33 The Return of Bowie Bravo by Christine Rimmer Read Free Book Online

sneer. “I’ve seen your pictures in Granny Chastity’s house. You’re the one they call my dad. But you’re not my dad. My dad died. And I hate you.”

Chapter Four
    B owie stared at the son who’d just said he hated him and tried to think of an acceptable reply.
    There was none. Anything he said right then would only be so much crap.
    Johnny didn’t wait for him to think up something meaningful. He demanded, “Where’s my mom?”
    “She’s…resting.”
    Johnny dropped the backpack down one arm. It plunked to the hardwood floor, although he still held it by a strap. “In her room?”
    “That’s right.”
    Hefting the pack, Johnny turned for the stairs.
    “Wait.”
    The boy whirled back. “Don’t you tell me what to do.”
    Bowie almost smiled. It was the kind of thing he used to say a lot—and not only when he was six. He thought of his own mom, for some reason. Of Chastity’s calm, matter-of-fact approach to things. She used to be the only one with a chance of getting through to him. She never fought fire with fire. He said quietly, “Your sister was born this morning.”
    The boy tried to keep sneering, but his eyes went wide. “Is my mom okay?”
    “Your mom is fine. Resting, like I said. Your aunt Angie, your grandma Rose and your great-aunt Stella are with her.”
    “What’s her name, the baby?”
    “Serafina Teodora, but your mom calls her Sera.”
    “I want to go up there. I want to see my mom and the baby.”
    “Take off your coat and hat and boots first. And go quietly. Remember to knock.”
    The boy did what he was told. He unzipped his jacket and took off his hat. Bowie marveled. At six, Johnny had more self-control than Bowie had possessed at twenty-six. The boy turned and left the archway.
    Bowie didn’t follow. Getting too close so soon seemed like a bad idea.
    From where he stood at the fireplace, Bowie had a clear view into the front hall. He watched Johnny set his pack at the base of the coat tree, hang his jacket on a low hook and put his boots side-by-side next to his pack.
    In stocking feet, Johnny went up, not looking back. Once he disappeared from view, Bowie moved to the foot of the stairs. He heard Johnny knock on his mother’s door, a gentle, careful sort of knock.
    And then he heard the door open and Mamma Rose’s voice. “Here’s our big boy.…”
    Johnny said something. Bowie couldn’t make out the words. He heard the door click shut.
    There was an easy chair by the fire. Bowie returned to the family room and sank into that chair. He sat and stared at the flames and waited for his son to come back downstairs.
    It didn’t take all that long. Fifteen minutes, maybe, and he heard the light step descending.
    Bowie stayed in the chair. He had the feeling that sudden moves on his part would not be appreciated. Better to continue to keep his distance for a while. He might even get lucky and the kid would come to him.
    Doubtful, but you never knew. So he waited.
    The light footfalls came closer. “My mom says I have to be nice to you.” The boy had stopped maybe six feet from Bowie’s chair. He’d put on a pair of tennis shoes while he was upstairs.
    Aware of a strange tightness under his breastbone, Bowie drank in the sight of him. “Did you see your sister?”
    Johnny nodded. “She’s pretty ugly. All red and wrinkled.”
    “Most babies are like that. But personally, I think she’s gorgeous.”
    “You maybe need glasses, huh?” Johnny tipped his dark head to the side, frowning. “Are you a drunk and a crazy man?”
    Bowie wanted to laugh. He also felt the burn of a more painful emotion sting the back of his throat. “Not anymore,” he said. “But I used to be.”
    The boy seemed to consider that answer. And then he shrugged. “Mom says I can have milk and two graham crackers and then do my homework.”
    “Need any help with that?”
    Johnny blew out a disgusted breath. “I’m not a baby. ”
    “Well, I’m here if you need anything.”
    The look