The Mulligan (26 page)

The door needs a paint job. My father was never much on maintenance and especially with his office.

Every spring my mother would come in and do a thorough cleaning of it so that he wouldn't be embarrassed, she told me.

I don't think he cared. He never did stop thinking about his past life—the one before twins.

I rap on the door. Nothing. I turn the knob and go in, relief flooding my insides that the door is unlocked. “Dad? Are you here?” I find myself praying, asking God to help me through the next few minutes. Funny thing, praying calms me. Maybe Robert is on to something. Maybe I have been missing something.

“Bobbi? Come on back.”

He's in his office, which means I'll have to sit across from his monster desk. The desk we were never allowed to play around or on. The sacred desk. I hate that desk.

“Merry Christmas, Dad,” I say as I enter the room. The place is torn apart. Boxes lie everywhere, half-filled. “Looks like you're packing.”

He grimaces and points to the only chair not filled with books and files. “I'm selling the business. I'm sure your mother told you already. Sorry this had to happen.”

“Are you? Sorry? I don't think you are.”

He wipes his hand across his face. “I don't want to discuss my marriage and personal decisions with you today. Seems like you have your own life to clean up.”

I swallow back the mean words I want to throw at him.

Robert warned me he would be nasty. He also gave me a mini sermon on turning the other cheek.

I won't go that far today but I won't take his bait either. “Mom's pretty upset. You're making her sell the farm. It's Grandpa's farm. Not yours.”

“Too bad you never saw who paid the mortgage and replaced the roof or painted the place, or you wouldn't say that.” He sighs. “Listen, girl, we have to sell it. It's what happens in divorce settlements. No one wins.”

“Seems like you are. Throwing Mom out and making her work in some dumpy store to make a living.”

“There are plenty of other places for her to work and it won't kill her.”

I rest my hands flat on the desk. “Isn't there anything I can say to make you give her the farm? Dad, I love that place. So does Robert. I always expected I'd bring my family there someday for holidays. You can't sell. You can't!” I lose it and start to cry. The absolute last thing in the world I want to do in front of my father.

He tosses me a box of tissues.

I shove it aside and fumble to my feet.

This scene with him reminds me of past scenes. My father always wins. Always.

“You won't get that place.” I grit the words between my teeth. “I promise you. I'll find a way to buy you out.” Then I stumble from the room, my anger blinding my way.

But I will never forget his laugh as it follows me out the door.

 

 

 

 

29

 

My mother comes into my bedroom dressed in black polyester dress slacks and a mauve sweater with two fake pearls at the neckline. She sticks out one foot to show me her loafers, circa 1972. It is two days before New Year's Eve and she's going out to apply for jobs. I told her this morning that no one is hiring until after the holidays, but she's determined.

“You look nice.” I'm packed under my blankets even though it is after 9 AM. My energy level is at zero. Maybe I'm coming down with something. Depression, probably.

“Robert typed a resume for me, although I don't know how raising two kids and keeping house counts for much.”

“Here.” I slip out of bed and move her over to my dresser. Digging through my jewelry box, I come up with a pair of long silver earrings. “Wear these.” I hold them in my palm. She takes them and puts them into her ears.

“Thanks sweetie. They look nice.” Her confidence is waning.

I give her a big hug. “You'll do awesome! Do you know where you're going first?” I pray it isn't the mall. The shops rot there.

“The mall. There's a cute card shop I like.”

I hold back a groan. “How about downtown where they built some new businesses? Isn't there a dress store there or something? Mom, you can't work at the mall. On Friday nights it's filled with teenager make-outs.”

Her smile fades. I know today is hard for her. At two, she and Dad are seeing a lawyer.

I offered to go with her but she refused. She wants to be independent, she told Robert and me. Does independent mean not taking help? I don't think so.

Her car pulls out of the driveway a few minutes later. I jump into the shower and plan my day. Drew asked to meet him for lunch at the pizza place on Main. Curiosity about his plans makes me go. I wear my best fleece and jeans, and by the time I'm ready I'm late.

