Free The Mulligan by Terri Tiffany

apparently, the accommodations don’t bother him.
    Pangs shoot through my stomach—not from hunger, but from fear of speaking to him. I’ve always suffered with stomachaches when I get nervous and have to work hard at squelching them when I golf. I don’t need to double over at the markers.
    Chalky florescent lights greet me as I open the door and enter the building. I notice Dad’s office in the back room is still lit. The staff has left for the day. Part of me feels sorry I’ve missed them, especially Kate who treats me like her own daughter whenever I stop in. She keeps a stash of candy kisses in her lower desk drawer. I’d thought for years they were only for me until I saw her popping a few into her own mouth one day after school.
    My heart beats faster (in rhythm to my churning stomach) and I take a deep breath before calling out, “Dad? Are you back there?”
    He comes around the doorway looking like I expected he would, wearing a dark tie (he never wears the bright ones we buy him for Christmas), white shirt, and crisp ironed pants fresh from the dry cleaner since he doesn’t trust my mother to not double crease them. His forehead looks like a fork has plowed through it and his thin lips collapse upon recognition.
    I want to turn around.
    “What are you doing in town?”
    We size each other up. “It’s my birthday, in case you’ve forgotten.” Yeah, I’m good at being sarcastic when I have to be, only I hadn’t intended to be today. I lower my eyes and take another deep breath.
    “Happy Birthday,” he says. “I’m sorry I forgot.”
    I raise my head to study his face. It’s crinkled with stress—his crow’s feet have grown deeper, and the gray in his hair looks almost white.
    “Why are you over here, Dad? Why don’t you come home?”
    It’s his turn to look away. His shoulder falls against the doorjamb and his fist finds his pocket where he jingles loose change. He makes me think about how he always did that when we waited for someone in line or the few times he attended church with us.
    “Did your mother send you?”
    I shake my head. “She hasn’t talked to me about you. I wanted to talk with you myself.” My voice takes on a life of its own, shaky and low-pitched, sliding out of my mouth faster and faster. “They need you at home, Dad. What’s wrong with you?”
    My words pull him straight. “It isn’t your business. Go back to Florida. Go back to school and see how it feels to want something so badly and then fail at it.”
    I swallow hard at his attack. “I won’t fail. I won’t let this family down. Not like you have.”
    He shakes his head again and I swear if we weren’t inside he would have spit. My tears burn in the back of my eyes. The last thing I want is him to see how much he hurts me. I spin on my heels and rush out the front door more determined than ever to be the hero my family needs.
     
    ****
     
    We play three more rounds of Spades until my eyes droop from lack of sleep.
    “Does anyone want more cake? There’s plenty.” My mother starts to rise.
    Robert shakes his head and pushes back from the edge of the table. He still sleeps downstairs and I can see he hopes to retire soon.
    “Robert, why don’t I help you to bed?” she says next.
    “I’m good, Mom. Go ahead and visit with Bobbi. I want to read my Bible before I crash.”
    I look away as he struggles to stand and as he takes painfully slow steps toward the front room. Mom told me he hopes to be walking on his own within a month or so, but he still has a long way to go before he’s the old Robert.
    “How about we get a cup of tea and sit out on the front porch?”
    “I’d like that. It should be cooler out there.” I nod to the breeze blowing in from outside through the screen in the dining room window. My mother goes to the kitchen while I follow. I set out the rose teacups and pluck two bags from the stash she keeps in the silver canister next to the stove. Within seconds, the teakettle