The Mulligan (27 page)

I want to tell her about the letter. I fold it in half and tuck it in my fist, instead. I'll show it to Robert when he gets home. He'll know what to do about Mattie and her decision.

 

****

 

The real estate agent comes to our house the next morning after breakfast. I haven't had the chance yet to talk with Robert because last night he was out with friends. The agent is nice, although she looks like she should be working in a fashion design studio instead of in northeast Pennsylvania. Her boots come to her knees, and her coat is made of brown wool. Around her neck, she's draped an argyle scarf.

“Let's take a tour of the place so I can give you comps later and we'll know how to price it.” She carries her clipboard as my mother leads her upstairs through our bedrooms and back downstairs to the cellar.

I debate following them outside and instead watch from the window as they stumble around the barn and garage, my mother's arms waving from her side as she talks about each place. I wonder if she's telling the story of when I fell out of the tree by the back of the garage. I skinned my leg up pretty badly—so bad it demanded a trip to the ER. Or is she telling her about the pond up back and how we spent so many winters ice skating there? I squeeze my hands together.

I remember the letter from the lawyer who asked me to call him. I still don't understand why—part of me is afraid it's because I was the one who found Mattie. Maybe I'm being sued by her daughter? She seemed so nice and grateful to find the journal. I wait in the living room, propping my feet on the coffee table. Shortly, my mother and Greta—what a name!—return and start filling out listing papers.

“I don't need comps, but I'll send you some. I think you could ask two hundred and fifty thousand for this place and get it.” She beams like she did my mother this great service.

My mother sits next to me with the pen in her hand.

“Your husband will have to sign these, too, since you mentioned he owns half of this property. Would you get him to sign or do you want me to stop by his office?”

“Please if you don't mind. Stop by the office.”

I nod. The less my mother has to see him the better.

When they finish, Greta shakes our hands and leaves by the back door as though she's a close friend already. I don't care for her, but say nothing since Mom chose her.

“Want a cup of tea?” I pick up the tea kettle.

“I think I'm going to take a nap, if you don't mind. I'm worn out.”

My mother never takes naps, but she does today for over two hours. During that time, I work up my courage to contact the legal office on the letterhead. Harvey Brandshaw, Esq. Orlando.

“May I speak to Attorney Brandshaw, please? He sent me a letter recently concerning Mattie Montrose.”

Elevator music comes through the phone as I wait. I tap my fingers to the tune, almost forgetting why I called.

“May I help you?” A man's voice booms at me. I pull the phone away from my ear. I explain who I am and why I'm calling.

“Ahh, dear Mattie. She was one special lady, wasn't she? When she came to me not long ago to change her will, I was in shock, but then she told me about you and how you had touched her heart. She wanted to help you in some small way and now she has.”

“What do you mean? Are you talking about the necklace because if you want it back I can mail it to you.” I finger the club, praying he doesn't want it.

He chuckles in an entirely different tone than he talked.

I like him better now. I've chosen to call from the TV room and monitor the doorway for my mother. She's gotten up, but said she was running to the grocery store. I don't want her walking in on me as I speak.

“Not at all. Mattie had other plans for you. She was a sweet one, wasn't she?”

“I liked her.” I wish he'd get to the point and explain if I was going to jail or not. I cross my ankles, then my fingers. I change my mind and shoot up a fast prayer. By now, my stomach is doing flips and I wish I'd drunk tea, anyway. Not the soda I'd opted for.

“Well, Miss Bobbi. Do you mind if I call you that? Today is a life-changing day for you. Miss Mattie asked that after her passing, I get in touch with you to let you know she left you money from her estate.”

“Her estate? I thought her estate was the contents of the trailer.” I picture the packed boxes of photos and trinkets that went to charity.

“Oh, no. Quite the opposite. She amassed a large estate. From that, she's left you the sum of one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Shall we mail the check to your home address or would you rather direct deposit?”

The phone slips from my fingers. I pick it back up. “Direct deposit, please.”

 

 

 

 

30

 

The real estate agent said she won't list the house until after New Year's Day so we won't have any strangers trooping through now.

My mother asks if we should take the tree down early.

Robert says no, since it's our last holiday in this house we have the right to enjoy all of it.

I don't tell them about Mattie's gift yet. When I hang up from the lawyer, I grab my purse, get in my car, and drive out to the park where I'd hiked that fall. The trees are bare and muddy piles of snow cover the rocks. I push up the trail until I get to the highest peak, my breath coming out in bursts of cold.

“I don't believe it!” I say over and over. All that money and she lived like she did. Why would she leave it to me? She hardly knew me more than a few months. I sit for over an hour asking God what's going on. I haven't trusted Him with my entire life, and still He allows this windfall. I don't deserve this money. My chest tightens as the memory of the moment I trusted God to save me once again surfaces. I remember wanting to tell Robert how I felt, but didn't. Instead, I let myself be embarrassed of what I'd done. Why did I turn away from Him? Why do I always follow my own course?

A cold wind slaps my cheek. Maybe it's time to listen and stop running. I close my eyes and pray.

 

****

 

New Year's Eve I wake up with the urge to talk with Drew. Even though I turned him down for a date tonight, I miss him. I also want to tell him about the windfall and my plans.

He answers on the first ring.

“Hey. Are we on again for tonight?” His voice tickles through my body.

“Can you meet me for a few minutes at the coffee shop in town? I have something to discuss with you.”

“Sounds serious. Sure. How about in an hour?”

I run for my shower and tell Robert I'll be back soon. Guilt that I haven't shared everything with my twin makes me almost turn back, but I don't. Robert will tell me to pray about it. I did pray about it when I sat on the mountain, but God didn't give me any clear direction yet.

