5

 

It’s good I enjoy movies, considering free ones are the only benefit to my new job at the mall. My open palm waits for the ticket stubs from an older couple. Action flick. By now I have become pretty good at guessing what movie most people come to see. My game helps pass the time and monotony of this job, but at least I’m working. Some of the guys in my class are still looking. But a few weeks ago, I’d driven around and ended up at the Ocoee mall and this theater. As luck would have it, an employment sign caught my eye and I was hired on the spot.

“Enjoy the show,” I say to a couple of teenagers who try to hide a bag of chocolate candy beneath the girl’s jacket. Like she needs a coat in this weather. I was told not to say anything unless it is obvious since the theater also sells candy. Three dollars a box. I’d be down at the dollar store, too, bringing in my licorice sticks. So I let it go and act as though I’d not noticed anything. Fifteen minutes more and my shift ends, anyway. I am also fortunate to get shifts on Saturday afternoon and only two evenings a week leaving me time to practice.

“I’ll take over. You can take off for the day,” my manager says with one of those practiced smiles people use who think they are better than you are.

Smiling back, I shrug out of my little blue vest and go to the employee area where I’ve locked my purse. I have yet to explore this mall. Today will be as good a time as any. I know it contains the usual anchor department stores and a few clothing stores for younger teens—sizes I couldn’t wear when I was twelve. I buy a root beer at the food court and work my way up and down the aisles. Sellers in booths hawk perfume, incense, and hairpieces only Mattie would wear. About halfway down, I come to an abrupt halt.

In front of me is a store that sells art. Not just any art, but landscapes painted in enticing colors. My breath rushes out from the longing that overtakes me. My stomach coils with intensity, and my heart unfurls in pleasure as my lungs fill with the familiar scent. I’m transported back to my studio, surrounded by palettes of paint and creamy canvases stretched across their frames.

“May I help you?” A young salesman sporting facial hair that might, on a good day, pass for a goatee approaches me.

I shake my head. No, he can’t help me. No one can. I’ve created my own world, one in which I’ve decided to be the hero our family needs to save it from further pain and disappointment. And that means I no longer paint. But can it hurt to look?

“I’m only looking.” I say this to him in a casual way so he’ll leave me alone and return to his post by the front.

He tilts his head as though pointing me in the direction I should go, but I need no assistance that way, either. I move toward the river scenes as though on autopilot.

“Are you an artist?”

Unwanted tears form in my eyes. I blink. Before, when a stranger asked me that question, I was thrilled to be able to nod and say, “Yes, I’m an artist. It’s what I do. It’s my passion.” But today I can only give the truth. “Not anymore.”

My eager salesman shrinks back as though my answer discounts me. I notice it isn’t because of my no longer being an artist, but so he can capture the next couple who wanders into the showroom.

Packed rows draw me to a section that showcases the better works. An easel holding one particular painting catches my eye. I study the delicate brushstrokes. A familiar scene. I read the title. A Susquehanna Day Dream. I peer closer to read the artist’s name. Sarah Adams.

Sarah? Not Sarah. Yet the proof rests before me. When I worked in Art’s gallery back home, Sarah had brought in a few of her paintings, but Art refused to take them on consignment. “They aren’t good enough for our store,” he explained to me after Sarah left in tears.

What made the whole scene awkward for me is I knew Sarah. We attended the same high school and shared the same desk in art class. I’d always been a little jealous (OK, maybe a lot) of her work so when she got turned down, I didn’t feel as broken-hearted as I should have for her.

But obviously she’d not let that rejection stop her determination. She’d improved—really improved. Her color choices capture not only my artist’s sense of design and depth but make me smile. She followed her dream and didn’t give up.

“It’s one of our store’s best sellers. This artist has become popular for this kind of work. Can I interest you in a purchase?”

I bite back a laugh. If he knew how little money I had in my wallet, he’d probably kick me out of the store.

“It’s beautiful. But I’ll have to think about it.”

Not one to be put off, he reaches behind him and comes back with a colorful brochure. Perhaps that’s why he was voted salesman of the month. I’d noticed his bright ribbon attached to his pocket with the distinction. “Take one of our brochures in case you change your mind. There is an excellent write-up in this about the artist.”

With no other choice but to take the offered information, I tuck it into my purse. My phone chooses that moment to vibrate, giving me a good reason to slip away. I dig for it and bring it out to find Amanda’s name on the display.

