The Mulligan (13 page)

I glance to the exit. Dan strolls toward me, a definite ten pounds lighter. I rise when he nears and step into his embrace. “I'm so sorry,” I say into his ear as he tightens his grip. I'd known his mother a little, and she'd always been sweet to me.

Dan finally releases me and holds me a few inches from him. Tears stand on his lids. “You look great. Golfing is good for you.”

I tug on my hair. Compliments I will take. “How long are you here for?”

“I've got a couple of tournaments, and then I move on to North Carolina. I missed a few because of Mom, so I need to make them up if I can.”

When we enter the restaurant, he takes my hand. Our booth is comfortable and private. Again, Dan reaches for my hand after we give our orders. His actions confuse me because I can't see any future for us. “Dan,” I say and slip my hand free on the pretense of finding my napkin. He takes my cue and spreads his on his lap, too. “How will your father manage your sisters without your mother?”

Dan's sisters are adorable (very precocious for ten- and eleven-year-olds, but then what did I know) and would need a mother's touch.

“My aunt Susie moved in for a while. Did you ever meet her? She was a cheerleader in high school and can still do splits. The kids love her.” His smile tries to reassure, but doesn't.

“She can't stay forever.”

“I know, but Dad needs the most help now. And I'll try to get home when I can…” His voice trails off and I imagine he is thinking of his sisters and how they will need their big brother.

I lean forward. “Ever think about quitting?”

His mouth falls.

Bingo. Dan has thought of nothing else, I guess.

“All the time. Dad doesn't want me to, but I told him I could work at the local course as an instructor and still be around to help raise the girls.” He fists his hand. “I still might after one or two more tournaments—maybe after this season ends.”

“I'm so sorry.” Is that all I can say? My tongue lies in my mouth in a tangle. I can only say sorry over and over. “I think if it was me, I'd go home, but that's me.”

“You always were a fixer, weren't you?” He sits back and narrows his eyes. “Is that what you're doing now, Bobbi? Fixing your family by taking Robert's place?”

I want to deny his question. I really do. In fact, my denial is already on my lips when I look back at his face and see the intent in his eyes. He's looking for an answer to his own dilemma—not mine. “Sometimes we have to do what we have to do for our families.”

“My dad says we can't save everyone. Some things just happen.”

“Are you talking about fate?”

“No, I'm talking about letting God's plan play out. That's why I'm so torn about what to do. Would I be playing Superman if I went home now?”

I think of Mattie's words.
Superman is just a myth.
Hadn't she tried to play that role, too, when she went around talking to people about drunk driving? I cross my arms. Of course, I'm wrong. She didn't play anyone's hero. Nor am I.

 

****

 

This isn't the first time my father left us. I was sixteen and learning how to drive. The day before, I'd finally passed my driver's license (after two tries), and Mom let me take the car out by myself.

“Stay on the main roads and no speeding.” She kissed the top of my head and gave me one of those worried parent smiles.

“Mooommm. I'm a good driver. Don't worry.” I waved her off and slid into the driver's seat of our van. We'd had the monster for about ten years, and I was secretly hoping, since both Robert and I could drive, they would get another vehicle for our use. Maybe something sporty or red or even with a sunroof. I dreamed a lot.

After backing out of the driveway, I drove along the river and turned toward town. My father had not ridden with me. It was Mom who taught me how to drive. After school, we'd gone from one parking lot to another until she'd given the green light for me to inch down a real road.

I switched on the radio and tapped my fingers on the steering wheel to a favorite song. This was the life. The sun shone through the windshield and warmed my face, and when I rolled down the window I smelled the beginnings of spring. My head fell back against the headrest.

Maybe my father would like to take a spin. It wasn't yet lunchtime, but I could drive him to Harry's Hotdog Heaven out on Route 6. Dad liked his dogs piled with sauerkraut and onions. I preferred the plain ones, but today I might splurge.

