Page 41 of Wicked Love

It’s technically my last class of the day, but I want to give Bowie plenty of time.

“Would you like to see my office and maybe color for a while?”

“Yes!” she says excitedly.

We go to my office and Becca studies everything in the room like it's a science project. She’s endearing as she sticks her face close to every book, looking them over. She brightens when she sees a picture of me and my sister, tapping it.

“Who that?” she asks.

“That's my sister, Marley.”

And then when she sees the picture of me with my parents and Marley, she stares at it for a long time. Eventually she points at it and says, “Your mommy.”

I nod, a lump forming in my throat. She's breaking my heart about her mom. I can't help but wonder what happened to hers. Where is she? Why isn't she part of her life? My mind jumps to the worst scenarios. Unfortunately, I see way too many marriages break up between parents of kids with disabilities. I wish that weren't the case, but it is, and it's understandable in many ways with all the pressures and challenges it brings into your life that you didn't see coming. But it kills me nonetheless.

Growing up, our neighbors, the O’Haras, had a daughter my age who had Down Syndrome. I adored Kara and she adored me. We had more classes together when she was younger, but we still ate lunch together throughout high school and hung out after school. She died in a car accident when we were seventeen and I still miss her. But betweencomplications with the different surgeries she had, and the financial struggles it put on them, the O’Hara’s marriage didn't last. I think seeing what they went throughandwhat Kara went through shaped what I wanted to do with my life.

I can’t remember if it was an interview with Mr. Rogers or in his documentaryWon’t You Be My Neighbor?, but he talks about his mom in such a beautiful way that it’s stuck with me. When he was a boy and saw scary things in the news, his mom would say, “Look for the helpers.” I’ve tried to apply that to my job and be a helper. So often, the marginalized are ignored. In a way, it’s my calling to see a need in these families’ lives when they have a child with disabilities and to do what I can to help.

But I’m not exaggerating when I say that I get so much more out of it than they do. The kids I have the honor of working with at Briar Hill have become my favorite people on earth. Simply put, they fill my life with joy.

I get a text from Bowie an hour later.

Bowie

I didn’t mean to be this long. I can stop by and pick Becca up. Or you're welcome to bring her to Silver Hills if that's easier, given the time.

I’m happy to bring her home. We’ll be about thirty minutes.

Bowie

Thank you. See you then.

He sends his address in the next text, and Becca and I leave within five minutes. Becca chats all the way, excited for me to see her room and pictures and pool and yard…and more of Martha.

I smile the entire drive. It’s doubtful that Bowie will even invite me inside and I don’t want to disappoint Becca, but I’d rather not be in his space either.

“I’m sorry, Becca. I can’t stay,” I tell her. “Your house sounds wonderful, but I need to go home and do some work.”

I’m not certain she hears me or if she’s choosing to ignore what I’ve said, but I don’t try to repeat it.

Bowie lives in a gated community on the lake that Rhodes and Elle also live on, and he’s already cleared my name with the guy at the gate, but unlike them, there aren’t any guards once I reach Bowie’s house. He seems to stay under the radar more than some of the other players. With the exception of the BHOTD posts about him, I don’t see a lot of press on him. It must be the intimidating presence he has that lets people know he’s off-limits. I’m glad for his sake that he has that privacy with Becca.

“Beautiful house,” I say as we pull down the long driveway.

The house is surrounded by trees, and the lake and mountains are the perfect backdrop for the dark blue house with a turret.

“Yes,” Becca says.

I park and we get out of the car. The front door opens before Becca reaches it, and Bowie stands there holding Martha, yet still looking formidable. I lift my hand to wave.

“It was fun, Becca. I hope you can come see me again at Briar Hill!”

I back away and she grabs my hand and tugs.

“Come see,” she says.

“I was telling Becca I should be going,” I tell Bowie. “Have a good night.”

---