Chapter 7

Foster

The mixture of extreme emotions running through me is a recipe for disaster. I’m sitting in Sandra’s driveway, prepared to go in and accept excited greetings from my kid and vengeful hate from my ex-wife. It’s not been a pleasant twenty-four hours since the judge ruled in my favor.

Sandra’s attorney reported back originally that she was not going to abide by the order and was refusing to turn Bowie Jane over to me if I came to California. Jared passed on the message to her that I would be showing up with the escort of the sheriff’s department if she intended to fight the order.

There was a lot of back-and-forth after that with Sandra demanding an extra week of time and me adamantly refusing. In my mind, that gave her time to make an early exit to Singapore.

Eventually, her attorney managed to strong-arm her into accepting not only the order but the reality that I would be flying in to get my daughter. I had thought to stay there a full day to give Bowie Jane some extra time but then Sandra hit me up with a flurry of outrageous text rants about maternal rights, traumatic harm to Bowie Jane and more threats to defy the order.

I made a FaceTime call to Bowie Jane so I could gauge her emotions. It went horribly, Sandra standing just off camera saying things like, “Tell your dad you don’t want to go with him” and “Tell your dad how sad you’re going to be to leave me.” My poor kid was frozen like a deer in the headlights, not wanting to disappoint her mom or me, and so she said nothing. That infuriated Sandra who then yelled at Bowie Jane, “Tell your dad he’s wrong to do this. Tell him you don’t want to go.”

I swear if I had the magical power to reach through the phone, wrap my hand around Sandra’s neck and wring it good, I would have done it because Bowie Jane’s hazel eyes filled with fat tears that spilled with a small blink.

I ended the call, quickly promising her that everything would be okay and that we would talk about things when I got there. It implied perhaps to Sandra that I’d be willing to negotiate something but I have no intention of doing so. I’m not letting my child spend another minute in that house with how erratic Sandra has been acting. It might be rough on Bowie Jane to make a quick exit but at this point, I believe her mom is doing harm to her emotional well-being and I won’t let it continue.

I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with my ex-wife, but this isn’t her. I can only assume it’s her boyfriend causing this behavior because either he’s egging it on directly or she so wants to please him that she’s lost her ever-loving mind when it comes to being a good mom.

Regardless… that shit stops today.

I take a deep breath, releasing the death grip I have on the steering wheel of the rental vehicle. I flex my fingers and remove my sunglasses, noting with dismay that Chet’s Mercedes is here.

Time to get this done.

As expected, it’s a shit show from the minute I ring the doorbell. Bowie Jane greets me, a mixture of relief, joy and anxiety in her gaze as she flings herself into my arms. I pick her up, noting the stranglehold she has on my neck. She pushes her cheek against mine and murmurs so only I can hear, “I’m so glad you’re here.”

That’s all the validation I need to confirm that this must be a quick exit. It’s all the more affirmed when Sandra walks into the foyer, crosses her arms over her chest and glares at me and Bowie Jane. “Go upstairs. I need to talk to your dad.”

My daughter stiffens in my arms and I turn toward the staircase, whispering ever so softly into her ear, “Get one suitcase only and put your most favorite things in it. I’ll be right up.”

Bowie Jane nods and I set her down on the first step. Rather than bolt up the flight, she turns to her mom, wringing her hands. “I love you, Mommy.”

My heart clenches because Bowie Jane becomes oversolicitous when she thinks one of us is mad at her. Sandra is hot-tempered and tends to blow easily and her voice raises when she’s angry. Bowie Jane learned long ago the best way to cool that temper is with soft words of love, which would melt the coldest heart.

In this instance, Sandra’s mouth remains in a flat line, and I’m appalled when she doesn’t return the sentiment to our daughter. Instead, she jerks her chin upward. “Upstairs. Now.”

I clench my teeth, waiting for Bowie Jane to trudge slowly upward, her shoulders sagging with defeat. When she’s out of sight and I hear her bedroom door close, I wheel on my ex-wife, noting that Chet has materialized at her side, a supportive arm around her waist.

I go on the attack, voicing my suspicion. “You’re blaming all of this on Bowie Jane, aren’t you?”

Sandra remains stubbornly mute.