Downtown never changes. Sleepy. Historical. Old. I could add a bunch more adjectives, but that about sums up the place. My father's office was located at the end of Main. I pulled into the side parking lot. Only one other car besides his was parked there. I smiled. That meant he could leave for lunch.

After locking the car, (I'd remembered my mother's warning about strangers breaking into it) I went around to the back entrance where sometimes my father would come out to the small porch and take a break. His office looked out over Meadow Creek.

“A good place to think and breathe,” he'd said when he moved in. My mother thought his office should be situated at the front of the building, but my dad preferred the privacy. That's what he told us, anyway.

Today the back door was shut. I shrugged and started to reach for the knob when I heard giggling. I bent down and peered through the half-open blinds. My father and a woman I didn't recognize were lying on the sofa, locked in a pretty heavy embrace.

I jumped back, fingers splaying against the smooth siding.

It couldn't be true. But my eyes didn't lie. My father was having an affair.

I moved against the wall, heart racing out of my chest, and looked toward the creek. Soon anger replaced my shock and my fingers clenched into fists. What should I do? Should I knock and confront them?

Hardly. I might be bold about some things, but the thought of confronting my father with a lover made me want to throw up. I did gag and hurried off the porch to race down to the creek where my entire breakfast of oatmeal and toast ended up on the bank.

I fell to my knees under a maple tree, pressing my hands to my mouth. Just last week, Dad had attended church with us. For the fifth time in a row.

“Hypocrite,” I mouthed.

I'm not sure how long I sat by the creek but long enough until I heard the other car start up and drive away. Eventually, I crawled up the bank, and went around to where I'd parked. I didn't care if my father had seen the van. I wished he had.

I never was good at keeping secrets and when I returned home and handed Mom her set of keys, the tears started.

“What on earth is the matter?” She looked out the window to the driveway. Her first thought must have been I wrecked the car.

Robert came into the kitchen and threw a few cookies into his mouth. “What? You wreck your first time out?” He laughed and put his arm around my shoulder. “Won't be the last time. Promise you that.”

“I didn't wreck the van.”

“Then what's wrong?” My mother reached for me and put her palm against my forehead. Always checking for a fever. Maybe that was my answer.

“I don't feel so good.”

“You do feel a little warm. Why don't you go on up to bed, and I'll bring you some tea later.”

Her kindness made me want to bawl harder, but I nodded and slunk up the stairs to my room where I shed my clothes and dove under the covers. How would I ever face my father tonight when he came home? I flipped over and studied the wall where I'd hung some pencil drawings I'd doodled a few weeks ago.

One was of my parents sitting together on the front porch.

I shut my eyes and groaned.

A sixteen-year-old kid shouldn't have to deal with this stuff.

I didn't have to be the one to spill my guts though. That night, my father came home and told my mother everything. He moved out for three months before she took him back.

Where was Superman then?

 

****

 

I don't know why I'm thinking about my father on the first day of the Q-School tournament. I reach for Mattie's pendant and rub it between my fingers.

Do or die
. That's what Jessie, a girl from California, said when we checked in.

My future rests on today's performance and again in December in Daytona at the LPGA headquarters where the final cuts will be made.

The weather isn't helping either. Rain and a light wind will guarantee I'll hit at least a few balls to my right. Maybe even land some in the water, but I can't afford that today. I shiver in my rain gear. Why hadn't I layered better? Maybe because this is Florida, and who expects such cold in October?

One by one, the other golfers tee off. I wait, trying to think of anything but the next few hours. My stomach twists. Not now. I press my hand against my waist, forcing myself to take deep breaths.

It's my turn to tee off. I loosen my shoulders and take a deep breath. I press the gold golf club between my fingers and try to clear my mind. Robert said he'd be praying, and for once I count on that. I want God to see what I'm doing and to help me.

I swing.

My least favorite part of golfing is watching where my ball lands. Today, however, I don't have to worry. It is perfect.

