Disclaimers: The characters in this story are copyrighted by Warner Brothers and Shoot The Moon Productions. I make no money from these characters; I simply like to share their world for a short time.
A/N Just a typical afternoon at the King/Stetson household; don't want to give too much away. (Inspired by a real-life event starring my then 12-year-old son and his best buddy.) Hope you enjoy! A special thanks to Bruce Boxleitner and Kate Jackson—as well as the rest of the cast—for portraying these characters so wonderfully.
Peace and quiet at last, Amanda thought as she settled into the couch for a much-needed breather on a hot August afternoon. Phillip and Jaime had just finished up the last of the lunch dishes, and she had sent her three "men" out to the driveway to give both Lee's 'Vette and her Wagoneer a good scrubbing. The boys had argued all the way out the door about who was going to wash the 'Vette. She knew Lee could handle the argument; he would wash his precious car while the boys handled the Wagoneer. A water battle was sure to ensure. After all, boys will be boys—even if one was 6'2" and definitely past the age of knowing better!
Just as she was getting up to make sure there were plenty of towels by the back door, the sound of breaking glass shattered the silence. A quick peek into the kitchen told the story . . . the window above her sink was smashed. Pieces of glass still clung to the frame, and shards were scattered about the sink and floor. A little white golf ball rolled slowly toward her, coming to rest at her feet.
Picking up the evidence, she headed for the back yard. She was determined to get to the bottom of this disaster, even if she had to use her best interrogation techniques.
As she predicted, the yard appeared empty. Slowly, a blond head appeared from behind one of the bushes. "Ah, sorry Mom," said Jaime slowly with his head down. "I hit the ball, and I know I'll need to pay for the repairs."
"Yes, you will. Now where's your brother?"
Phillip appeared from behind the potting shed. "Sorry. Junior here just got a little too much lift on the ball. Mine only hit the foundation of the house, see," he said as he pointed to another ball sitting a few feet away from Amanda.
"Oh . . . and what makes you think that's much better, Phillip? Since when does hitting golf balls towards the house make any sense at all, hmmm . . .? Just because you didn't break anything doesn't mean that you weren't still in the wrong you know. You're as much at fault as your brother, so you will both be splitting the cost of the window."
"Guess that cost will be split three ways fellas," said Lee as he appeared from around the corner of the house, golf club in hand. "Mine actually hit the roof and rolled off somewhere over there," he pointed. "I was trying to prove to the boys that a 9-iron does, indeed, give the ball enough loft to clear lots of obstacles. Sorry?" he said as he looked at Amanda with a tilt of his head and a dimpled smile, asking forgiveness.
"So, in other words, Jaime's ball was actually hit better than Phillip's?" questioned Amanda.
"Technically, yes," responded Lee. "But mine was the best." The grin deepened.
"Oh, and that makes all of this acceptable behavior, I suppose," she challenged while trying to hide a smile.
"No ma'am," Lee said, reverting to his military upbringing and snapping to attention. Both boys followed suit.
"And what happened to washing the cars, huh? I don't see a bucket or hose anywhere," Amanda continued.
"That's my fault, Mom. See, we were talking about what to do after the cars were clean, and I suggested trying out the driving range at Goofy Golf. Remember last week when Mrs. Gilstrap asked us to help her clean out her garage? Well, she gave Jaime and me this cool set of old golf clubs for helping; they've been in our garage since then, and I just thought . . . "
"And I started talking about how cool it would be if we could actually hit a golf ball as far as Lee can . . . "
"And I told them both that distance isn't the only goal when hitting a golf ball. I've been anxious to introduce the boys to the sport, but they needed clubs of their own—they can't exactly use my left-handed ones, you know. When they told me about their new acquisition . . . well . . . it just seemed like a good chance to prove my point about distance versus loft. So . . . ah . . . " Lee suddenly found his shoes very interesting.
"Boys, go check in the back of the garage. I think there's a piece of plywood somewhere in there that we can use to cover the window temporarily. Stetson, come with me!"
Amanda's tone brokered no argument. While the boys hunted down the plywood, Lee was assigned the task of cleaning up the broken glass in the kitchen.
Once every last bit of broken glass was in the garbage, the three worked together to tightly secure the plywood over the opening; permanent repairs would have to wait until morning.
"Not bad. Guess it passes my inspection," Amanda said sternly. "But the cars are still filthy . . . now march!" She had to cough to hide the small giggle that tried to escape her lips at the sight of the three headed out single file in search of the buckets and hose.
She slowly headed back to her peaceful couch in the family room with a huge grin on her face. It wasn't long before shrieks of laughter could be heard coming from the driveway. Guess it's about time to get those towels ready, she thought-and maybe some lemonade for her boys. She smiled to herself. Yes, her "boys"—all three of them!