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CHAPTER TWELVE

FILLING THE GAPS

POPPY

I lead Becca into the gym, where the kids are already warming up. We walk over to Angela, who’s tossing the volleyball back and forth in her hands.

“Becca, this is Angela. She’s one of the coaches here. Angela, this is Becca. She’s joining us today.”

“Hi, Becca,” Angela says. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Hi,” Becca says, shyer than she is with me.

“Do you like volleyball?” Angela asks.

“I like...” Becca nods.

She looks at me then, uncertain. I give her a reassuring smile and hold up my hands for Angela to pass the ball. She tosses it and Becca laughs when I catch it.

“Would you like to play with the team right now, or would you rather watch this time and I’ll show you a few tips?”

Becca nods.

“Watch this time?” I check.

“Watch,” she says.

“Okay, how about we give this ball back to Angela and I’ll get one for us to practice with.” I toss the ball to Angela and she waves at us before jogging off to start the game.

I grab another ball and take Becca to the side. When the game starts, I point out the server and then show her how to hold her hands to make a serve like that. Demonstrating a few times, I eventually hand her the ball and she tries. She yelps when the ball goes flying, but it’s a good serve.

“Excellent, Becca. You’ve already learned the hardest part.”

She beams. “I like bollyball.”

I grin at her pronunciation. “Bollyball would’ve been a better name for it, wouldn’t it? I like volleyball too.”

“You are fun,” she says. “Daddy is sad.”

I falter, pausing from showing her another way to hit the ball. Maybe I didn’t hear her right. “Sad? Or fun?”

She nods. “My daddy always sad.” She reaches out and taps near my eye. “He sad right there.”

I swallow. I think she’s saying that he has sad eyes. Or is she saying he’s been crying? Either way, if I’m right, this is breaking my heart right now.

“Is he sad about his dad being sick?”

She shrugs. “He sad because I have no mommy. ”

Oh. My heart pinches and I step closer to her without even realizing it until our shoes touch.

“I sad too because I have no mommy, but I have Daddy.”

“And he’s a great daddy, isn’t he?”

“He’s a great daddy,” she repeats, laughing. She leans in. “My pictures are nice. You come see my pictures.”

I tilt my head. “Maybe you could bring one of your pictures the next time you come here.”

She frowns and shakes her head. “Too big,” she says, holding her hands out to her sides as far as they’ll go. “I have this many.”

“Oh, lots of pictures!” I laugh.

She looks so pleased that it warms my heart. Her personality is pure sunshine. If Bowie is as sad as Becca says he is, and for as little as I know Bowie, I believe his daughter is completely right, then I’m so glad he has her in his life to inject some joy.

We join the next game and Becca picks it up quickly. There are a few ways I can tell that Bowie has worked with her a lot. Besides her obvious love for being active, Becca has surprising endurance to stay engaged in the game. I can also see an advanced level of sportsmanship with how well she handles it when she doesn’t make the best plays.

When the game is over, I introduce her to a few of the other kids and casually observe her interactions, the way I do with all of the kids who come through here. Angela turns on the music as we’re wrapping up the session. It’s a slow song so we can stretch, and I stand in front of the kids, going through each move as Angela walks around and makes sure no one is doing anything too strenuous. At the very end, we shake out our hands and take deep, cleansing breaths, and then smile at each other.

“Have a wonderful day,” I say. “I’ll see you next time. ”

“See you next time,” some of them chant back.

When the kids start clearing out, Becca comes and stands next to me.

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 between complications 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 through and what 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 documentary Won’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.”

“Please stay with me,” Becca says. She looks at me and I have a hard time resisting. “See my pictures. ”

“Becca, if Poppy needs to go, you should let her go.”

“See my mommy pictures,” she says, starting to cry.

I look at Bowie helplessly and am surprised to see the look of devastation cross his face. It makes me hesitate.

“I can stay for a few minutes if that’s helpful,” I tell him quietly. “I don’t want to override what you’re saying in any way, but I can stay long enough to see what she wants to show me.”