 

 

 

 

15

 

Drew meets me at my car, his hair soaked to the scalp. His jacket is rolled up under one arm, drenched too. “How about you let me take you out to celebrate?”

“You were here?”

“I volunteered and drove the carts all over the place today.” He gives a show-stopping grin. “So how about it?”

“Can I change first? I can meet you someplace.”

“Soup and More in Winter Garden?”

“Give me an hour. I'm starved.”

I unlock my car and hoist my bag into the trunk. Drew waits, hanging around like a found puppy. “You can go, you know,” I tell him.

He comes closer and I look up at him.

“I'm proud of you. You golfed like a pro today.”

“Thanks. I still have a ways to go before I can say that, though.”

He rests his hand against the trunk of my wet car. “I plan to be there when you do.”

 

****

 

I consider Drew's comment later when I drive to the restaurant where I'll meet him, my body clothed in dry jeans and a T-shirt. My hair still looks pretty ragged, pulled up in a ponytail, but will have to do. I'm exhausted, considering the stress I've been under all day to stay ahead of the pack. But I did it. Round one. Check.

Later I'll call Robert in the privacy of my trailer. I can't wait to have him celebrate with me.

Drew meets me at the door and we are given a table along the window on the west side. I haven't ever eaten in this establishment, so Drew makes some suggestions and I go with a burger, fries, and coleslaw.

I don't realize how hungry I am until the waitress sets our plates in front of us. I dive in, not waiting for Drew to pick up his fork.

“So when are you quitting school?” He wipes ketchup from his mouth.

“What do you mean?” I set my glass of root beer aside. “I'm not quitting.”

Drew tilts his head and gives me a look that pretty much says I should know what he's talking about, but I don't. I plan to finish my degree if I can.

“If you win at Daytona, you go on tour.”

“But I'm sure that won't be right away.” I hadn't thought about this part of my plan in my eagerness to get down here and connect with the golf community.

“This next season, which would mean you'd be on the road.”

I stir my coleslaw (why on earth did I order it? It is nothing like my mother's) and then look across the table. What pulled me to Drew that first day? Couldn't have been his good looks alone. Am I that shallow?

“I haven't thought that far ahead.”

He pushes aside his empty plate. “Why don't you tell me what's going on, Bobbi. I'm not stupid, and I also know most serious golfers have their future all marked out. You're going about this like a girl who can't decide what boy she should date.”

“Ouch. That hurts. Why don't you tell me I'm a flake and be done with it?” I shove aside my own plate, leaving the pile of unfinished coleslaw for the busboy to clean up. So Drew wants to know why I haven't planned better. I do, too, only I've been struggling to get from point
A
to point
B
. I sigh and roll my eyes.

“So you aren't going to tell me?”

“There isn't that much to tell.” Sure there is, but I can't spill my guts to Drew, the only guy who backs me here. At least, not yet.

“Try me. You'll find I'm a good listener. And I might throw in my own story as a bonus.”

I straighten. “You never talk about yourself.”

“Maybe not to you. I do have family and friends, despite what this loner looks like to you.” Again the smile.

I've been wondering what happened to him ever since I stepped into his classroom and he offered to teach me to play. Something is off with him, and it isn't only that he didn't make it on tour. Drew is a great golfer. I've seen his shots. Maybe if I give him something…

“OK. It's a deal.”

“Deal You first.”

“My father never took me golfing—he preferred my brother. My twin brother. His name is Robert. My father was a pro golfer. So was my grandfather.”

“That doesn't explain anything. Only begs the question why you're here and not Robert. Is he already on tour? Playing catch-up?”

Is that what he thinks? I could let him go with this, but I'm not good at lying. Maybe I'll share a bit more. “Robert had an accident and he's relearning how to walk.”

“Ohhh. I see.” He crosses his arms and leans back against the padded seatback. A pretty waitress stops to ask if he needs his cup refilled. Drew shakes his head.