Drew beats me to the shop and a steaming coffee waits for me. I drop into the chair opposite him, my heart taking an extra beat as I admire the way he looks this morning in a blue sweater and jeans. His minty breath sweeps me into another place. Even his nails appeal to me—clean and broad as he grips his cup.

“What's going on? I didn't expect the call, but I'm glad you thought of me.”

“Did I ever tell you about this woman named Mattie who lived next to me in Florida?”

He squints. “I don't think so. What about her?”

I pull out the necklace. “She gave me this when she died. It's worth some money, but not enough to do anything with. The other day, I get this letter in the mail saying to call this lawyer. Seems she was rich and left me something more.”

“Something more? More jewelry?” He takes a deep sip of his coffee.

I shake my head. “No, like in money. A lot of money. Money enough to buy my father out and save our house.”

His cup scrapes the table. “Wow. Enough money for you to start a new career, too?”

Again I shake my head. “No. It isn't meant for me. I think I was given this to save our farm. So my mother has a place to live.” It's exactly enough to buy the half of the house. Maybe this is how God is revealing his plans for me.

“Can your mother afford the upkeep on the place? It isn't cheap to maintain a farm, let alone a house.”

“You think too much. You're buying a golf course. You're going to have the same problem. Besides, she'll have me and Robert. We'll pay our share.” I toss my empty cup into a nearby receptacle. “Of course, she'll manage. She's like that.”

At least she always was. My mother is a survivor. She'll be happy to stay there when I give her the money.

“Have you thought about your life at all, Bobbi?”

“This is my life.”

“You spend most your time thinking about everyone else and you don't have a clue how you're going to live the next few years. Going to work at a department store selling sports equipment?”

I pull back my shoulders.

Here's the Drew I met on the courses.

“I haven't gotten that far.”

“You can't spend your life bailing everyone else out. It doesn't work. You have to figure out what you want first so you're in a position to help others.”

“From the mouth of a Golf Psychology teacher?”

His jaw tightens. Maybe I've gone too far. I'm tired of people not getting how much I want my family safe. My family is my life.

“Isn't your brother going to college? I don't hear you saying he's going to take a job to keep the place.”

“Robert knows what he wants in life. I'm happy for him. Besides, he's gone through so much and deserves this.”

“And you haven't?” He bends over the table. “Who spent almost a year in Florida at a school doing something she didn't like to convince her father he can stay with the family and relive his dream?” He shoves his cup aside. “Listen, call me when you figure it out. Right now I'm sick of seeing you throw your life away.” He actually stands up and strides out of the coffee shop without a backward glance.

I want to shout at him that I'm not throwing my life away and that I'm not playing everyone's hero as he insinuates. Instead, I grab my purse, wait a decent amount of time, and then stalk to my car. Driving around town until my gas is almost gone, I pass the art shop and cool down. The “For Sale” sign no longer hangs in the window. I don't know why, but my heart sinks a little when I see this.

I pull into the parking place by the door. I will visit with Arthur. Tell him I'm back in town for good. The doorbell jingles as I open it. Right away, I know something is different. It doesn't smell the same. The interior has been filled with paintings from artists I don't recognize. A woman with long black hair pulled back into a ponytail greets me with a nod. She resumes her paperwork at the desk behind the front entry. The place is silent except for the tick tock of a large clock over the fireplace.

Maybe I'm in the wrong town.

I edge up to the counter. It's made of Formica—not the pretty granite Arthur brought from Italy. “Excuse me. Is Arthur around?”

She looks up like I've interrupted her universe. “I don't know where he is. He sold me this place and moved out of town.”

Sold the shop already? “Do you mind if I look around?”

“Help yourself. Sale items are up front.”

I work my way around the sale items and find similar items lining the walls in the back. The artists represented here have no sense of design or color or balance. A toddler can paint better than these artists. My chest aches as I go from painting to painting. Inferior quality. Junk you would buy at a hotel selling starving artists' work. Maybe it's good Arthur left town. He'd be spitting ice cubes if he saw what's become of his place.

Why did he sell to her?

The answer comes to me. It's because I didn't try to find a way to buy it. And now Arthur's Art Shop is a hole in the wall. A blight on the street. A place I'll never enter again as long as I live here. Fury wells inside me that this new owner doesn't know good art. She will sell these paintings to people as though they are something to be admired. She'll be stealing from them and future generations who look at this work.

I leave without another word.

On the street, I almost bump into the mailman who is rustling through his bag of mail. I know George well enough to not chase the disgust from my face. “Saw the new place, huh? Nothing like Art's.” He drops three letters into the slot by the door.

“I can't believe they call that art.”

“Nothing like that painting you did for the wife and me. We still have it hanging over the fireplace. Get lots of compliments.” George has a baby face. He looks sixteen even though he's pushing sixty.

“Thank you. I'm glad you enjoy it.” I wave good-bye and rush to my car, eager to get home. I need to talk to Robert and my mother about the house. I cross the bridge, round the curve, and pull into the driveway behind an ambulance with its lights flaring. As I jump out of my car, two EMTs carry a stretcher down the back steps. My mother is lying under a sheet that is pulled up to her neck. An oxygen mask covers her face.

Robert is immediately at my side. “She's going to be OK. Come on, we'll follow in my truck.”

She doesn't look fine. I touch her cold hand. “Mom, are you OK? I'm coming to the hospital with you.” She looks at me, but the EMT pushes me away as he slides her into the back of the ambulance.

Robert tugs my shoulder so I follow him and climb into the passenger seat. He presses the gas to catch up as the ambulance circles out of our driveway with my mother on board.

“What happened?” I'm breathless with the memories of the last time an ambulance arrived on our property. Robert's face is the color of snow. He grips the wheel and his knuckles rise from his hands.