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)
Mazzy shrugs. “I’m flexible and don’t mind covering it all.”
“No doubt,” I reply drolly. “But I’m not happy with you working seven days a week. I can’t afford for you to burn out. I don’t want you killing yourself in this job.”
Mazzy’s gaze lifts from the pan where the eggs are sizzling and she doesn’t look at me, but rather at Bowie Jane, a soft smile on her face. “This job is not a hardship at all. Your kid’s kind of great.”
Bowie Jane, who had been presumably ignoring both of us as we talked, says, “I’m awesome.” She then looks up from her work to Mazzy. “Can you teach me some guitar today?”
Mazzy glances down at her watch. “Sure, but I have to be out of here in about an hour.”
“Hot date?” I ask and then want to kick myself in the ass for doing that. First, it’s midmorning and who would ever have a hot date at this hour?
Well, Mazzy would as she’s supremely hot, but it was a stupid-as-fuck question.
I hate that it’s relief I feel when Mazzy snorts in denial. “I wish. But no, I’m playing over at Sola Coffeehouse in the Strip District from noon to two, with my friend Leo.”
It doesn’t quite penetrate what she just said and I can feel my expression puckering with confusion. “You’re doing what?”
Mazzy turns her attention back to the skillet as she explains. “My best friend Leo and I sing and play guitar at various coffee shops and bars around the area. Sola is one we do quite often, usually for the Saturday noon crowd.”
I stare at her dumbly. “Don’t I pay you enough?”
Mazzy tips her head back and laughs with gusto, her sparkling green eyes landing on me with censure. “You pay me plenty. But I do this because I love performing for people. I don’t do it for the money but for the joy of it. Besides, Leo gets all the tips. Most of our audience seems to be women and well, they fall all over him.”
I’ve learned now that her best friend is a man named Leo and he’s apparently very hot and talented. Why isn’t Mazzy with him then?
The question is pushed from my mind as a plate with a steaming omelet is held out to me. I blink away the curiosity and take the offering, moving to the stool next to Bowie Jane.
I eat my breakfast and drink my coffee, watching as Bowie Jane draws a hummingbird sipping from a flower. My kid’s artistic ability boggles my mind.
I also let my mind wander, wondering what Mazzy will do this weekend, since she has it off. Obviously, she’ll be playing in a coffee shop today but I wonder if she’ll jam out in a bar or something.
When I’m done eating, Mazzy takes my plate and I head off for a quick shower. Less than ten minutes later, I’m dressed in a T-shirt, cargo pants and running shoes. I don’t know what trouble my kid and I will get into today, but whatever it is, it will be casual. I no sooner step out of my bedroom than stop dead in my tracks as I listen to Mazzy instructing Bowie Jane on the guitar.
Mazzy’s voice is soft and patient. “You put this finger here, this finger here, and this finger here. That makes a D chord. Make sure to press hard. Now, strum down with the pick.”
The guitar resonates as the strings vibrate and Bowie Jane exclaims, “The strings hurt my fingers.”
Mazzy chuckles. “Here… feel my fingers.” I’m standing far enough back in the hallway they can’t see me and I can’t see them, but I can imagine Mazzy taking Bowie Jane’s hand in hers, having her explore the hardened skin on her fingertips built up from years of playing.
“That is so cool,” Bowie Jane says. “How long before my fingers get that way?”
Mazzy laughs again. “It will take a while.”
“I can’t wait to be a great guitar player.”
“It’s going to take practice and dedication.” Mazzy has switched to her no-nonsense voice. It’s the one she uses when Bowie Jane balks at starting homework. “You have to play every day, even if only for ten minutes. Do you think you can do that?”
“I can,” my daughter replies with determination.
And I have no doubt that my kid is making a promise she’ll uphold. When she decides to tackle something, she does it with a tenacity that makes me so proud because she gets that directly from me, either by genes or example.
Probably both.
“Good,” Mazzy says, and I hear the respect in her voice. “Because I’m going to leave this guitar here with you. It’s one of my older ones but you still have to take very good care of it.”
“I promise,” Bowie Jane says solemnly, and I imagine she’s crossing her heart right now. I can’t help but smile. “Will you play a song for me?”