s about as tough as the Pillsbury Doughboy.”

Barry laughed hard at this, and John felt like he’d made a friend.

John rode to the clubhouse with Barry, used the restroom there, and was provided a replacement golf cart. Barry wished him luck in finding Scott.

John transferred Scott’s clubs to the replacement cart and decided to circle the perimeter of the course before returning to the house.

He did this, and it ate up a good chunk of time, but there was no sign of Scott. Not far from the eleventh hole, he passed a young couple on bikes, both of them completely drenched; they too had probably gotten caught in the storm. John slowed the golf cart and said, “Y’all happen to see a guy, on the short side, ’bout five-five, hair’s mostly black with a white streak? Wanderin’ ’round here with a big old putter?”

The couple looked at each other, then back at John.

John said, “I just thought, he got caught in the rain too. Not too terribly far from here. Thought maybe you ended up the same place or somethin’.”

The woman shook her head, her face blank.

John said, “Alright now,” and the couple cycled away.