The Mulligan

by Terri Tiffany

  “I knew she was upset, but not to this extent.”

  His reaction floors me.

  “Upset. You knew she was upset. Dad, what planet are you living on?”

  He shakes his head to the side. Confusion settles into his eyes. It hits me. My father is clueless as to how he affects others.

  “She suggested the divorce. She said I wasn’t happy and she couldn’t make me happy anymore. Doesn’t she understand she’s my whole reason for living?” His eyes close. Is my father going to cry?

  “What are you talking about? You’re the one who keeps leaving her. You’re the one who has all the affairs, Dad.”

  His head shoots up.

  Yeah, I hit a nerve and I don’t care. “I saw you.” And it’s out.

  He turns away from me, his back bent. “You never told me.” I can barely hear him.

  “Well it isn’t something a daughter wants to tell her father, you know. You cheated on Mom and she stuck by you. All these years and you haven’t cared. Look what you did before Thanksgiving. You came back only because you thought you could live your golf career again through me after what I did to Robert. You hated me, Dad. You still do.” My chest is on fire. Words I thought I’d never say to my father spill from my mouth. Ugly words. I don’t stop until I break him and when he finally sinks into the chair against the wall, I turn and leave him. I leave him like he has left us more than once.

  The hospital exit is down the next hall. I push through the door into the parking lot where a gust of cold air strikes my face. My coat is inside in the waiting room and I stand freezing in the cold December air, my hand shaking against my arms.

  The relief I expect to come doesn’t. Instead, sadness raises its head and almost chokes me. If there was ever a chance to repair my family, I’ve blown it by my recent actions.

  A hospital employee dressed in a parka comes out the door. She looks my way. “Honey, don’t you think you should put a coat on? It’s probably close to twenty degrees out here. You’ll catch a cold and be in there as a patient soon enough.”

  “I’m fine. Thank you.” I rub my arms and move closer to the brick wall. Finally, I feel Robert’s keys in my jeans pocket from when I’d picked them up after he left them lying in the ER. I search the parking area and discover I’m in the lot where we left the truck earlier. Maybe I’ll leave for a while. The doctor said her surgery might take a few hours or longer.

  Fifteen minutes later, I pull into our driveway. The car heater is on full blast and I’m reluctant to get out and make a dash for the door. When I finally do, I enter the back way and note the mess the EMTs have made in the kitchen where they found my mother. The chairs are pushed back and her sweater lies in a heap. I pick it up and caress the soft fabric while folding it in half.

  The teapot beckons me. With my mother’s favorite cup in hand, I wander upstairs to her bedroom, searching for what, I don’t know. Her bed is made with her favorite quilt—birds and lavender flowers. I sit on the edge and let my gaze wander. It drops to the nightstand at my right. She’s written some notes in her familiar penmanship. I pick up the paper and smell her perfume on it.

  The letter is to my father.

  It’s a love letter. I read until the end and put it down, flushing and angry at the same time.

  My mother loves him and wrote the letter to ask him to try again. She blames herself for everything that has happened in their life including getting pregnant. She even offers to sell the farm and move anywhere he wants to move to be with him. Even Florida.

  I fall backward on the bed, my head slamming into the pillow shams. They give with my weight. Plush. Groaning. I look up. The ceiling is painted beige with little ridges feathered around the far edges. She once told me she wanted to put a picture of mine up there so it would be the first and last thing she saw when she fell asleep and woke.

  I called her silly and offered to paint something but never got around to it. I glance at the bedside clock. In another four hours, it will be a new year. A new year with new dreams and hopes and disappointments. I want my mother to be here to experience all of them with me. My hip aches as I roll to my side. The letter stares at me—reminding me that my father and mother are a couple. No matter what the situation. No matter if they are apart or together, I can’t change how they feel about each other.

  Tears trickle from my eyes. I wanted to keep them together, and then I wanted to keep them apart. Do I know what’s right anymore? Is their business any of my business? This whole last year of college was for my father so that he would be happy again. But did I ever ask him what he needed?

