The Mulligan

Pelican Ventures, LLC

My twenty-two-year-old twin brother knows me better than anyone else. That's why he forces a smile when I enter the hospital room.

"It isn't your fault," he says. His voice cracks.

I want to run from my place near the door but I remain rooted, my feet frozen like two ice pops.

His broken and burned body is covered with a white hospital sheet. I can't see his legs, but the doctor told my parents this morning they'll never be the same. The beam that fell on him crushed too many bones. My lips quiver and my fingers twitch at my sides willing me to touch his arm. I edge closer. "I'm sorry, Robert."

"It isn't your fault." His hand is clammy but he grips mine with his. "I chose what I did."

I squeeze his hand, my time with him running short. Soon my mother will take her turn at his bedside in ICU.

His eyelids waver. I drop his hand and back out of the room where I meet my disheveled mother. She's still wearing her same sweatshirt and jeans from yesterday. The waiting room is empty except for her and Grandpa, who is snoring in a vinyl chair in the corner.

"Where's Dad?"

"Waiting to talk to you." She glances toward the hallway.

"Has he calmed down any?"

She raises her gaze to meet mine. Fresh tears form on her lids. I want to hug her, but I'll need all my remaining strength for my father. "Try to understand, Bobbi. Robert was his future."

"You are his future, Mom. He should know that."

She looks away, shoulders slumping. Sometimes I can be too blunt. By now I should know she won't ever go against him.

"Go inside," I say. "Robert's about ready to fall asleep."

My father is waiting for me next to the soda machine, a can gripped in his thickset hand. His wedding band rides between two rolls of flesh. A bandage covers the burn on his other hand. He snaps the can into the trash container. "What were you thinking?" His jaw barely moves as his accusation snarls past his lips.

"It was an accident, Dad. My studio was cold. I didn't mean to knock the heater over."

"Didn't mean to ..."

He steps closer. I can smell the soda on his breath. "Then call the police. Call the fire department. Call the whole stinking town. But why did you have to send your brother in there?"

"I wasn't thinking. I was worried about my paintings."

"Your paintings? You almost killed Robert. Do you realize you've destroyed his golf career? He'll be lucky if he can use the bathroom by himself."

My chest tightens. A part of my mind reminds me I'm in the hospital. If I pass out or have a heart attack, I could end up in ICU. Maybe that's where I belong, instead of Robert. "I'm sorry. I really am. I'm going to make it up to him ... to you."

His snort makes me jump.

"No one can make up for what happened. What? Do you think you can take a mulligan like in golf? This is real life, Bobbi. There are no free do-overs. Accident or not, you've destroyed your brother with your foolishness."

I know he wants to add "And me," but instead turns around and stalks down the hallway out of my sight.

* * *

My home isn't far from the hospital, but I take my time returning. I swing through a mini-mart to buy Robert a funny gift, hoping to give my folks time to arrive before me. My father is the last person I want to run into again tonight.

I can't stop yawning. No one has slept since the accident, except Grandpa, who falls asleep an hour after he wakes. As I pull into our driveway, lights from my parents' upstairs bedroom greet me. Grandpa's lights are off