Page 74 of Foster

“Mazzy.” I look up to see Bowie Jane standing there with her guitar in one hand and a music book in the other. “Do you mind if I play down here?”

“Not at all. Do you want me to teach you anything new?”

“Maybe later, but I want to practice that new song… ‘Sloop John B.’”

“That’s a good one. One of the first I learned.” I nod toward the living room. “Have at it.”

Just as she’s settling down on the couch and opening the songbook to the proper page, the doorbell rings and I assume it’s a delivery. Foster insisted I use his Amazon account to order any household goods I might need. I walk through the living room, listening as Bowie Jane does the warm-up drills I taught her to loosen up her fingers.

I swing the door open, my gaze already dropped to the porch for whatever package might be there but instead I see a pair of legs in skinny jeans and kitten heels. I lift my head and am stunned to see Sandra standing there with a large purse slung over her shoulder.

She’s a beautiful woman, all sleek and polished with flawless features.

“Hello, Mazzy,” she says with a smile, sticking out her hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you in person.”

I’m so shocked that I’m on autopilot as we shake hands and I can’t think of anything to say.

As our hands break apart, she says, “I made an impulsive trip here to visit Bowie Jane. Thought I’d surprise her.”

Surprise would be a good word to describe this visit, but she had been promising to make a trip to see her soon. The last few weeks Sandra’s calls have been frequent, consistent and engaging. Most of all, they’ve been fun for Bowie Jane and I’ve watched their relationship start to heal. Sandra’s also been polite to me in her requests to talk to Bowie Jane outside of our normal times, especially since it’s my phone that Bowie Jane talks to her on.

“Can I come in?” she asks hesitantly.

Can she? I have no clue what to do, but the decision is taken out of my hands when I hear Bowie Jane exclaim with joy behind me, “Mom!”

Footsteps run our way so I step to the side, motioning Sandra in. Just as she crosses the threshold, Bowie Jane flies by me and leaps into her mom’s arms. Sandra’s a tall woman, has me by several inches, and easily catches her daughter to swing her around in a hug.

Part of me is so happy for Bowie Jane right now, but a part of me is slightly jealous. I’ve had this little girl to myself for weeks now and I didn’t realize how much I’d become accustomed to her love for me until she shines it on her own mother.

That’s horrible thinking and I chastise myself for it.

“What are you doing here?” Bowie Jane asks as Sandra lowers her to the floor.

“I thought I’d surprise you,” she replies, then looks to me. “Any chance you might have a cup of coffee for a very weary traveler?”

“Of course,” I reply as I motion toward the kitchen. “Come on in.”

While I make Sandra a coffee, she sits with Bowie Jane at the kitchen table and they chatter away with excitement. I pour a glass of milk, plate up chocolate chip cookies and place them on the table with the coffee.

“Thank you,” Sandra says gratefully, ignoring the cream and sugar to sip the black brew. “That flight from Singapore is a killer.”

“How long are you staying?” I ask.

“Not long,” she replies, refusing to provide a number of days, which sounds evasive to me.

In an attempt to put a time limit on the visit, I look pointedly at the kitchen clock and remind Bowie Jane, “Don’t forget… you need to start your homework at four thirty.”

She gives me a toothy grin. “I won’t forget.”

I want to give them some measure of privacy so I walk into the living room, sit on the couch, and pull out my phone. Should I text Foster to let him know Sandra is here? I don’t want to do anything to distract him from his game, so I probably shouldn’t.

“Mommy wants to see my bedroom so I’m going to show her,” Bowie Jane says, and I look up to see her holding her mom’s hand.

“Um… okay. Holler if you need anything,” I say, my gaze cutting back and forth between Bowie Jane and Sandra.

Bowie Jane talks nonstop as they ascend the stairs and as their footsteps recede, I worry if I should have let them out of my sight. Maybe I should’ve insisted they stay down here or maybe I should’ve followed them up.

But no, I don’t want to mess up this experience for Bowie Jane. She’s obviously happy to have her mom here and Sandra has successfully parented her for years, with the exception of her recent nuttiness.

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