  The answer rises in my throat and makes me run to the bathroom in the hallway. My insides land in the toilet. I slide to the cold linoleum and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “I never asked.”

  My voice echoes off the pale green bathroom walls. I assumed what my family needed without asking or caring that they might want otherwise. I rise to my feet as my cell phone starts to vibrate. One glance shows me it’s Robert.

  “Hey. How’s Mom?” I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror. Bloodshot eyes greet me.

  “Where are you? The doctor came out and said they’re moving her to recovery. It went well, Bobbi. She’s going to be OK. Now get your butt back here with my truck.”

  “It’s good news? Praise God.”

  “Praise God, indeed. He hears our prayers. He heard yours.”

  I shove my phone into my pocket.

  God heard my prayer. He really heard me.

  I swallow hard and drop back to my knees. “Please forgive my doubt, Lord. Please forgive me for running ahead of You and making my own plans. Thank You for healing my mother and thank You for opening my eyes to Your love.” When I finally rise, I add one more prayer and hope He’s still listening.

  31

  The clock on the waiting room wall reads 11:45. In fifteen minutes, it will be the New Year. My father is asleep on the sofa, and Robert has gone to the cafeteria to see if they are still serving anything.

  I saw my mother when I came back but she’s been sleeping. We should go home, but I won’t be the first to suggest it.

  Dad nodded when he saw me, but that’s it.

  Robert grabbed me in a bear hug, his smile spilling off his face.

  On the drive back, I made a decision. I’m done playing Superman. I’m turning in my cape for good and going to focus on putting my own life together and let everyone do the same for themselves.

  By the looks of it, Dad isn’t going anywhere. His love for Mom has been pretty evident since his arrival at the hospital. Maybe if I stay out of the way, they will work out their own problems. If they don’t, it isn’t on me.

  Most of the hospital staff has gone home.

  I was told they work on a skeletal crew on the holiday although tonight is a big one for fatalities. A few cleaning ladies nod to me when I use the bathroom. Thanking them would sound dumb, but part of me wants to. Instead, I return to the waiting room and pull my jacket around my shoulders.

  The temperature has never been warm in here and right now I’d give anything for my bed.

  “Hey, they’re closed. Not even coffee.” Robert comes up to me. He holds salted peanuts in his fist and offers me some from the half-eaten bag.

  “No thanks. How about we all go home until morning? They say she’ll sleep a long time yet and everything went well.”

  He shakes his head. His eyes are bloodshot and his clothing looks like something he’s taken from the trash. “Not me. Here. Take the keys and go get some sleep. I’ll stay with Dad.”

  Having permission to return home appeals to me more than camping out in a cold waiting room. Besides, I want to call Drew and wish him a Happy New Year if I can. I take the keys and head out to the parking lot. It’s well lit, so I’m not worried about anyone bothering me.

  Fireworks sound off to my right.

  I look up and see flashes of colorful lights rising over the rooftops. A smile works its way to my lips. I do have so
mething to celebrate this year.

  My phone rings as I reach the truck. Drew’s name shows on caller ID.

  “I was going to call you. Happy New Year.”

  “Where are you? I drove past your house and the lights are all out. Is everything OK, or are you partying somewhere and forgot to invite me?”

  “I’m in the parking lot of Memorial Hospital.” I unlock the truck and get in. The engine soon warms the cab.

  “What’s the matter?”

  I hear the fear in his voice. My lips curl upward. “It’s OK, now. My mother had a heart attack and they did a bypass. She’s going to be fine.”

  “Wow. I’m sorry, Bobbi. How are you doing with it?” Now his concern comes through.

  I smile again. “I’m tired, but OK. I was going to call you. You know, to wish you a Happy New Year.”

  “How about telling me in person?”

  I glance around the parking lot expecting to see him walk toward me. The only person I see is a tired security guard taking a cigarette break. “Where are you?”

