Chapter 13

Foster

Bowie Jane steps up to the lane, her pink bowling ball poised before her. My daughter is tall for her age, standing at four feet ten inches. The DNA was stacked in her favor because Sandra is five ten.

My kid is also strong, athletic and coordinated. We bowled a lot this summer and she got pretty good. I settle back in my chair, prop a foot clad in a horrific-looking bowling shoe on my knee, and watch as she stares intently over the top of the ball and right down the lane to where the pins are lined up. She takes a breath, lets it out slowly and starts forward.

One step, two steps, her arm drops down and swings back. On the third step, she brings it forward, releasing the heavy sphere a little too early so it cracks against the wood flooring, but she has enough momentum it sails fluidly, perfectly centered in the lane. The ball rolls straight for the middle pin and when it hits, she ends up knocking down all of them but one.

“Great job,” I call out to her.

Bowie Jane smiles at me as she moves to the return and when her pink ball pops out, she takes it in hand again. I glance over at Mazzy, sitting on the edge of her chair, elbows on her knees and watching Bowie Jane like a hawk.

Studying her opponent, one might say, and I have to bite back a laugh. To say that Mazzy is not a good bowler would be an understatement. She says she’s played a few times in her life, but I’m thinking it’s just not her natural gift the way the guitar is.

Bowie Jane executes a beautiful release on her ball and just narrowly misses the last pin left standing to pick up the spare. Still, it’s a good score for this frame and puts her several points ahead of Mazzy.

“I don’t get it,” Mazzy says as she shakes her head. She rises from her seat and looks to me in frustration. “How is this little niblet so good at this and I’m so bad? I’m an adult. Logically, I should have better strength, confidence and coordination.”

I drape my arm over the back of the empty seat next to me and smirk at her. “My kid has natural talent. You clearly do not.”

“That’s just rude.” Mazzy sniffs and moves to grab her bowling ball. I bite back another laugh.

Bowie Jane walks over to me and we fist bump. “Great job, kiddo.”

She takes the seat to my left and leans into me, whispering, “I feel bad that Mazzy isn’t any good at this. Maybe I should miss some more.”

My eyes slide over to Mazzy who is fitting her fingers in the ball, moving into position. She’s got on a pair of faded, loose jeans and had been wearing worn-looking combat-type boots before changing into bowling shoes. Her gauzy blouse has billowy sleeves, and she’s put her hair in a long braid that hangs over one shoulder with shorter pieces falling out and framing her face.

I’m usually a gentleman but not today. My eyes drop to her ass briefly when she bends forward a bit and just… Christ, I’ve totally got the hots for the nanny.

Rather than chastise myself or force my thoughts in a different direction, I ruffle Bowie Jane’s hair. Looking down at my daughter, I say, “Rather than you missing more, maybe I should teach her what to do.”

She nods solemnly. “That would be a good idea.”

I push up off the seat just as Mazzy is getting ready to take her awkward steps forward. She holds the ball too low and her backswing flares far too wide, which is why she ends up in the gutter most of the time. All of this is compounded by the fact she’s just not coordinated enough to take walking steps up to the line while at the same time swinging her arm.

“Hold up,” I call out, and she looks over her shoulder at me expectantly.

I trot onto the lane, glancing back at Bowie Jane who gives me a thumbs-up. When I reach Mazzy, I say, “Want a few pointers?”

She narrows her eyes at me. “You’re just now figuring out I don’t know what I’m doing?”

I grin at her, resisting the urge to tweak her on the nose. That beautiful, freckled nose. “Oh no. I figured it out the first time I saw you take the ball in hand. But it was fun watching that weird little waddle you do.”

Her eyes flare wide, her mouth forming an O. “I most certainly don’t waddle.”

I hold up my hand, a small space between my index finger and thumb. “Just a little.”

“Okay, fine, Mr. Know It All,” she huffs out. I hear Bowie Jane giggle from behind us. “Teach me what to do.”

