Page 23 of Foster

“Impressive,” I drawl. “And what is your dad?”

“He’s the center on the second line and the best player in the league.”

I frown in confusion. “What’s a center?”

Bowie Jane rolls her eyes and tips her head toward Foster. “She has a lot to learn.” She then turns back to me. “Forwards are the offensive players. You have a center and then a left and a right wing.”

It’s true I don’t know much about hockey. I have seen parts of a game on TV so I know my next question is silly, but I want to keep the conversation going. Anything to build rapport with this cutie-patootie. “If there are twenty total dressed for the game, how do they all fit out there on the ice?”

I get another eye roll and she informs me there are only three forwards, two defensemen and a goalie out there at a time. She explains about line shifts and then rattles off the names of the other players on her dad’s line.

My eyes cut to Foster only once. He is focused on his food but he’s smiling with pride over her knowledge. You can tell that Bowie Jane is very much into her dad’s career, not just as a Titans fan but as a fan of Foster McInnis. It’s utterly adorable and incredible at the same time because not many kids know their parents’ occupations that well.

CHAPTER 9

Foster

My eyes sweep across the large expanse of the team’s family lounge located on the bottom floor of the arena, just down from the locker room. It’s a place where family and close friends can congregate both before and after games. Filled with plush furniture and rectangular dining tables, the lounge always has a buffet available. My eyes immediately locate Mazzy by her mass of fiery red hair and warmth floods through me when I see that Bowie Jane is fast asleep in her lap as they sit on one of the couches.

It’s been nine days since Bowie Jane returned to Pittsburgh with me and she and Mazzy have bonded well. Currently, Mazzy is engaged in animated conversation with Kiera McGinn, who is not only our goalie Drake’s sister, but she’s dating Bain Hillridge, a first-line defenseman.

I weave through the crowd, accepting congratulations from those I know. When I reach Mazzy and Bowie Jane, I lean over the back of the sofa and press a kiss on the top of my daughter’s head. She doesn’t twitch a muscle, which means she’s knocked out cold.

Mazzy twists her neck to look at me and I grin. “Did you drug my kid?”

Her tone is droll… perfectly Mazzy. “Yes. A sweet cocktail of heavy barbiturates with a shot of bourbon.”

Laughing, I walk around the couch, lifting a hand to Kiera who says, “Great game.”

“For the entire two minutes you played,” Mazzy says with a faux pout. She knew I’d hardly get any ice time, given this is the last preseason game, but that she can tease me about it pretty much sums up how our relationship has progressed.

I’ve been busy with camp and Mazzy has been putting in the time needed to get to know my kid. She took her clothes shopping the day we arrived, and they apparently had way too much fun because they came in loaded with bags and bags of stuff that Bowie Jane insisted was necessary. I then had to suffer through a fashion show as Mazzy helped her dress in a variety of outfits and then provided runway commentary as my daughter strutted a makeshift catwalk through the living room.

Sadly, texts to Sandra to show her outfits and get her advice went unanswered. That night I shot her a blistering text telling her to get the chip off her shoulder and act like a mom. She didn’t respond.

Bowie Jane started school and seems to be settling in fine. She’s always been a good student with a thirst for learning. When she’s in school, sometimes Mazzy will leave the house for the day and I have no clue where she goes or what she does with her time. I suspect she might be over at her parents’ or maybe even hanging out with friends. Or perhaps she has a boyfriend. I haven’t asked that question nor am I going to. None of my business.

Sometimes she stays at the house though. Although I’ve asked her not to, she maintains the household. She organized my pantry and cleaned out the fridge one day. She insisted on taking over the grocery shopping since she’ll mostly be the one cooking for Bowie Jane.

Of the time we have spent around each other, we’ve developed an easy friendship. I know I’m her employer and that she’s working for me to care for my child, but it’s hard to be formal around a woman such as Mazzy. She’s a stickler for the rules and can be stern with Bowie Jane, as well as me when needed, but those times are rare. She’s mostly always laughing with a funny joke or quip on the tip of her tongue, and I appreciate it so much because it’s been nice to hear my child laugh as much as she has over the last several days. Lord knows her mother has not given her much reason to, offering little but a cold shoulder.

Sandra can deny it until she’s blue in the face, but I know she thinks Bowie Jane said something to the judge that caused him to rule in my favor.

While I have not asked Bowie Jane what she talked to the judge about, because I believe that to be sacred and private, she volunteered it to me. Even though she’s only ten years old, she’s not stupid. She knows her mom assumes she said something bad and is punishing her by lack of contact.

Night before last, Bowie Jane and I were watching a movie on the couch and she sort of blurted it all out to me.

“Daddy… I think Mom is mad at me for what I said to the judge, but I didn’t say anything bad about her. I swear.”

I want to be reassuring but I also want the blame for this to lie with Sandra. “What you and the judge talked about is private and nobody’s business. Your mom will get over it.”

“I don’t think she will. She hardly ever calls. And every time she does, Chet is always there. Such a stupid name. Chet.”

Chuckling, I put my arm around her and drew her in tight. “Chet is a completely stupid name,” I say, a tiny white lie. I don’t think it’s a stupid name, but she needs somebody on her side right now.

Luckily, Bowie Jane hasn’t been too low into the doldrums and that’s probably credited to Mazzy who is so completely engaged with my kid when they’re together. I know she feels seen, cared for and secure. The proof is in the fact that my daughter is sleeping in Mazzy’s arms, as if she doesn’t have a care in the world.

“How about we get this rug rat to bed,” I say to Mazzy as I reach to take Bowie Jane from her lap. She settles easily in my arms and rests her head against my shoulder.

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