The Mulligan (6 page)

The last person left at midnight, and that was only because it was Robert's best friend, Dan. We'd been sitting around the campfire Dad started at sundown, and by then my mother brought out the fixings for S'mores. Even Grandpa stayed up past his bedtime and tucked himself into one of the lawn chairs next to the comfortable blaze.

Later, Dan and I shared a private moment behind the barn. He'd tucked my hand into his and led me there on the pretense of giving me my birthday gift. We had dated only twice but those times had left me hoping for more. “Come here. I've got you something, but I don't want to give it to you in front of Robert. You know how that clown gets.” He'd rolled his eyes and I couldn't help but admire his full lips and dark shiny hair.

He was a freak about golfing like Robert was and was already on tour so he didn't get home much. But I didn't care. I'd always thought he was nice and my heart reeled that he asked me out.

He pulled out a tiny box wrapped in blue tissue paper.

I fumbled with it and finally lifted up a silver chain. A miniature heart hung from the end. I remember looking up into his eyes. He leaned forward and kissed me.

“Are you listening to me, Bobbi?” Amanda's stern voice pulls me back to the present.

“I'm here,” I say, but I choke on the words. I'm here in Orlando, a zillion miles away from everyone I love. Why is it continually so hard to stay focused? I've almost completed one semester with three left to go.

Anything is possible. Isn't that what Robert always said when he talked about his dream to win the Masters Tournament?

Maybe I have my doubts on days like today, but I refuse to let anything interfere. “I'm here. Tell me more.”

 

****

 

Marketing class teaches me not only how to create a power point that impresses the teacher to give me an A, but also that I need to start marketing myself more. I buy five hundred cheap online business cards and pass them out to every person I meet in the industry, whether or not they run a golf course, give lessons, or know someone on tour. I want my name out there so that when I win tournaments, sponsors flock to pick me up.

In the meantime, I sign up for a lesson every chance I get. Today after class, I hitch my backpack onto my shoulder and hurry into the hallway to sign up for Drew's afternoon lesson. We almost have a standing arrangement for one thirty, and I look forward not only to showing him how well I am putting, but also to our conversations.

“Hey, Bobbi. Want to play a round today at Sunset?”

I turn to my right to see Brad catch up with me, puffing hard. He's a few years old than I am and needs to lose twenty pounds. His receding hairline makes him look even older.

“Can't. I need to sign up for a lesson.”

He walks with me to where the sign-up sheets are posted and I look for Drew's list. My usual slot has been filled. My shoulders and spirits fall. I'll have to wait around an extra hour if I want one with him today.

“How's Drew as an instructor? I haven't tried him yet.”

No longer in the mood for polite conversation, I scribble my name in and ignore his question.

But Brad isn't easily put off. “Want to go over to the clubhouse and get a bite to eat?”

It would be a way to kill time since I hate to spend two hours at the driving range and then practice again. My peanut butter and jelly sandwich I made in my sleep this morning at five waits for me in my car along with a slice of Matty's homemade pie. I calculate how much it will cost to get a burger in the clubhouse.

“My treat. You can buy next time,” Brad says as though reading my mind. His chin hangs on the hope that I will say yes, I know that, but I can't bring myself to give him any reason to believe I'm interested in starting a relationship with him.

“Maybe next time, Brad. I had a cancellation.” We turn to find Drew standing nearby, hands on his hips.

Brad gives a quick nod and steps out of Drew's path quicker than a dog looking for a treat.

I push my hair back behind my ears, wishing I'd worn it up. He points toward his office down the hallway. I follow his orange and black golf shirt. I'd almost bought that same color last week and am elated I didn't, as it looks far better with his hair coloring than mine. When we arrive at his office, he holds the door open and motions for me to enter first.

The smell of pizza almost knocks me over.

An open box waits on his desk with two large sodas on either side. He motions for me to sit while he goes around to the other side of the desk.

“I thought you had a lesson?” Once again, my voice lets me down, making me sound like I'm twelve.

