Page 78 of Foster

And so Mazzy switched me over to FaceTime and went up into Bowie Jane’s room. It was a brutal fucking call, one I had to navigate carefully with my daughter. I had to balance the fact that her mom did something very wrong (and could be in serious trouble) with a modicum of patience so I don’t poison Bowie Jane against her. Although, given how Sandra tried to forcefully remove her from the house, I was confident what little trust Bowie Jane had in her mother had been obliterated.

It was made more difficult by the fact that as I spoke to Bowie Jane, Sandra was outside my house talking to the police, and I absolutely fucking hated that I had to let my daughter know that it was necessary to call the cops on her mother.

It was Mazzy who actually downplayed it, adding, “Things just got a little heated and when people have arguments they can’t resolve, sometimes the police will help them work through it.”

I could see that resonated with Bowie Jane, her screwed-up face of anxiety relaxing somewhat. Mazzy left soon after that to give me private time to talk to Bowie Jane. I didn’t need it because there isn’t anything I would say that Mazzy couldn’t hear, but I let Bowie Jane ask all the questions she wanted.

Will Mom get in trouble? I don’t know.

Will I have to go to Singapore with Mom? No. I won’t let that happen.

Why is Mom doing this? I wish I knew, baby.

I think she was okay by the time we were done and I had to hang up to start dressing for the game. Of note, I played like shit because I could not fucking focus. Coach and my mates knew what was going on as I advised them and they even offered me the option of not dressing so I could catch a flight home.

But I declined because Mazzy knew all the right things to say and she would clearly defend my daughter, even if it meant putting herself in harm’s way.

After that call, Mazzy sent me updates via text. I know she intentionally kept them short with only the necessary information to ease my mind so I wouldn’t dwell.

By the time the game started, I knew that Sandra was gone from the property and advised not to return again unless she had my permission. Bowie Jane seemed settled and she and Mazzy went about their business as usual the rest of the evening, including homework, guitar practice, bath and reading.

That should’ve quelled my anger, at least a little, but I’m still so worked up by the audacity of Sandra—or maybe it’s insanity—that I can’t go to bed. I’m too wired, so I make coffee and sit in the living room in the dark, contemplating all the things I need to do today to further protect Bowie Jane, and Mazzy for that matter. It’s a long, brutal wait for the sun to come up, and I battle with the urge to go into Bowie Jane’s room to watch her sleep, to make sure she’s not having nightmares.

I also battle against the aching need to go into Mazzy’s room and kiss her, then make love to her, then hold her tight in gratitude.

But I wait for them to wake up at six thirty to start their day.

Mazzy is first down the stairs, shocked to see me in the kitchen where I’d moved to rinse out my coffee cup. In the predawn gloom as well as the under-cabinet lighting, I can see she looks rumpled and sleep-deprived but still beautiful. She clearly tossed and turned.

“I thought you’d be asleep,” she says as she moves my way. I don’t think it’s to me but rather the coffee pot.

It’s close enough though that I’m able to reach for her and pull her into a hard hug. Her arms go around my back and I whisper to her, “Thank you for everything you did.”

“It was nothing—”

I tighten my embrace, cutting off her words. “It was everything.”

I don’t want to relinquish my hold on her, knowing that Bowie Jane won’t come down until she’s dressed for school so I have a minute or so more.

Pulling back so I can really look her in the eyes to make sure she’s okay, my entire body tightens as I see a faint bruise on her cheek. I lift a hand but decide not to touch it, not wanting to cause her pain to satisfy my curiosity. “She’s going to pay for that,” I snarl.

Mazzy pushes my hand away. “It’s fine.”

“Did she hit you?” I ask incredulously, because she didn’t tell me the details.

She doesn’t reply, turning to the coffee pot. I reach for one of the light switches beside the stove and turn on the recessed lighting. Taking Mazzy by the shoulders, I turn her to me so I can let my eyes roam over her. I don’t see anything else but that doesn’t mean there’s not something under her clothes. “I want to know exactly what she did and don’t think to try to keep it from me or undersell it. I’ll go to the damn police officer and ask if I have to.”

With a heavy sigh, Mazzy says, “She started up the stairs for Bowie Jane. I grabbed her to stop her and she punched me. She then pushed me hard and I fell on my ass. That was it. I immediately told her I was calling the police and I did, and that stopped her from going up the stairs. It worked out fine and Bowie Jane didn’t see any of that, so you don’t have to worry—”

“I’m not worried about Bowie Jane at the moment,” I growl, dropping my hands from her shoulders to throw them out wide. “Did they arrest her? That’s assault.”

Guilt floods Mazzy’s eyes. “I told them I wouldn’t press charges, so no, they didn’t arrest her. They just made her leave.”

“Jesus Christ, Mazzy. She attacked you. She should have been arrested.”

“It was the heat of the moment—”

“Bullshit,” I hiss at her, not wanting to raise my voice for Bowie Jane to hear if she comes down the stairs. “She committed a crime, and she should face consequences. You can still press charges—”

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