“Hey, I’ve been waiting for your call. So am I an aunt?” I move toward the center courtyard area where a merry-go-round is entertaining a host of young children in line to experience it. “You never called back. Did you take the test?”

“We decided I should get a professional opinion before I told anyone. Yes! I’m pregnant! Can you believe it? My heart about stopped when they called me. I tried to get you yesterday, but decided I didn’t want to leave a message. This means you need to come home for my shower this winter.”

I stop by the toy train and move toward an empty bench. My best friend is having a baby. “Oh wow! Does it feel unreal? It’s not like we’ve been out of school all that long.”

“Long enough. You’re going to be twenty-three in a few weeks, in case you’ve been so busy and have forgotten. Will you be coming home? Don’t they give you a break sometime soon?”

I nod and search for a clean place to sit. A pile of cold french-fries litters one seat and it looks as though someone lost their soda all over the other bench.

I honestly haven’t thought about my birthday.

“My semester ends in two weeks. I don’t know if I’ll have the money to drive back up or not. I started a job at a theater a while ago. I’m not sure if they’ll give me the time off.”

I dread being alone on my birthday, but the truth is I might have to be. Last year’s birthday celebration comes into focus as tired moms herd their children away from the machines that sell cheap toys. Last year my mother baked two cakes, Robert’s favorite chocolate peanut butter one and my white one with white icing. She’d invited everyone we knew for smoked corn and barbecued chicken.

The last person left at midnight, and that was only because it was Robert’s best friend, Dan. We’d been sitting around the campfire Dad started at sundown, and by then my mother brought out the fixings for S’mores. Even Grandpa stayed up past his bedtime and tucked himself into one of the lawn chairs next to the comfortable blaze.

Later, Dan and I shared a private moment behind the barn. He’d tucked my hand into his and led me there on the pretense of giving me my birthday gift. We had dated only twice but those times had left me hoping for more. “Come here. I’ve got you something, but I don’t want to give it to you in front of Robert. You know how that clown gets.” He’d rolled his eyes and I couldn’t help but admire his full lips and dark shiny hair.

He was a freak about golfing like Robert was and was already on tour so he didn’t get home much. But I didn’t care. I’d always thought he was nice and my heart reeled that he asked me out.

He pulled out a tiny box wrapped in blue tissue paper.

I fumbled with it and finally lifted up a silver chain. A miniature heart hung from the end. I remember looking up into his eyes. He leaned forward and kissed me.

“Are you listening to me, Bobbi?” Amanda’s stern voice pulls me back to the present.

“I’m here,” I say, but I choke on the words. I’m here in Orlando, a zillion miles away from everyone I love. Why is it continually so hard to stay focused? I’ve almost completed one semester with three left to go.

Anything is possible. Isn’t that what Robert always said when he talked about his dream to win the Masters Tournament?

Maybe I have my doubts on days like today, but I refuse to let anything interfere. “I’m here. Tell me more.”

 

****

 

Marketing class teaches me not only how to create a power point that impresses the teacher to give me an A, but also that I need to start marketing myself more. I buy five hundred cheap online business cards and pass them out to every person I meet in the industry, whether or not they run a golf course, give lessons, or know someone on tour. I want my name out there so that when I win tournaments, sponsors flock to pick me up.

In the meantime, I sign up for a lesson every chance I get. Today after class, I hitch my backpack onto my shoulder and hurry into the hallway to sign up for Drew’s afternoon lesson. We almost have a standing arrangement for one thirty, and I look forward not only to showing him how well I am putting, but also to our conversations.

“Hey, Bobbi. Want to play a round today at Sunset?”

I turn to my right to see Brad catch up with me, puffing hard. He’s a few years old than I am and needs to lose twenty pounds. His receding hairline makes him look even older.

“Can’t. I need to sign up for a lesson.”

He walks with me to where the sign-up sheets are posted and I look for Drew’s list. My usual slot has been filled. My shoulders and spirits fall. I’ll have to wait around an extra hour if I want one with him today.

“How’s Drew as an instructor? I haven’t tried him yet.”

No longer in the mood for polite conversation, I scribble my name in and ignore his question.

But Brad isn’t easily put off. “Want to go over to the clubhouse and get a bite to eat?”

It would be a way to kill time since I hate to spend two hours at the driving range and then practice again. My peanut butter and jelly sandwich I made in my sleep this morning at five waits for me in my car along with a slice of Matty’s homemade pie. I calculate how much it will cost to get a burger in the clubhouse.