“He cancelled, so we're on.”

“And it includes lunch?” The inviting smell of roasted garlic and pepperoni makes me salivate.

Drew reaches for a large piece and pushes the box toward me. “Eat up. You're wasting away.”

I do as ordered and munch on the crispy crust. Pizza has turned into a delicacy for me here in Florida, whereas back home I'd shared one weekly with friends. I stuff it down as politely as I can and reach for a second piece the same time he does.

I have yet to ask Drew about his past and consider this might be the right moment. After all, he seems more relaxed than I've seen him all semester. He wipes his mouth with his napkin and smiles at me, causing me to choke on my last bite.

I reach for my soda and suck half of it down. So I'm not completely at ease with him. I doubt I ever will be considering the way his eyes sparkle and the adorable way his face crinkles when he smiles. I can't help but compare him to Dan, whom I ended going out with only three more times. His taste in movies and music bored me, and his endless parade of golf fanfare had been the end for me. I kept the necklace though (it was a gift) and tucked it away in a box that I kept in my bottom drawer so my mother wouldn't find it if she decided to snoop.

Drew shoves the pizza box away from us. “So tell me why you're really here, Bobbi. It isn't about the golf, is it?”

My eyes widen. If I could have, I would have gulped, but instead set my soda down and try to come up with a plausible answer. “What do you mean? I told you my plans are to go on tour.”

His eyes narrow.

I've been found out. Maybe I'm not as good an actress as I'd hoped to be. Maybe Mrs. Tarpon, my sixth-grade teacher, had been right when she'd put me in the choir instead of giving me a part in the
Pirates of Penzance
. I'd cried all night that I wouldn't get to wear those pretty petticoats like my best friend, but as it was, I came down with the flu opening night, anyway.

My mother kept me home while Dad went with Robert, since he played one of the main pirates. Moustache and all.

“That's not what I mean, and you know it.”

A plan forms as I contemplate how much to share about my family's problems. “I'll tell you if you tell me why you quit the tour to work here.”

He frowns like a child who has been told they are leaving the playground.

Touché.

Now I'm not normally the kind of person who wants to hurt anyone, but I have my reasons for wanting to keep parts of my life private. I assume Drew does, too.

“Where did you hear that?” he says, eyebrows rising.

“I met your brother on the range. How come you didn't mention we're from the same area?”

I'm not sure which part of my sentence floors him more. That I know his brother or that I know he comes from my hometown.

“So you met Mark? Quite a talker, isn't he?”

The office is getting too warm for me. If someone doesn't keep the weight room doors open, this half of the school overheats. I wipe back hair that sticks on my face. “He's a nice guy. We discovered we've met before at a hardware store.”

“Really? What a coincidence. So I guess you've been wondering if we've met before, too.”

I shake my head. “At first, but then I knew if we had, I would have remembered you.” My hand flies to my mouth. Did I really say that?

“And I'm certain I would have remembered you, too, Miss Bobbi-with-an-
I
.”

A shudder runs down my spine, to the dead-center of my stomach. I think of moonlit nights, dancing under the stars, and holding hands on the front porch swing. I think of swapping stories until daylight and plucking strands of long grass from his hair after lying in the dewy morning grass by the river. I let my brain spin all forms of romantic fantasies while I shrink under Drew's steady gaze.

I do the only thing I can do. “Do you like movies?”

 

 

 

 

6

 

After my lesson, I drive straight home past the row of century-old oaks and into my development. I slow down to let a golf cart pass driven by a man wearing plaid Bermuda shorts, a collared shirt, and loafers with white socks. He nods his thanks and putts toward a trailer where a matching woman with tightly permed silver hair and a sundress that shows her flapping underarms waits. I'm surrounded by old age, but then much of Florida is filled with the retired.