“With pleasure,” I reply. Was my voice a little too deep and husky? She doesn’t seem to react, so I put my hands on her shoulders. “First, you’ve got to loosen up. You’re as stiff as a board.”

“It’s stressful getting your ass kicked by a ten-year-old,” she mutters, but then rolls her shoulders under my touch. She even throws her head side to side, as if cracking the bones in her neck. “Okay… I’m loose.”

She’s not, but I move on. “Next, you need to hold the ball a bit higher.” I move behind her, using my hands at her elbows to raise everything. “Right here at chest level.”

I try very hard not to think of her chest in any way.

“Now, move forward. We’re going to leave the waddling issue alone for now and just have you release from the line. You won’t have as much momentum, but we’ll straighten out your delivery.”

“I have no clue what you just said,” Mazzy mumbles but lets me walk her up to the line with my hands still supporting her elbows. I’m not touching her in any other way but our bodies are close, and I am hyperaware of how good she smells and how lovely that red braid looks disappearing over her shoulder.

“I’m going to guide your arm,” I advise as I wrap a hand around her wrist. “Just hold the ball and stay loose. Lean forward a tiny bit.”

With my other hand still at her opposite elbow, I guide her arm backward in a much straighter line than what she had been previously doing. “Feel the difference?”

Mazzy nods.

“Now look back and see where the ball is in relation to your body.”

She does as requested.

I release her and step back. “Okay… just practice that move a few times. Bring your ball up before your chest, then lean forward and swing your arm back keeping it close to your body.”

Mazzy takes instruction well and after a few practice attempts, I tell her, “Okay… let’s just do the release. Focus your attention on where you want the ball to go… right down at the pins.”

“Oh,” she says in that snarky voice of hers that I’ve come to enjoy. “I thought I was supposed to be looking at the gutter since that’s where all my balls were going.”

“Well,” I drawl with a playful grin, “Bowie Jane and I were wondering. Okay, go ahead… do the swing just like I taught you, focus on the end goal of hitting those pins and let the ball go.”

I step to the side to watch, utterly charmed by the fierce look on her face, wrinkled in concentration. She pulls the ball up, leans forward and brings her arm back perfectly. When she swings it forward, she doesn’t release the ball soon enough and it arcs upward briefly before coming down with a loud thud. The ball rolls a few inches and stops.

Laughing, I run to retrieve it. “You released too late, but the good news is it went straight and not to the gutter.” Mazzy rolls her eyes. “Next attempt, I’ll tell you when to release.”

For the next hour, I coach Mazzy as she and Bowie Jane finish up their game. She improves incrementally before finally declaring, “I suck at this game. I’m done.”

Bowie Jane and I give her a good deal of ribbing but we start a new game with just the two of us, and Mazzy turns into my kid’s cheerleader. She encourages and praises Bowie Jane and taunts me, especially as I’m getting ready to deliver my ball down the lane. There is nothing about what she’s doing that is distracting to me. Side benefit of my job—I know how to focus intensely on the task at hand.

But I ham it up just a bit, pretending to stumble or swing wildly. Bowie Jane howls with laughter each time and joins in on the trash talk. In the end, I barely beat Bowie Jane but the win or loss doesn’t matter.

What matters is we spent an hour laughing and talking and having fun. It was a bonus that Mazzy joined us.

“Let’s get some pizza,” I say.

We remove our ugly shoes and check out before heading over to the restaurant side of the bowling alley. It’s not the best food but Bowie Jane loves their little pepperoni pizza, so I promised her we’d eat here.

An empty booth calls out to us and Bowie Jane slides in next to Mazzy. It’s still early, so we’ve beat the dinner rush. A waitress comes over, leaves us with sticky menus and promises to return with waters.

“I want the pepperoni pizza,” Bowie Jane proclaims.

