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He looked at Morrigan for a few long seconds before glancing at me. Then at his mom.
“My coach,” Bowie rasped. “He was the one to give me the idea.”
My head snapped in his direction. “What?”
“Coach Kingston. My baseball coach. He was talking about how when he was young, he used to get really mad, and set things on fire.” He winced. “I…” He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have done it. I knew it as soon as I turned the wheel on the lighter. But I was just so mad.”
Well at least there was that.
That didn’t matter anymore, though.
“It’ll cost us a hundred thousand dollars to fix that coffee shop,” I told him. Bowie blanched at my words. “I don’t have that kind of money, and your mother’s only line of income to that much money would be if she sold her restaurant. Is that what you want?”
“No!” he shrieked.
“Why were you mad?” Morrigan asked.
Bowie opened his mouth to blurt out whatever, but then closed it.
“You are taking him away from me.” He sniffled. “It’s not fair.”
I felt my heart shrink a bit at that.
“I’d never take him away from you,” she replied.
“And you can’t blame your bad actions on your father deciding to see someone,” Danyetta responded. “And to be quite frank, your attitude toward your father has been atrocious for quite some time. Way before Morrigan came into the picture. And, though I don’t necessarily agree with your coach saying that he used to burn stuff when he was mad, I also think that you’re an intelligent child that can tell when he should and shouldn’t do something.”
“Agreed,” I concurred.
Bowie’s shoulders slumped.
“Do you want to know what it’s like to be in federal prison?” I asked.
Bowie looked as if he didn’t, but I told him anyway.
“I was told when to eat. When to sleep. When I could take a shit. When I could bathe my body. When I could see the doctor.” I ticked off my fingers. “And those were only the good things.”
“Couldn’t talk to y’all,” Wake said. “Which fuckin’ sucked. Danyetta called to tell us you fell and needed stitches in your eyebrow, and I’ve never seen your dad so fuckin’ broken.”
Bowie looked as if he’d just been kicked.
“Can she not press charges?” Bowie asked hopefully.
Bowie was young. He had stars in his eyes, and he was easily influenced.
But this time, I couldn’t save him.
“No,” I said. “Because not only were you caught on her cameras, but you were caught on the ones across the street.”
“I didn’t mean for it to get that big.” He winced. “I saw the two of them talking before I went inside. They were right there. They were supposed to see.”
Even his tears couldn’t help this time.
“Well, they didn’t,” I said. “And what’s worse is you could’ve killed them. Had they not been paying attention as little as they were, they could’ve been trapped in the back with nowhere to go. They could’ve died back there, and it could’ve been your fault.”
Bowie started to cry then.
“I never meant to.” He sniffled. “He just said that when he did stuff like that, it made him feel better. Made his head not feel so full.”
