Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“Yes, but I’ll miss you.”
I glance over my shoulder to see her mouth drawn downward and doe eyes staring at me balefully.
“It’s okay, baby. I’ll visit every West Coast trip I make, plus we’ll have time at Christmas and before you know it, another fun summer.”
She doesn’t reply and I glance back again to see her staring out the window. My daughter isn’t the taciturn type but she’s been quiet most of our trip out here to California.
I’m not conceited enough to think that she had such an amazing time with me this summer that she doesn’t want to go home. In fact, I know she misses her mom terribly, but I think she’s confused about her homecoming. Sandra’s lack of diligent contact and failure to visit have weighed on Bowie Jane. I know this because I talk to my daughter and she’s open with me when something’s on her mind.
I’ve fielded questions from her all summer, like, “I wonder what Mom’s doing?”
Translation: Why hasn’t Mom called in three days?
“And,” I continue on, trying to stoke some excitement, “you’ve got your big school shopping trip with your mom tomorrow. Lots of new clothes but I know it’s all about school supplies for you.”
My kid is a school nerd and I love that she loves it so much. She’s excited about starting back next week.
That brightens her up a bit and she starts chattering about her best friend Alicia. They’ve been in the same class since pre-kindergarten and even had weekly FaceTime chats this summer.
I pull into Sandra’s driveway and don’t feel anything for the home I once lived in. It holds great memories of Bowie Jane but that’s about all it does for me.
There’s a Mercedes C class in the driveway, probably a few years old and with a small dent in the right rear corner.
“Friend of your mom’s?” I ask as I shut off the car.
“That’s Chet’s,” Bowie Jane says glumly.
I’m irritated he’s here. Sandra should want to have alone time with her daughter since she hasn’t seen her all summer.
We exit the vehicle and I pull her two suitcases out of the trunk. I don’t even bother to wheel them along the sidewalk but carry one in each hand. Bowie Jane precedes me up the porch steps and I expect Sandra to meet us there, bursting with excitement that her daughter is home, but… nothing.
Bowie Jane attempts to open the door but it’s locked. Without hesitation, she pushes the doorbell.
We both hear footsteps quickly moving toward us and then the door is open and Sandra is pulling Bowie Jane into a hard hug.
“Oh, sweet girl… I missed you so much.” There’s the enthusiasm I was looking for but Bowie Jane’s arms hang limply at her side. She doesn’t return the embrace and that’s when I see a tall blond man standing just inside the foyer.
Sandra releases our child and steps back to put an arm around who I assume is Chet. He looks like your typical LA actor with fake suntan, brilliant white teeth he flashes at Sandra, and shellacked hair. I’d place him in his early forties.
“Look who came to surprise you,” Sandra chirps as she squeezes Chet and beams at our daughter. “He’s going to take us out to a nice dinner tonight and then he’s going to take us both clothes shopping tomorrow.”
Bowie Jane doesn’t return her mom’s smile but glances back at me, and the expression on her face tears me up. She wants no part of this surprise so I decide to remove her temporarily from the mix.
“Hey, kiddo… let’s get your suitcases upstairs into your room and you can start unpacking. Okay?”
She nods almost gratefully and shoots up the stairs. Sandra and Chet step back to let me through the door and I do nothing more than nod at the man. Sandra doesn’t bother with an introduction but only because I quickly give them my back and follow Bowie Jane to her room.
I place the suitcases on her bed and unzip them. I helped her pack, so everything is clean and neatly folded. “You get started on this and I’ll come back and help. I want to talk to your mom for a minute.”
“Okay,” she says and starts pulling clothes out of the luggage.
Downstairs, I find Sandra and Chet in the kitchen, side by side at the island. They have glasses of white wine in front of them and she’s giggling at something he’s said as I enter.
He looks at me first and then Sandra turns, a sheepish grin on her face. “Oh, Foster… let me introduce you to my boyfriend, Chet Firestone.”
I put on a genial expression and step forward to shake his hand. He has no clue that I know that’s not his real name. A quick Google search revealed he’s a two-bit actor, born Robert Petersby in Des Moines. He’s had several TV roles over the years but nothing recurring. I’m assuming he thought Chet Firestone was a more marketable name, which… I get it.