The Mulligan (14 page)

“Do you? You think I'm here because Robert can't be?”

“Are you trying to impress your father? Because I'd think he'd be pretty impressed right now after today's luck.”

“It isn't luck.” My fingers find the necklace. “I don't know what it was. But it wasn't luck. Maybe God's plan for me or something. I don't know. But I can't stop and figure all that out now.”

“You're right. I should let you go.”

“No you don't. You haven't told me your dark secrets yet. Come on. Open up.”

“Maybe another time.” A grin shows and he grabs the check the waitress has dropped off during my story.

“Now who isn't being fair?”

“Let's just say we might need more time, and I know a sleepyhead when I see one.”

I stifle my yawn and reach for my purse. He's right. I'm so tired that driving home might be impossible. I say goodnight and make it back to my trailer going well below the speed limit.

A light is on at Mattie's place. As far as I know, all her belongings are being given away next week, and everything is packed and ready to go. The park manager hasn't been able to find any relatives and all her close friends have no need of anything.

I lock my car. Maybe someone is robbing her place? Hardly possible since this court is the last place anyone would come looking to make a fast dollar. I bite my lower lip and decide. Seconds later, I knock on the front door.

No answer.

When I jiggle the handle, the door opens softly beneath my hand. “Hello? Is anyone here?” I call into the semi-darkness. I make out the piles of boxes, and next I see the shadow. I clap my hand over my mouth to stop myself from screaming.

“Come in. Anyone who would brave an empty house must have cared about Mattie. Don't worry. I don't bite.” The florescent lights come on over the kitchen sink at the same time I breathe again. An attractive woman in her thirties or maybe early forties steps forward with her hand out.

“I'm sorry. I wasn't being nosy. I'm…was Mattie's neighbor.” I shake the offered hand.

The intruder wears white capris and has pulled her hair onto her head in a kind of fancy twist. Streaks of red add to an otherwise bland color job. “Nice to meet you. How well did you know my mother?”

I choke on my spit. “Your mother? I didn't”—I stutter like a nervous date—”didn't know she had a daughter. I'm so sorry for your loss. She never told me about you.”

“Mina.” She nods to the sofa, the only piece of furniture not loaded with boxes. “Please sit. It's not a surprise to me that she didn't tell you I existed. We haven't spoken in over twenty years. I was lucky to find out she died through the Internet. Someone picked up on her obituary and ran with it. That's what fame will get you—another article at death.”

I want to say “Wow!” about the twenty-year time frame but instead say, “That's a long time.” We sit a good foot apart on the couch. My knees shake without my permission.

“It's going to be even longer now that's she's gone. I should have come sooner.” She lets her head drop for a fraction of a second and pulls it upright again.

This whole scene isn't for me. I try hard to think what my mother might say but nothing comes to mind except offering tea, and that's out of the question since everything is packed. “I wish she'd told me. She was really special.”

“I see she gave you the necklace.”

Without realizing it, I have been fondling the golf club between my two fingers—as is now my habit. I drop my hand to my lap.

“It's OK. I never wanted it. She won it on her last tournament—Palm Springs. I was there for her victory, but later that night she wrecked the car and that's history, so they say.”

“You weren't in the accident?”

Mina shakes her head. Her eyebrows form a lovely V while she speaks. I feel like I'm sitting in the middle of a TV show where they bring out guests who tell their life story. I cross my fingers, hoping for something good.

“I went home with my friends. She stayed and drank with her friends and gave my cousin and others a ride home. I never forgave her. Never is a long time.” A sigh floats from her chest.

“You haven't spoken in all these years? What about her community service and all the good she did? Doesn't that count for something?”

“Does that change anything?”

“I think it did for Mattie. She felt good about it. She felt like she was helping others.”

“I'm glad for her. It still didn't change the lives she destroyed.”

I don't get her. Why is she here if she's never forgiven Mattie even with all the good she did?

“I'm sorry. It seems to me that Mattie would have done anything to fix things in her life. I bet that included you.”

Mina stands and strides over to the sink where she pours herself a glass of water. She turns around. Her eyes are shiny. “Ever wish your life had turned out differently? That you did what you should have done? I was a darned good golfer. Would have been pro, but because of my mother, I put my clubs away and took up knitting. Knitting. Do I look like a person who likes to knit?”

Honestly, I want to say yes, but I keep my mouth shut.

“I got married, raised three kids, and practically won the best mother of the year award, but I couldn't call my mother. You know why? I wanted her to try harder. To make up for what she did and not with community service garbage.”

“What more could she have done?” I whisper. I regret now that I looked over here when I got home. I will mind my own business in the future.

She waves her glass in the air. Maybe it isn't water. “I don't know. That's the trouble. I really don't know. She couldn't fix everything, I guess.”

Superman is a myth.

“Again, I'm sorry for your loss. Would you like this necklace back to remember her by?”

“No, no, you keep it, honey. I'm sure there was a good reason why she gave it to you.”

I don't know what it is, but part of me doesn't want to let go of Mattie's gift yet. But I do want to get out of this conversation. I stand and edge toward the door.

“It was nice to meet you. Let me know if you need any help with any of her things.” I let my gaze fall around the room at the boxes filled with what was Mattie's life.

“I'm going to have Goodwill haul this stuff away. I'm not sure why I came. Maybe I thought I'd find some answers here.” A loose laugh bubbles from her.

I definitely need to be going. In a minute she'll be sobbing into her glass.

I reach for the doorknob, and then I think of something. Something Mattie told me one day when we were eating hotdogs on her patio. She said she liked to write before she was a golfer, and now all she ever did was write in a journal at night when she could keep her eyes opened.

“Did you look in her nightstand?”