A block of mailboxes sits near the clubhouse. I use the word clubhouse loosely. When I went to investigate it my first day here, all I found were outdated magazines stacked side-by-side next to a broken treadmill and a set of used barbells. The owner stayed in his office watching TV the entire time I was there. Mattie told me later the building's main usage is as a shelter in the event of a tornado or hurricane. I dread the thought of being trapped for days with people who smell like menthol rub.

After finding my key, I unlock my box and smile when I discover three letters from home. Amanda must have sent a pre-baby announcement already as the pink envelope and her fancy cursive is covered with rattle stickers. I finger the next two letters and decide to wait until I get back to my place to open them. My stomach growls in agreement. Drew's pizza didn't last through nine holes of golf.

My cheeks heat again.
Do you like movies?
Pretty forward. I've never asked a guy out before, and here I ask my own teacher. I put the car in gear and drive around the corner to my place. Good thing a student came into his office before he answered. I'm not sure I would have followed through.

A quick glance at Mattie's place assures me she isn't around and won't be bringing over any leftovers tonight. I look forward to my twenty-nine cent box of macaroni and cheese. I might even have some stale bread I can toast.

My meal takes only minutes to make. With a cold glass of milk, toast with peanut butter, and a plate of the blue box's finest imposter, I sit at my kitchen table with the two other letters waiting before me. My mom writes me almost every day. She sends recipes and notes about the robins coming and going and how high the river is. Robert is more lax so I grin when I pick his up first.

A minute later, I set down his letter.

My mother needs me to come home.

My fingers shake as I slit open her letter and a check falls out. I race through her neat paragraphs written in her favorite purple ink but can't find anything to substantiate Robert's claims. The money is for my birthday if I want to fly up—if I can get time off—but she knows it might be difficult for me and doesn't hold out any expectations.

I drop my head in my hands. “Oh, God,” I pray. “Oh, God, please help us.”

 

****

 

Maybe it's because I'm a new employee or maybe such a fine worker, but my manager gives me the time off when I ask for it the next day. I wait now in my seat at the Orlando International Airport for my plane to take off. I've been fortunate to get a direct flight, but not so fortunate to get a good seatmate. The woman who sits next to me has already pulled out her knitting needles and clicks them while we wait for runway clearance. I'm not sure if I will be able to stand hearing that sound for the next two-plus hours.

I study the other travelers on the crowded plane. A young man and his wife (I can tell by the shiny new wedding bands) sit across from me holding hands as though they've just come off their honeymoon. A set of black plastic mouse ears sticking out of her bag give me a good clue. In front of me, I watch two small children and a tired-looking mother climb in after a tussle about who will sit where.

Normally, airplane rides intrigue me. We took a trip out west to Arizona for a vacation when we were in our teens. Dad thought it was important that we viewed the Grand Canyon, though when I got there I asked to go to a mall instead. Not that it was so boring I wanted to cry; it wasn't. It was just the same everywhere I looked. How many pictures could I take of rocks? Robert had agreed and we took to snapping our new cameras at tourists who were chasing their kids away from the steep edges.

When that got boring, we edged closer ourselves to take in yet another view.

“Watch this,” Robert said as he stepped on a rock ledge and dangled one long leg over it. “Ta-da!” I laughed and imitated him from where I stood on my own rock four feet away until I felt the back of my shirt being yanked so hard I stumbled backwards.

“Get back from that ledge!” My father next went for Robert, who had been wise enough to see Dad grab me first and knew better than to wait for him to get there.

We sat in the hot car for over an hour while he and Mom went through the gift shop (now I was bored) and took more pictures. I don't think they ever developed half of what they took, but that wasn't my business.

Later, I tried to paint from my photos but couldn't get them right. It seemed my mountains and river were my muse.

After takeoff, I reach into my backpack and pull out my headphones and a book I'd been meaning to read ever since I arrived in Florida but hadn't had time. Golf. That's what I do in all my free time. Day in and day out. I actually shot a seventy-nine last week, and it seems I'm getting more and more consistent with my swings. I still need to do better, but I'm improving.