“Not surprised,” I mutter. She eats it every time we come here but the choices aren’t that grand. When the waitress returns, I settle on a burger and Mazzy orders a salad with grilled chicken on top.

It doesn’t take long for our food to arrive and there is no shortage of things to talk about but we’re interrupted when my phone rings. I tense slightly as I recognize Sandra’s ringtone. I fish my phone out of my pocket and I see she’s called on FaceTime which means she’s calling for Bowie Jane.

Sandra and I do not FaceTime and we barely talk via phone, as I prefer to keep our communications in writing via text or email.

I hand the phone across the table to Bowie Jane. “It’s your mom on video.”

Bowie Jane and Mazzy had been sitting close together and I notice that Mazzy slowly slides away from Bowie Jane to give her space and not be within the frame of the camera.

It makes me anxious when I see the excited look on my daughter’s face as she connects the call and I pray that Sandra will behave as a mom should, not as a petulant woman who didn’t get her way.

“Mom,” Bowie Jane exclaims as the phone connects. I can’t see the screen since she’s sitting across from me but the smile on my kid’s face disappears and I take that to mean that Chet is probably sitting next to her mom.

“Hi, baby,” Sandra coos, and it sounds forced and contrived. “How are you doing?”

“I’m good,” she says, her little brows drawing inward. “Where are you?”

“I’m at the airport,” Sandra replies, and I glance over at Mazzy who isn’t focused on the phone but rather on Bowie Jane to see her reactions. “Chet and I are getting ready to fly out to Singapore.”

A flash of fury sizzles through me as she wasn’t supposed to leave until week after next and she was going to swing a visit through Pittsburgh to see Bowie Jane first.

“You’re leaving now?” Bowie Jane asks. “But… you were going to come visit next week.”

“I know, baby.” I can’t see Sandra’s face but I can imagine the pouty expression that goes with that overly solicitous tone. “But Chet is needed out there earlier than expected and well… I just don’t like traveling alone, especially to a foreign country, so I decided to leave with him. I wanted to call and tell you how much I miss you and love you, and I’m going to talk to your dad about maybe having you come to visit us here.”

Over my fucking dead body.

“Would you like that?” Sandra asks a mute Bowie Jane. When she doesn’t answer, Sandra’s tone turns icy. “I would hope you’d be happy for Mommy and this new opportunity for me. None of this would be going down like this if your dad—”

That’s it. I snatch the phone from Bowie Jane’s hand and slide out of the booth. I glance back to see Mazzy putting an arm around my daughter who looks absolutely defeated.

I storm out of the restaurant, find an empty corner of the bowling alley, and glare at Sandra on the screen, Chet by her side looking uneasy. “You do not bring the issues you and I have to our daughter. That’s not fair to her and she doesn’t need that pressure. You’re trying to pit her against me—”

“You’re damn right I am because you stole her—”

“I saved her,” I snarl. “I know it, you know it, and the judge knows it. Now, you head out and go seek this golden opportunity that seems to be far more important than your own kid. My only hope is you get your head on straight before you ruin the relationship you have with her. I can’t believe you’re just leaving and not coming to see her first. Totally fucking selfish, Sandra.”

I disconnect, having nothing else to say to the woman.

When I walk back toward the table, I see Mazzy and Bowie Jane, heads bent together in quiet conversation. Mazzy’s expression is one of uncertainty and concern. Bowie Jane looks downtrodden.

I slide into the booth and reach across the table to chuck my daughter under the chin. “Hey, kiddo… you okay?” Her hazel eyes glisten ever so slightly with the threat of tears that I know she’s trying her best to hold in, because she likes to act the tough girl so much of the time. My kid is resilient and strong, but tears are good for the soul too. “And don’t hold back on me.”

The permission to cry works and her eyes fill before heavy drops spill down her cheeks. She takes her napkin and wipes them away. “Can we just go home now?”

“No,” I say firmly, looking down at her half-eaten pizza. “We’re going to finish our meal. But first, let’s talk about how you’re feeling right now.”