  “Meet me at the golf course. You’re fifteen minutes away.”

  The golf course. The one he’s buying, of course. “At this time of night?”

  “It’s OK. I know the owner.”

  I imagine his blue eyes twinkling with his joke. “Warm it up. I’ll be right over.”

  The drive takes me less than fifteen minutes, a curvy road out past town and across the South Bridge. When I come over the crest of the hill, I brake in delight. White lights spotlight the driving range. Only Drew’s car sits in the parking lot. I climb down and look around until a whistle catches my attention. From about fifty yards away, Drew sits in a golf cart. He zooms over to my side.

  “Hop in.” On my seat lies a warm plaid blanket. He’s wearing his parka again.

  I do as ordered, pulling the blanket around me. “Are we taking the grand tour tonight?”

  He presses the pedal and we take off across the course arriving at the top of the hill at the first tee. Drew shuts off the cart. The silence hugs us.

  “Look over there,” he says, and points to our right.

  Fireworks light up the sky dazzling us with brilliant colors.

  “Pretty amazing view, don’t you think?”

  “You bought this course for New Year’s Eve, didn’t you?” I snuggle deeper into my blanket, enjoying the show and my company.

  Drew snakes his arm around my shoulders. It’s warm and comforting.

  I rest my head back.

  “I’m sorry about your mother. But I’m happy to hear she’ll be OK. What do you think caused it?”

  “A number of things.” I pause. How much do I share? “The most important thing is my father showed up. I know he still loves her without me doing anything.”

  He whistles again. “You didn’t do anything, huh? Hard to believe. Did you lose your superpower?”

  I twist in my seat to study his face. He’s kidding, but it’s funny how well he knows me. “I gave away my cape. No more meddling or fixing. They’re on their own.”

  “I’m happy to hear that Miss Bobbi-with-an-I.” Drew’s hand comes up and he caresses my cheek. “Maybe you can focus on you now.”

  I remember our kiss. How can’t I when his face is so close to mine? “I plan on it. Once I figure out what to do next.”

  His hand returns to the steering wheel and he starts the cart up again, zooming across the fairways. “Where are we going?” I raise my voice to be heard. Drew doesn’t answer, but instead heads toward the driving range.

  “The driving range? You really do own this place.” I like the idea of having the place all to ourselves. When he pulls up, he shuts off the cart and jumps out. I put aside my blanket to follow him to the tee. A set of shiny new clubs waits for us.

  Drew pulls out the driver and hands it to me. “Merry Christmas.”

  “It’s New Year’s.”

  “I’ll get to that. For now, Merry Christmas. Come on.”

  “Really? I didn’t get you anything.” I take the club in my hand and follow him to the tee, amazed at his generosity, but curious to his plan.

  He places a ball from his pocket onto the ground. “Hit it.”

  His eyes are smiling when I look into his face, then he nods to the club I’m holding. “Hit it like you’ve never hit it before.”

  The shaft is cut to my height. The grip fits my hand better than a pair of fancy racing gloves. I give it a practice swing. It’s been weeks since I’ve hit a ball. Can I make a decent shot? I look out at the course and admire the lay of the land. This is a beautiful course. I played it a few times with Robert when we could afford to. My jacket slips to the ground.

  “Go ahead.” Drew stands back away from me, but his voice is a whisper in my ear. Hit it. How many times have I heard that in my life time? How many times did Robert tell me to try to hit the ball the best I could? “You aren’t a quitter, Bobbi. I know you can get this game,” he’d say.

  “You just want someone to chase your lost balls.” I’d tell him in return, but then I hit the ball and each time it flew a little further.

  Tonight my memories collide with reality. Grandpa’s face appears before me. He’s holding his coin. I glance down at my neck where Mattie’s pendant hangs, reminding me to focus. My first hit of the New Year should be memorable. I hang my shoulders forward, loosen my grip, and waggle my middle.

  I swing.