“You think the judge made his ruling based on what Bowie Jane told him in private and you’re punishing her for it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says dismissively. “I place the blame squarely on you and I’m not going to let this stand. Chet and I are going to appeal so—”

“This is none of Chet’s business,” I snap, cutting off her tirade. “He’s not her father. He’s nothing to her.”

Chet looks offended. “I care for—”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” I say, pointing a finger at him. “Stand there and look pretty all you want, but stay out of this.” He opens his mouth, but I glare at him. “I will fucking shut it for you.”

His teeth clack together hard and he steps in closer to Sandra. My gaze slides back to her. “You are a fucking mess, Sandra. I don’t know the how or why of it, but you are an absolute failure right now as a mother.”

Her blond eyebrows shoot up her forehead. “I love my daughter.”

“Yeah? Then act like it. You make this transition easy on her because there’s no changing it. You want her back, you go through the proper channels and prove to the court that you have her best interests at heart, because clearly the judge doesn’t think you do. And until that time, you better fucking make sure you don’t level any more guilt or reprisal on her tiny shoulders because she is the innocent in all of this.”

“You have no idea—”

I roll right over her. “I don’t want to hear a single thing. I’m going up right now, packing a quick suitcase and we’re out of here. I cannot trust her in your care another minute just based on how she’s acting and the way you’re treating her.”

Sandra’s eyes fill with tears and she lifts her face to Chet. “Do something.”

Chet’s gaze reluctantly moves to mine and I can tell he’s afraid to talk because he knows he’s in danger of losing his teeth. My stare is hard, unyielding, with an underlying level of promise that I will hurt him.

It falters and drops momentarily to the floor before returning to Sandra. “Let’s play this cool, babe. The law and facts are on our side. We’ll fight this out in the courts.”

Sandra collapses into his arms and wails against his chest. He wraps her up in a tight hug and coos baby words to her that turn my stomach when she wails harder in response. More ridiculous words like “I’m here for you, baby boo” and “Daddy will make it better,” all spoken in an infantile tone as if she were a child. They’re absolutely feeding off each other.

Jesus fuck, what has happened to her and how has this man changed her so much?

I shake my head, turn my back on them and hightail it up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

My heart squeezes hard when I find Bowie Jane standing at the side of her bed. Her open suitcase has nothing in it, but she holds her favorite teddy bear in her hands, as if contemplating whether to put him inside.

I move to her, gently take the bear and set it on the bed. “We’re taking him but he goes on the plane in your backpack. What else do you want to take?”

She lifts her face to mine, completely lost.

“We don’t have to take all your clothes. In fact, we can go on an amazing shopping trip back in Pittsburgh and buy you all new clothes. Maybe we focus on favorite toys, jewelry, stuffed animals?”

Bowie Jane’s face crumbles and tears fill her eyes. “Why is Mom acting like this?”

“I don’t know, honey. It’s definitely out of character.”

“It’s Chet. She changed when she started dating him.”

I know she’s not wrong about that so I try my best to put it into a perspective she can accept that might salvage her relationship with her mom. I squat in front of her. “Sometimes people do weird things, and sometimes that can get super weird when they care for another person. But that doesn’t mean she’s stopped loving you or loves you in a different way. No matter what’s going on with your mom right now, I know without a doubt she loves you as much as she ever did.”

“I don’t believe it,” Bowie Jane says, her little face screwing up in anger.

“Well, I do, and trust me… I’ve got more reason than you to doubt your mom. But I know one million percent she loves you. I think she’s just having a hard time right now and actually might be a little lost.”

“Because of Chet,” she says bitterly.

“Most likely. I promise I’ll continue to try to talk to your mom to figure out what’s going on with her.”

At this point, I think I’m doing pretty good with being fair to Sandra, attempting to reinforce the bond between her and Bowie Jane, as well as building an undefinable time frame to give her mom time to figure her shit out. I’m trying to have patience which is not easy for me under these circumstances. I’d still like to wring Sandra’s neck and punch Chet in his perfectly white teeth.

“Going to be my strong, brave girl when we walk out of here?”

Bowie Jane nods but I can tell she’s not quite sure what that even means. Hell, I don’t know what it means. Once we leave, I have no clue how Sandra will react. Will she be partially absent the way she was over the summer, only reaching out a handful of times a week? Will living on the other side of the world impede even more on her ability to be a mom?