The delicious odor of garlic greets me when I push through the entrance doors of the pizzeria.

Drew waits at a side table, a soda in his hand. He rises when I draw close, reaching down to kiss my cheek. I almost reel into the next table.

“What can I get you?” He nods toward the counter.

“Root beer, please. Did you order yet?”

“Pepperoni, large. Will that work?”

He remembers my passion for pizza. I wait while he brings my drink and then shuffles back into his chair beside me. His nearness ruffles my composure.

I sip and then cough from the bubbles. I'm acting like a high school girl with a crush. Again. When will I grow up?

Drew is watching me with the grin. “You never said you forgave me. Do you?” He looks at me intently, wearing his teaching face. Serious.

I think about my answer. He let me down but so did my father, and how many times did I forgive him? I lost count years ago. “Sure. You're forgiven. Now, are you going to tell me why you aren't trying to go on tour again?”

“Right after you tell me what happened with your brother.”

“You never go first.” I enjoy his teasing. It reminds me of my relationship with Robert—but more.

“Beauty before age.”

“Now you're making it hard for me not to go first.” The toe of my boot meets his. I nudge him. “You have this way about you.”

“A way you like?” He moves his chair closer. Will he hear my heartbeat?

“Maybe.” I never was coy, but today I'm learning. I clear my throat. “My brother decided to go to college. Here. Not in Florida. So thank you. You helped me.”

“And your mother? How's she doing with all that's happening?”

“She's actually on a job hunt today. Where I should be, too.” I frown, remembering my state of unemployment. “I tried to get her to wait until after the holidays, but she's determined. I also met with my father. He won't let the farm go. He wants his share. That's the part that's killing me. I know my mother wants it, but she can't afford to buy him out, and I don't have that kind of money. So in a few months I'll be homeless. Unemployed and homeless. Good life, huh? And my brother says he'll help me. Help me what? Put back a life I destroyed a year ago?” When Drew doesn't laugh, I stop.

There it is. My life laid out on a pizza table.

“I don't have room for romance, Drew.”

He takes my hand. “There's always room for romance. My turn now. I'm moving back here. When I figured out that I didn't want to go through all that touring again, I had to make a decision. I wasn't happy in Florida. I wasn't happy at that school teaching Golf Psychology. I was happiest teaching others how to golf. So why not do it here?”

“What do you mean here?”

“I'm buying Keystone Hills Golf Course. It needs some upkeep, but by spring it should be ready to go. My brother plans to come up and help me run it.”

His features light with excitement as he tells me about his venture and plans to make Keystone one of the most sought after places to golf in the area. Fifteen minutes pass before he stops, realizing he has been doing all the talking. “I'm sorry. I am so ready to do this I can't think of anything else.”

I rest my chin on my palm. “I love your energy. Your passion is amazing. I'm so happy for you.” He's made the right choice about his life. I can't help but compare his plans to mine and wish I can feel that same surge he has now. “If I can do anything to help, please let me.”

“Thanks for listening to me go on and on. I sign the paperwork once the lawyer gets through—and the surveyor and everyone else involved. I can't wait to walk on that course and know it's mine. It's taken all my savings, but I have this feeling about it. I can't describe it, but when you know something is right, you know.”

“It sounds right to me. I'm so happy for you.” I mean what I say. I'm so pleased and could listen to him all day, but I want to get home to see how my mother made out on her search and her meeting with my father. So much is happening in my life right now, I find it hard to focus on what I should be doing. I've never been one to flounder, but it seems I am now.

“What are you doing on New Year's Eve?” Drew gathers up our plates as he asks.

“Same thing I do every year. We sit around the tree and make stupid resolutions. Last year I resolved to become a famous artist. Look where that got me.”

“It got you to me.” He wriggles his eyebrows. Just a little.