Mina raises her head. “Her nightstand? Whatever for?”

“I could be wrong, but your mother told me how she jotted things down at night. In a journal. I thought…” my words trail off. Mina is already halfway down the hall. In a matter of minutes, she returns with a plastic coated journal in both hands. She looks like she's found the lost city of Atlantis.

I start to sit again but change my mind.

“I'll leave you to it.”

Mina looks up at me from where she's curled in Mattie's rocker. Tears trickle down her cheeks. “Thank you for being here with my mother. And thank you for this gift. It might not give me the answers I need, but it's a start. A good one.”

I take advantage of my opportunity to leave. I will probably never know what was written in that journal, but I sure hope Mattie wrote about her long lost daughter somewhere in it.

 

 

 

 

16

 

Robert answers the phone instead of my mother.

I hold my breath and then speak. “I qualified.”

Screams tumble through my earpiece, and I laugh along with my brother. I really need to hear him like this today. His support means everything to me.

“I knew you would do it. You're amazing, Bobbi. So when's the next round of tournaments?”

“Not until December—a week before Christmas.” I sink into my chair. “I'm nervous about it. The competition was stiff at this one. I played well, but anything can go wrong.”

He's quick to reassure me. “It won't. Not now, because you want this so badly. I still don't agree it's what you should do with your life, but I can't tell you what to do.”

“How's Dad? Any word from him?” I cross my fingers, hoping. All this work and effort is for nothing if my father decides he's done with us forever. I want him to be proud of me and regain that pride he had in himself. I want him to be happy we're his family.

“He came for dinner last night. Mom invited him.” I hear the resignation in his voice, the concern and the fear for what could go right or wrong.

“And? How did it go?”

“Grandpa acted like nothing was wrong. Like Dad has been sitting in his place every night. But then Grandpa took a fall—hit the bathroom radiator and Mom and Dad took him to the hospital. They kept him overnight for observation.” He lowers his voice. “He's going downhill fast and Mom doesn't get it.”

“So he's OK now?” My breath quickens when I think of my grandfather and how I'll keep that promise to win a trophy. Will I ever make it?

“He's been resting. Docs say he probably had a mini-stroke and might have injured his ribs. I don't know though. I don't think he'll be around too much longer.”

“Don't say that! He'll be around a long time.”

My brother has always been much more realistic than I am in everything. When he injured himself in the fire, it was Robert who told me that his healing would take time and that if he never golfed again—then so be it.

Maybe I should be more like him. But if I was, who would be the one to put our family back together? My mother certainly isn't making my father happy. The only time he was excited about anything was when he discovered how good Robert was at the sport. I know my Dad saw his own dreams come true again.

“Hey. Are you there?”

I'm fading. “I'm here. Just thinking about what you said.”

“You'll be home for Thanksgiving. You can see for yourself. You are coming home, aren't you?”

“I plan on it. It won't be for long since they don't give us that many days off and I need to practice.”

“I hope you're having a life there, too. You are, aren't you?”

As in life does he mean my ticket-taking job? Or maybe my now-and-then lunches with Drew and his brother?

“Sure. I have a life.”

I hang up right after a few more sentences and shuffle into my bedroom where I fall down on my bed, exhausted.

I hate my life. I hate that I have to play golf all day. I hate that I can't date anyone. I hate that Mattie has died and that her daughter never knew her and that she is sitting over there crying over an old journal. I hate that I'm the only one who can put my father back into our family and make him happy.

 

****

 

Although I seem more and more to be a natural at playing golf, I'm not a natural when talking to my father. Dad didn't grow up in the Northeast like I did. His hometown is near San Diego, a place we once visited to meet his parents, my grandparents, who owned a resort in the mountains. I remember asking my father why he would leave this beautiful place and end up where he did.

“I met your mom and she wanted to live near her parents.”

That was his explanation. Not that he loved the Endless Mountains or the countryside and the people. He told me he grew up golfing. When he was on tour on the East Coast, he met my mother who was on vacation with her family to watch the tournament.

My mother said she'd actually enjoyed watching golf, but didn't ever play. They fell in love that week, and my father dated her long distance, coming to Pennsylvania whenever he had a break from the tours.

I could see why she fell in love with him. Even though my description is from a daughter's viewpoint, it is accurate. My father stands over six feet tall and has a head of wavy dark hair that hasn't thinned with age. His face is that kind of face you see on the old black and white movies—dashing, masculine and appealing. I think Robert inherited some of those looks, but I take after my mother's side.

My father also works out—or did up until recently. So all in all, my father looks pretty good for someone in his situation. I'm actually surprised more women haven't thrown themselves at him.

But then again, my mother is still attractive. When I look at their faded pictures together I can see why he fell for her. She is one of those perfume model beauties. Light hair with a slight curl to it. High cheekbones. I can't help it if she dresses awful now and that she forgets to wear makeup. Somewhere along the way, after one of my father's disappearing acts, it seems she gave up on herself.

When Robert took an interest in golf, everything became right again with us. Dad was happy. Mom started smiling more, and Robert loved the attention. That left me trying to fit in with my art until the day my passion ruined everything.

Tonight I want to call my father and tell him about my win. The phone clings to my palm, sweaty and heavy. I punch in his contact information and wait for him to answer. It doesn't take long. He's usually pretty good about answering his phone.

“Hey, what's going on down there in Florida?”

“Hi, Dad. I wanted to tell you I made it through the first round at Q-School. I go to Daytona in December.”

“Not bad. I remember going through that myself. Some stiff competition, I bet, huh? I know Robert wishes he could be there playing. Did you hear that he can walk now? Nothing like before, but at least he's up and around. I'll have him out on the course by spring.”