Bowie Jane looks around then back to me with a pained expression. In a hushed voice, she says, “Dad… not here. We’re in public.”

I note the tears have already dried up and that’s okay, but we’re going to talk. “There’s hardly anyone in here. Tell me what you’re feeling right now.”

The narrowing of her eyes and the stubborn set in her jaw tells me Bowie Jane is annoyed. She uses that annoyance to test my boundaries. “I’m pissed off right now.”

I don’t even blink at her language. It’s called for in this situation. “I don’t blame you. You should be pissed off. And hurt?”

She nods, her lower lip quivering ever so slightly but her eyes stay dry.

“Confused?”

Another nod. “I don’t want her to come back from Singapore. I don’t want to see her anymore.”

I give her a slightly chastising smile. “You don’t mean that. But I get that you’re probably angry enough right now that you’d like to distance yourself.”

She’s trying to protect herself.

“Why is she doing this?” Bowie Jane asks, anger coating every word. “What mother does this?”

“I don’t know, honey. I really wish I did because I’d love to give you answers to help you process. I only know we can’t control what she does, but we can control how we react to it and how we choose to handle it. I think you’re still figuring out what that means and I’m really proud of you for being so strong. But it’s okay to have vulnerable moments too. I’m here for you.”

“Me too,” Mazzy says, putting her arm around Bowie Jane’s shoulders and giving her a squeeze.

Bowie Jane smiles back at her gratefully and asks, “Is your mom nice?”

“My mom is the coolest and very nice, although when she gets mad, she’s a bit scary. I’ll take you over some time to meet her and the rest of my family.”

Bowie Jane picks a piece of pepperoni off her pizza and examines it before putting it in her mouth and chewing thoughtfully. Her eyes then come to me. “I think I’d like to take a bit of a break from Mom. Do I have to talk to her if she calls?”

Man, that’s a tough question. As an adult, I can say fuck Sandra and cut her out, but I can’t tell my child to do that. “I say you play that by ear and let’s see how you feel when she calls again, okay?”

Bowie Jane nods but then looks to Mazzy. “What do you think?”

Mazzy’s eyes widen with surprise and she looks to me in question, not wanting to overstep. Weirdly, I trust whatever advice Mazzy would give because even though she’s not a parent, she probably knows children far better than I do. On top of that, she’s a genuinely nice, caring, thoughtful human being.

I give her a slight nod.

Mazzy turns to Bowie Jane, angling in the booth. “I can’t tell you what to do. All I can do is tell you what I do when someone makes me mad, lets me down in some way, or hurts my feelings.” Her words are soft, lilting, but so confident you just know she’s going to drop a wisdom nugget. My daughter is riveted and frankly, so am I. “I give grace.”

Bowie Jane’s brow furrows. “What does that mean?”

“It means that you show kindness, forgiveness, understanding, or compassion to someone, especially when it’s not really deserved or expected. It doesn’t mean you can’t be angry or hurt. It only means that you choose to recognize that people are imperfect at times, but that you are also choosing to deal with it in a way that values kindness over judgment.”

Holy fuck. I’m not sure if Bowie Jane really understood all that. I mean, she probably did because she’s super smart and intuitive, but that’s actually really good advice.

Not good advice for me. Sandra’s pretty much on my shit list permanently, but it’s great advice to a kid who is struggling with ugly feelings about her mom. Mazzy is saying all the right words so that Bowie Jane doesn’t make harsh decisions she might later regret, and at the same time teaching her good values.

I could kiss her for it. I mean, really kiss her. In a way that would start out as a thank-you but then probably evolve into something that had nothing to do with gratitude.

Rubbing my hand over my jaw, I look at Mazzy smiling down at Bowie Jane. In a matter of days, this woman has made my child feel safe and secure, she has lit us both up with happiness and has stirred things in me as a man that are wholly inappropriate.

I think I’m truly fucked.