He gives a terse nod. “Thank you. That’s nice of you.”

To Becca he says, “Poppy can stay for a few minutes, but let’s not fuss when it’s time for her to go, okay, Becca?”

Becca sniffs. “Okay. Come on, Poppy.” She holds out her hand and I take it, and she hurries us through the house.

Now that I’m inside, I want to take my time and look at their house. It’s not as massive as Elle’s, but it’s still larger than I’m used to. The decorating is more modern than I like, but it’s beautiful and clean. The kitchen has open cabinetry, where there are minimal dishes, and there are unique materials used for the walls and flooring; however, Becca is pulling me forward too fast for me to see what it is exactly.

The house is long and when we reach one side, I can see that the turret is full of windows and leads to the pool. The pool is both indoor and outdoor, with a glass solarium on the indoor part and a place to swim through to the outdoor. It’s the most spectacular pool I’ve ever seen.

“That is wicked stellar,” I say, exactly the way my granddad would say it, stellar sounding more like stella.

I hear Bowie snort behind me and turn around. He’s looking down and trying to hide the smile on his face. When he feels my eyes on him, he lifts his head and the half-smile is still there.

“What do you have against the word wicked?” I ask.

“Nothing.” His face is pure innocence now, but I think of what the hair sites would be saying about him if they were witnessing this. His hair is like the poster child of dream hair. One wave is perfectly outlining his face and just lightly curves against his chin…which makes me stare at his neck. A memory of gliding my tongue across his neck and the gasp it elicited from him comes back in vivid color.

I must stare at him too long because his head tilts.

“Do I have toothpaste in my hair or something?” he asks.

“No, I was just thinking it should be illegal for a man to have hair as pretty as yours. I bet you don’t even appreciate it.”

His face crinkles up into a frown, but I think he’s trying not to laugh. There’s more than a hint of amusement in his eyes and it emboldens me.

I lift my hand up and drop it, unable to form a coherent thought. “BHOTD,” I mutter.

“Pardon me?”

I wave him off and Becca whisks me away, leading me down the hall. I hear Bowie on our heels and since he doesn’t stop us, I keep going. Becca opens her door and her room is pretty. She has white walls and a pink bedspread.

“I love pink,” she says happily.

There are three stuffed animals on her bed and I’m about to comment on them, when I notice the pictures. I’m beyond curious about Becca’s mom and what she looks like. On one side of the room, picture frames line her desk and several shelves. I look at them closer and am surprised to see that they’re mostly the pictures that come with a frame when you buy it, not personal pictures at all. Besides a couple pictures with Bowie and maybe Bowie’s parents, each picture has a different woman and a girl. She holds up one where the woman has long blonde hair and points at it.

“You and me,” she says .

The full impact of what she’s saying hits me hard. This little girl craves—if not a mother’s love, at the least, a woman’s presence in her life so deeply that she’s built this imaginary world where it’s true.

I smile at her, trying to swallow down the lump in my throat. My eyes meet Bowie’s and the heartache in them is staggering. I turn away, blinking away tears and clear my throat.

“I have an idea,” I say. I pull my phone out of my pocket and hand it to Bowie. “Would you take our picture?”

He’s surprised at first and it takes him a moment to snap out of it, but he does.

“Sure,” he says finally. “Where would you like it?”

“Let’s do one in here and one where all those windows were…near the pool. I liked the light in there.”

“Me too,” Becca says, clapping her hands.

I put my arm around her shoulder and she smiles up at me. I smile back, my heart splitting wide open for this little girl who loves so freely. Bowie takes a few shots and then nods.

“These are nice.”

“I see,” Becca says.

Her grin splits wide open when she sees the pictures. I peer over her shoulder.

“I approve. Delightful,” I say, remembering how much she liked that word the first time we met.

“De-lightful,” she repeats.

“Should we take some by the pool too?” I ask.

“Yes!” she yells.

She runs out of the room and I follow.

“Thank you,” I hear Bowie say behind me.

“Are you kidding? Your daughter is a rock star.”