“My treat. You can buy next time,” Brad says as though reading my mind. His chin hangs on the hope that I will say yes, I know that, but I can’t bring myself to give him any reason to believe I’m interested in starting a relationship with him.

“Maybe next time, Brad. I had a cancellation.” We turn to find Drew standing nearby, hands on his hips.

Brad gives a quick nod and steps out of Drew’s path quicker than a dog looking for a treat.

I push my hair back behind my ears, wishing I’d worn it up. He points toward his office down the hallway. I follow his orange and black golf shirt. I’d almost bought that same color last week and am elated I didn’t, as it looks far better with his hair coloring than mine. When we arrive at his office, he holds the door open and motions for me to enter first.

The smell of pizza almost knocks me over.

An open box waits on his desk with two large sodas on either side. He motions for me to sit while he goes around to the other side of the desk.

“I thought you had a lesson?” Once again, my voice lets me down, making me sound like I’m twelve.

“He cancelled, so we’re on.”

“And it includes lunch?” The inviting smell of roasted garlic and pepperoni makes me salivate.

Drew reaches for a large piece and pushes the box toward me. “Eat up. You’re wasting away.”

I do as ordered and munch on the crispy crust. Pizza has turned into a delicacy for me here in Florida, whereas back home I’d shared one weekly with friends. I stuff it down as politely as I can and reach for a second piece the same time he does.

I have yet to ask Drew about his past and consider this might be the right moment. After all, he seems more relaxed than I’ve seen him all semester. He wipes his mouth with his napkin and smiles at me, causing me to choke on my last bite.

I reach for my soda and suck half of it down. So I’m not completely at ease with him. I doubt I ever will be considering the way his eyes sparkle and the adorable way his face crinkles when he smiles. I can’t help but compare him to Dan, whom I ended going out with only three more times. His taste in movies and music bored me, and his endless parade of golf fanfare had been the end for me. I kept the necklace though (it was a gift) and tucked it away in a box that I kept in my bottom drawer so my mother wouldn’t find it if she decided to snoop.

Drew shoves the pizza box away from us. “So tell me why you’re really here, Bobbi. It isn’t about the golf, is it?”

My eyes widen. If I could have, I would have gulped, but instead set my soda down and try to come up with a plausible answer. “What do you mean? I told you my plans are to go on tour.”

His eyes narrow.

I’ve been found out. Maybe I’m not as good an actress as I’d hoped to be. Maybe Mrs. Tarpon, my sixth-grade teacher, had been right when she’d put me in the choir instead of giving me a part in the Pirates of Penzance. I’d cried all night that I wouldn’t get to wear those pretty petticoats like my best friend, but as it was, I came down with the flu opening night, anyway.

My mother kept me home while Dad went with Robert, since he played one of the main pirates. Moustache and all.

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

A plan forms as I contemplate how much to share about my family’s problems. “I’ll tell you if you tell me why you quit the tour to work here.”

He frowns like a child who has been told they are leaving the playground.

Touché.

Now I’m not normally the kind of person who wants to hurt anyone, but I have my reasons for wanting to keep parts of my life private. I assume Drew does, too.

“Where did you hear that?” he says, eyebrows rising.

“I met your brother on the range. How come you didn’t mention we’re from the same area?”

I’m not sure which part of my sentence floors him more. That I know his brother or that I know he comes from my hometown.

“So you met Mark? Quite a talker, isn’t he?”

The office is getting too warm for me. If someone doesn’t keep the weight room doors open, this half of the school overheats. I wipe back hair that sticks on my face. “He’s a nice guy. We discovered we’ve met before at a hardware store.”

“Really? What a coincidence. So I guess you’ve been wondering if we’ve met before, too.”

I shake my head. “At first, but then I knew if we had, I would have remembered you.” My hand flies to my mouth. Did I really say that?

“And I’m certain I would have remembered you, too, Miss Bobbi-with-an-I.”

A shudder runs down my spine, to the dead-center of my stomach. I think of moonlit nights, dancing under the stars, and holding hands on the front porch swing. I think of swapping stories until daylight and plucking strands of long grass from his hair after lying in the dewy morning grass by the river. I let my brain spin all forms of romantic fantasies while I shrink under Drew’s steady gaze.

I do the only thing I can do. “Do you like movies?”