Great. Robin turned around to get her ball and noticed that none of the women made eye contact. So it was that bad.
Her second bowl wasn’t much better—but she managed to keep it in her gutter. Robin quickly made her way back to her seat on the bench and fell into it, wondered if Sue was talking about her when she leaned over to whisper something to Reba. What a nightmare! If it made any difference to the Tweedledees, she had no more desire to be in this bowling alley than they desired her to be here. All she wanted to do was discuss a little bubble wrap and get the hell out of Dodge, but noooo. She glared at Jake, wondered how he did it so easily, grudgingly admiring how he seemed to adapt to everything around him.
When she stepped up to the lane for her next turn, barriers suddenly popped up on either side of the lane, startling her. The howl of Sue’s laughter behind her was almost her undoing. She turned slowly, looked at them looking at her, obviously enjoying themselves at her expense. All except Jake, who came striding forward. “What the hell?” she softly demanded.
“Bumper guards. To keep your ball in the right lane.”
“I’ve never seen anything like that!”
“Well . . . they’re usually for little kids,” he said, wincing a little.
Robin’s eyes narrowed; so this was how it was going to be. “Oh yeah? And whose bright idea was it? Sylvia’s? Sue’s?”
Jake bit his lip. “Reba’s.”
Something snapped like a twig in Robin’s brain. She stepped around Jake, waved at Reba. “Thanks for the help!” she called cheerfully and growled beneath her breath when Reba nudged Sue in the side. Laugh at her, would they? She turned a murderous gaze to the lane in front of her. She’d show them—she was going to learn how to bowl, by God, right here, right now, or die trying.
Her first attempt wrenched her back, but the ball stayed in the lane and hit two pins.
“Hey! Well, okay!” Jake called, clapping, his voice betraying his surprise. “That’s what I’m talking about! This time, bend your knees!” he encouraged her.
Robin bent her knees. She bent her knees so deep she damn near kissed the polished wood lane. The ball still bounced, but it wobbled down the lane, knocking over five or six more of the milk bottles. She stood up, slapped her hands together, and turned around, her chin high as she marched back to her seat.
By the eighth frame, free of her jacket and jewelry, Robin was arguing with Reba about how many pins she had knocked over (until Reba pointed out the system automatically counted them), pumping her fist with each bowl, and having (okay, very hard to admit) a good time. She had lightened up. She had learned to bowl. And on the home stretch of the second game, she was spanking Sylvia.
Jake was having a good time, too. He had fetched a bucket of beer for everyone, was going for a game of 200, which he seemed to think was pretty outstanding. He also seemed to enjoy the opportunity to flirt, yet another sport at which he appeared to be naturally gifted. And he was great fun to be with. In spite of their rocky beginning, Jake was joking about the way she bowled, high-fiving her when she managed to knock the pins down, and encouraging her when she didn’t.
But her personal victory in conquering bowling did not make Robin any less irritated that Eldagirt Wirt had not even bothered to make an appearance. She was beginning to wonder if she had been taken for a ride when Sue’s cell phone rang. She handed it to Robin. “For you.”
“For me?” she asked, surprised, and took the phone. “Hello?”
“How’d you bowl?” Girt asked in her gravelly voice.
“I managed to eke out a couple of games,” Robin said irritably. “Did I misunderstand our meeting?”
“Nah.” Girt paused to drag on a cigarette. “Sorry about that, but my son’s sick. Bob’s on his way to pick you up and bring you on out to the warehouse.”
“Umm . . . okay. May I ask if you are going to be there?”
“‘Course I’m gonna be there!” Girt declared in such a huff that it sparked a serious coughing spell. “He’ll be there in about ten minutes,” she said hoarsely. “Now could you hand the phone back to Sue?”
Robin handed the phone to Sue. Sue put the phone to her ear. “Hey,” she said, but whatever Eldagirt said in return caused Sue to look at Robin, then quickly turn away so she could not hear her.
Fine. She just hoped that when Sue gave her report, she would note the strike Robin had in the seventh frame of the second game, thank you very much.
“We’re going to the warehouse,” she informed Jake as he came back from returning his shoes. She jabbed one arm into her jacket. “I think Wirt is giving me the runaround.”
“Why, what did she say?”
“She said her son was sick,” Robin responded with a roll of her eves.
“Seems plausible.”