Instead of moving away, he stood inches from her, gazing down into those amazing blue eyes and wondering how different his life would have been if he’d had a woman like her by his side years ago, instead of Evy.
Christine dropped her gaze and patted both his shoulders, before stepping back. “Soldier on.”
Slade felt as if he’d been doing that for far too long. Or maybe Takata was finally getting to him. “Ladies, the first thing we need to bowl is a ball. We’ll be looking for lighter ones, not pretty ones.” He led the twins to the ball racks, showing them how to find a ball that was small enough for the spread of their fingers and wasn’t too heavy.
With their bowling balls chosen, they trouped back to their lane. He taught them how to swing and release the ball, how to keep from crossing the line, and how to aim, just as his father had taught him. And then he put up the lane bumpers so they wouldn’t throw any gutter balls.
Faith took to it like a pigeon to Central Park. Grace struggled, although not as much as Christine. For all his winemaker did physical labor in the vineyard, she was completely honest when she said she wasn’t a good bowler.
Finally, in desperation, Christine swung the ball between her legs with both hands, granny-style. Perfectly centered, the ball rolled slowly down the lane and tumbled into the pins.
“A strike!” Christine jumped up and down. “I’ve never made one before.” She kept on jumping.
The twins joined her, holding her hands and leaping and laughing, as if they’d just won a gold medal.
Grace held a hand out toward him. “Come on, Dad.”
Those words, so few and far between, made being left off his own bowling team seem inconsequential.
If Christine’s ball had seemed to move in slow-motion, Slade’s approach to inclusion in their bouncing, celebratory circle seemed just as surreal. And then he, too, was jumping up and down, clinging to his daughters’ hands and laughing as if he’d made his first strike ever.
In the afterglow of Christine’s triumph, Takata ambled over wearing his team’s purple tie-dyed bowling shirt. He sat next to Slade, landing with a grunt on the plastic seat. “Grace, you’re twisting your wrist on your release.”
Grace, who was hefting her ball as she readied her approach, glanced back at the old man.
“Like this. Wrist to the ceiling the entire time, even after you let the ball go.” Takata swung his arm up. “Not like this.” He swung his arm up again, twisting it this time.
Grace nodded and stepped forward. She wound up and released the ball, freezing in place long enough to look at her wrist, which was facing the ceiling. Her ball had more velocity than Christine’s and hit the front pin hard enough to knock them all down.
This time, Slade led the leaping. His tie flew up and down so often he tossed it over his shoulder.
Grace ran on her tiptoes to the old man and gave him a hug.
“Eh? I can’t hear you.” Takata cupped a hand to his ear.
“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” Grace planted a kiss on his cheek.
“You’re welcome. Come by the house sometime and I’ll teach you jujitsu. You’ll be dating soon and you need to know how to keep boys in line.” Takata, who never smiled, was grinning as Grace told him she’d love to kick boy-butt. “Help me up, Slade. It’s almost my turn to bowl again.”