“You look horrified,” she says with a grimace.
“That’s because I am. In the wintertime, it’s the Granger family tradition to go bowling every Friday night.”
“Well, it’s a good thing you’re finally bowling with a professional.” She winks exaggeratedly as she picks up her ball again and heads back to the lane.
She launches it with a mixture of a shotput stance and someone throwing a firecracker they forgot was already lit.
It bounces, catching a few inches of air before going into the gutter. There’s a loud whirring sound as it makes its way down, and I glance around to see that the bowlers in the lanes next to us are watching the spectacle with wide eyes. It’s so funny that I can barely contain my laughter.
Lucy turns around and brushes her hands together as though she’s dusting them off. “And that is how it’s done.”
“That is absolutelynothow you throw a bowling ball,” I say with a snort.
Lucy plants her hands on her hips. “And I suppose you think you can do it better, do you?” She raises her eyebrows, and her eyes are twinkling. “I’ll have you know, I’m a professional between-the-legs bowler,” she says.
I have to bite my cheeks to keep from laughing.
“It sounds like you’re making some kind of dirty joke there.”
She blushes, then laughs. “Maybe I am. I don’t know. All I know is, I might not be as practiced as I claimed.”
“Well, then, you’ve come bowling with the perfect guy.”
She looks at the lane next to us. A man close to Margaret’s age—somewhere in his eighties—walks up and bowls a perfect strike.
“You’re right. I should go talk to that man.”
She turns as though she’s going to ask him for advice.
I reach out and give her a nudge. “I wasn’t talking about him.”
Lucy grins at me and claps for the man. The man, shuffling back to his seat, glances over at her clapping and gives her a big grin. Lucy motions for him to come closer, and he glances behind him, says something into the crowd of his family, then shuffles toward us.
“You, sir, are an excellent bowler,” Lucy gushes as he stops in front of her.
The man smiles as though he’s not used to using those facial muscles. There’s something familiar about him, but I can’t place it.
“I might be old, but I’ve still got it,” he says in a shaky voice.
Lucy jerks a thumb toward me. “Maybe you could teach Miles a thing or two.”
The old man’s eyes light up. “Of course! I’m Gerry Farmington, and I’ve been bowling for seventy years now.”
He points back at the crowd—who appears to be his family—then waves for someone to join us. “I’m trying to impress my new girlfriend.”
A familiar gray head appears as she works her way through the group of bowlers. Margaret Eventhall. She’s the woman who knows everyone. The one who facilitated Lucy and me living together.
Lucy brightens when she sees Margaret. “Margaret! I didn’t know you had a boyfriend!”
She greets Margaret with a big hug. “Gerry isn’t my boyfriend,” Margaret replies as she pats Lucy’s back. “At least, not yet. It depends on who wins the game.”
Lucy leans back and looks at her in surprise. “You mean to tell me that you’re deciding your relationship status with a bowling game?”
Margaret nods solemnly.
Farmington just grunts. “It’s a good thing I know how to bowl.”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I was hoping you could help me with,” Lucy says as she steps closer to him. “I’m afraid I’m a lost cause.”
