The Mulligan Read Online Free Page A

here.
    The tablet snaps shut. My mother should stay out of my business. I shove the drawings back into the box, grab my keys, and stomp out to my car.
    “Good morning. Welcome to the neighborhood.” The unfamiliar voice scratches like worn windshield wipers on a dusty day. An elderly woman—who definitely shouldn’t be outside in that housecoat—comes toward me carrying an aluminum foil-covered paper plate pressed against her sagging chest. A gold chain with a thin cross circles her neck, and she wears pink flip-flops on her bird-like feet. Her frosted blue eye shadow momentarily distracts me from her sunken cheekbones covered in blush.
    She holds out her offering and grins, showing two missing side teeth. She reminds me of the last jack o’ lantern Robert and I carved before our father decided he didn’t need any more pumpkins cluttering the front porch steps.
    “Thank you.” I accept the gift with a matching smile of my own. The lady who loves chimes also bakes. I peek beneath the covering. “Chocolate chip cookies. My favorite!”
    My neighbor chuckles and holds out one blue-veined hand. “Call me Mattie.”
    I take the offered hand and shake it politely, hoping she will cut the introductions short. I’ll be late again if I don’t hurry, and Drew might lock the door. “Bobbi. With an I. ”
    “I once had a nephew named Bobby. With a Y.” She winks. “Never could get him to do much for me when I asked. Died in a crash.”
    “I’m so sorry. Listen, Mattie, I hate to be rude, but I’m going to be late for school if I don’t get going.” I glance toward my car.
    “What school do you go to?”
    “A local golf college.” Balancing the cookies in one hand, I grab my backpack that I’d set by the car.
    Mattie steps away and gives a small wave as I call out a quick good-bye.
    The cookies will be great for the break between classes. Even though they are the last thing I need to eat. My kinesiology teacher has impressed me with the need to get into shape—so much that I’m considering joining a local gym if I can get a student membership since the one at school is worthless. It’s been over year since the last time I jogged. Robert begged me to run every morning with him. I lasted two days.
    I pull onto the busy main highway and make it through three green lights before the traffic starts backing up. Two cops speed past me. I look to my right and then my left. Several cars cut through a parking lot but I don’t have a clue to an alternate route. I’ll be late for sure. I throw my turn signal on and inch my way out of the backlog of traffic to follow behind a pickup truck through a shopping center.
    The road curves past several newer housing developments and for a second a wave of fear rolls through me that I might be lost. When I’m about to turn around a sign appears. Orlando Golf School 1 mile. A rush of relief leaves my chest.
    Nearing the school, I admit that a part of me looks forward to seeing Drew again, though my heart warns against it. I reach for a still-warm cookie and devour it in two bites. It’s silly to entertain any romantic thoughts about my teacher. I’m not a schoolgirl anymore. I also don’t need complications—especially when I have so much to accomplish. I will stay focused.
    The classroom doorknob doesn’t budge. Great. He’s kept his word. My parents did a similar thing to me the time I stayed out with friends the summer after I graduated. I came home well after one in the morning. A curfew at my age made no sense so I’d stormed around to the barn where a pallet of fresh straw kept me comfortable most the night until a mouse squealed near my head nearly sending me into hysterics. Fuming with anger the next day, I swiped my father’s house key and went to Big Mike’s hardware store in town to make a spare for my purse.
    The door opens as I stand entrenched in my memories of Pennsylvania. Drew speaks first. “Miss Bobbi-with-an- I . I assume you want in?”
    Most people