  Blood rushes through my veins as I track the course of my ball. When it lands at two hundred and eighty-five yards, I let out a whoop and twist around. “Did you see that? Did you see how far it went?”

  Drew is next to me in a flash, locking his arms around me, swinging me into the air. “I saw it. I saw it.” He finally slips me to the ground but doesn’t let go. “And now I want to wish you a Happy New Year. If you’ll let me.”

  I look up into his face again. The tenderness in it brings an ocean of waves to my chest. “You’re sweet, Drew. Really sweet.”

  “Think you might have time in your new life for someone so sweet?”

  My legs almost collapse beneath me. Oh, yes. Oh, yes. Aloud I say, “What are you suggesting?”

  He tugs me closer against his him. “A proposition.”

  I wriggle my eye brows. “A proposition?”

  He takes the club from my hand and puts it back into the bag. When he returns, seriousness has replaced his playfulness. “I need someone to help me here at the course. I think you’re the right person. Your shot just proved it. I’ll pay you well and let you have all the free golf you want.”

  “You want to hire me? To teach golf?”

  He closes the gap between us, wrapping his arms around me again. “Admit it, Bobbi. Golf is in you. I knew it even more when I watched you hold that club tonight and swing. The distance was the icing on the cake. You’re a natural. I want that at my course. I want you at my course.”

  I think of the prayer I’d said tonight on the way back to the hospital after finding my mother’s letter to my father. My heart swells with the memory of my words spoken in earnest. I wish my brother were here to see how God answered it.

  “Is that the only reason you want me here? To teach your customers how to golf?” No, I’m not a flirt but, hey, it’s New Year’s Eve with fireworks and the whole deal.

  A grin forms on his lips. “I knew the minute you stumbled through my classroom door I’d be saying your name correctly the rest of my life. I just had to convince you.”

  “Have you?” I touch his day’s growth of beard. The stubble electrifies my fingers. When he bends to kiss me, I close my eyes and exhale.

  Mattie was wrong about one thing.

  Superman is real.

  Epilogue

  Eighteen months later.

  It’s one of those perfect Pennsylvania days. Crystal blue sky, temperatures in the mid-seventies, and the smell of lilacs rushes around me in a dance to usher in summer. I’m waiting for Drew and Mark who are inspecting the final tent for the tournam
ent. Already the parking lot is filling with locals who signed up to help support our first event.

  I wander into the pro shop where the staff has already hung the sign. I can’t help but stop and admire the banner: First Annual Art Charity Golf Tournament.

  Next to a table laden with donated prizes, the grand prize is displayed on a large easel. I run my hand over the oak frame. This painting is still my favorite.

  Amanda said she wanted to hang her new family portrait over her fireplace now, anyway. “Besides,” she told me, “it’s time someone else enjoyed one of your creations.”

  I hadn’t wanted to take her painting, but she’d insisted. Who can argue with a new mother?

  I linger over the work a minute longer and then move to the next table, where I’ve placed some of my latest art.

  After our honeymoon, Drew built a studio for me over our garage. If I lean just right, I can see the river.

  “Bobbi! The place looks wonderful!” I turn to see my mother, who is leading my father into the clubhouse by the hand. It seems she runs more than their new sporting goods store now. I hide a smile.

  Dad doesn’t look too upset though. In fact, ever since Mom left the hospital, he hasn’t stopped smiling.

  She pulls me into a hug. “Where’s that son-in-law of mine?” Her necklace and earrings compliment her peach blouse and linen pants.

  “He’s finishing with the set-up. Should be here soon. You look great, Mom. Do you sell that shirt in your store?” I finger the dainty collar.

  “Not yet, but give her time.” My father steps next to us and chuckles. He told me last week at dinner that buying the store was the best decision he ever made, short of marrying my mother. I swear it’s like the two of them can’t get enough of each other.

  He reaches for my hand. The first time he did that at my wedding, I didn’t know what to do. I looked at my mother who was fixing my veil and she nodded, a tiny smile appearing on her lips.