It’s confusing how one man can have such an influence over a woman who I felt was a rock-solid individual and mother. Sandra was always the nurturer, the one kissing booboos and soothing tantrums. Granted, she could get really angry but those times were rare.

Like today.

But seeing Sandra in this form reminds me why we’re divorced. Two very young, foolish kids who got pregnant when she was just eighteen and I was nineteen, and I married her because I thought it was the right thing to do. As we grew, developed, matured, sadly our love did not thrive. In fact, not sure it was ever true love to begin with but rather lust turned into duty and obligation.

I know my career hurt our chances of cementing a marital bond. I was gone too much and living the youthful glory days of fame. Sandra took to the lifestyle as well, developing close friendships with hockey wives and partying with them as much as I did with my teammates.

The marriage was never good but after Bowie Jane was born, we chose to stay together for her sake. Our fights were vicious and the makeups revolved around sex and then re-commitments to do better for our daughter. It was a cycle repeated over and over again until I had an epiphany and decided to get off the crazy carousel.

I realized that by staying in a loveless marriage, which was clearly evident to anyone who stood within the walls of our home, I was actually doing a disservice to Bowie Jane. I was teaching her that it was okay to accept mediocrity and live without love. I was not setting the example for the type of relationship I want my daughter to strive for.

I’m the one who broached the subject of divorce and I was both relieved and a little hurt that Sandra readily accepted the suggestion. Maybe I held out hope that the finality of ending our marriage might prompt both of us to find a solution that neither of us had considered before.

But we didn’t and the divorce went as well as could be expected. Even though we both agreed on it, it wasn’t amicable. When there are great monies involved, the division becomes harder. I had no problem with following the law and giving her what was due, but Sandra wanted more. She wanted to be taken care of with alimony the rest of her life and didn’t want to bother to try to support herself. That didn’t work for me and things got pretty bad before we were able to compromise on a limited term of alimony. I gave her the house and half of the retirement and bank accounts, as well as paid a generous amount of child support.

At that point, we settled into a generally peaceable co-parenting existence this last year and a half but I’m guessing that might have been the calm before the Chet-storm.

And this is where we’ve ended up.

I take Bowie Jane’s hands, giving them a squeeze. “Come on. Let’s get whatever you want packed and we’re going to head to the airport, catch the first flight back to Pittsburgh.”

She nods and turns to her dresser, but then a thought occurs to her. “Who is going to watch me when you’re gone on away trips?”

I haven’t had a chance to tell her about Mazzy yet and for the first time since touching down in California, I get a light, buzzy feeling in my chest. I’m confident I couldn’t have found a more perfect fit for me and Bowie Jane and it was solidified when Mazzy came over yesterday to get a key so she could move in. We ended up talking for over two hours, not just about Bowie Jane and how things would work in the job, but about each other personally. She’s lighthearted but serious, funny but on the wittier side, and an absolute nurturer. I learned enough to know that being a nanny is more than a job—it is her calling.

It also does not hurt that she’s very easy on the eyes.

Actually, that’s not even accurate. More like she hurts the eyes because she’s so beautiful. I found it sometimes hard to concentrate because I’d get caught up looking at her riot of red curls or the clear green of her eyes or the smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Her face is an absolute vision and I couldn’t find a single flaw.

So yeah… the nanny is hot but that’s not why I hired her. And it’s definitely not her looks that are going to make my life more secure but rather that I trust she will take care of my daughter like she was her own blood. I know she will go above and beyond to help my kid transition during this tough time.

“I’ve hired an amazing nanny. Her name is Mary Elizabeth, but she goes by Mazzy,” I say with a smile. “You’re going to love her.”

Bowie Jane looks at me dubiously before her mouth turns downward. “I just wish things could stay the same.”

The heaviness in her tone causes my chest to ache. For a split second, I forget about my happiness that my daughter is coming to live with me and wish desperately that things could remain the same for her. That her mom would get her head on straight, abandon the idea of moving out of the country and even though I wouldn’t see her as much, continue to give Bowie Jane a stable life here.

But I brush that aside. None of that is happening and all I can do is try to make the transition easy for her—with Mazzy’s help.