“It got me a student loan payment. A twisted ankle. And no career.”

“Greet the new year with me.”

The only other date I ever had on New Year's ended in disaster. I had turned eighteen and Amanda set me up with her cousin. A popular band was playing at a new restaurant in town, and she and her fiancé wanted to go.

Dick, her cousin, said he'd be my date. I went so far as having my hair done at a salon and I bought a fancy red shirt to wear. When they picked me up, Dick said hello and that was about it for the night until twelve o'clock struck and he grabbed me in a bear hug and locked his lips on mine—plus his hands—and wouldn't let go until I pushed him away. No, it wasn't fun. It put a sour taste to what most people believe should be a fun experience. I'd rather sit home and watch the ball go down.

“What are you thinking about? I lost you.” Drew is waiting for an answer.

I know in my heart if I go out with him on the supposedly most romantic night of the year—
if
you are with the right person—I might not be able to turn back. Especially since he will be in close proximity. And am I ready for a relationship when I can't even get my life under control? “I'm going to pass, but thank you. I think I'll spend it with my family again this year.”

His smile falters, but he revives himself and scoops up my coat when I stand. Drew is a gentleman for sure when he isn't on the course. I recall his brash treatment of me when I messed up a shot. He didn't mince words then.

We part at our cars, promising to catch up after the holidays. I hurry back across town and over the bridge to the farm, hoping my mother hasn't left for her appointment at the lawyer's yet. She might change her mind to let me go with her. When I pull in, I discover her car is gone, as well as Robert's truck. The flag is down on the mailbox. It's early for the mail but I check it anyway.

I pull out a stack of bills and flip through them until my hand stops on a formal looking letter addressed to me—from Florida.

 

****

 

The letter about Mattie comes on the same day my mother files for a divorce, gets her first job, and I reject Drew.

When my mother returns from her appointments, she is whistling. I think it's a Christmas jingle. She tosses her bag on the counter and joins me at the kitchen table where the letter lies open in front of me.

“I'm employed,” she says. “I actually have a job where someone is going to pay me for my work.” A smile wreathes her face—the biggest one I've seen in ages. The smile takes years off her appearance. She doesn't even play with her fingers as she tells me, like she normally would when she's talking. My mother is confident, and I admit this change surprises me. “Are you going to ask me where?”

“Yes! Where? I'm so proud of you.”

“The Brighter Boutique. They opened before Christmas and did well with the crowd of ladies my age. The owner told me I would be perfect because I am friendly and can wear the styles. I even get a 20 percent discount. Can you believe that? I start next Monday at nine o'clock and work until five. What a perfect shift. I'll be home to make supper, but then you could get something going for us since Robert might still be in classes.” She stands and retrieves her purse, rummaging through it. She pulls out a sheaf of papers. “I have to fill these out for my first day. They actually will pay part of my health benefits. Can you believe that?”

“Wow. You lucked out, Mom. I'm so happy for you. How much will they pay you?”

My question stills her. “We didn't even discuss that. I guess I should have asked, but with benefits it must be more than minimum wage. You would think so, wouldn't you?”

She's more naïve than I thought. “You should probably call and find out. I would if I were you.”

“Yes, I guess that's a good idea.” Her eyes drift toward the window. “I thought I asked everything.”

“How did it go at the lawyer's? Did Dad show up?”

She sits back down and puts her purse to the side. A look of firm determination appears. “We agreed to everything. I should have known we would. It's been coming for years. We were ready.”

“What about this place, Mom? Is he making you sell?” I hate to press for details but I must know.

She turns her head slowly back to me. “There isn't any choice. It's half his. I stopped by a real estate office on my way home.” She seems to realize I'm here and reaches across the table to grab my hand. “It'll be OK. We can find something cute. We'll sell stuff we don't need, like some of my good dishes and Grandpa's chair and my sewing machine…” She stops, a sob cutting off her words. “I'm sorry,” she says and rushes out of the room leaving me with my letter.