Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 86158 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86158 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
“She was a strong independent woman,” Charlie said. Even in the dark I could tell she was smiling.
“She was,” I confirmed, thinking back to the little old lady who’d patched up my scrapes and cooked me dinner and waved from her front porch every day when I stepped off the bus.
“Uncle Beau called her honey,” I said finally.
Charlie was quiet.
“So, that’s probably where it comes from.”
“Bishop,” Charlie said, leaning up on her elbow. “Why did you only live with him until you were fifteen?”
I’d known when I started the story that the question would come but I hadn’t anticipated the way it would make my chest ache with memories. I thought about Uncle Beau a lot. Daily. He’d taught me everything he thought I’d need to know as a man. How to shave, change a tire, fix a leaky sink, dance with a woman, tie a tie, sew on a button, shoot a rifle, use any handheld tool ever made, drive, stand up for myself, the list was endless. But even though he popped into my head constantly throughout the day, I always cut the memories off before they got painful.
“When I was fifteen he had a stroke,” I said, clearing my throat. “Went into the hospital and never came back out.”
“Oh my god,” Charlie whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
“Dottie took me in for a while, but she had her own health problems and since I was already in the system, they said I couldn’t live with her. Back to foster care I went.”
“That’s bullshit,” Charlie said, sniffling.
“They were just tryin’ to do the right thing.”
“Well, it wasn’t,” Charlie snapped.
“No argument from me,” I replied. “I loved that old lady and it killed me knowin’ that she needed me and I couldn’t help her.”
“I want to punch something.”
“Don’t,” I said with a chuckle. “Believe me, I punched enough shit back then for the both of us. It turned out all right. The house I went to was close enough that I could hop on a bus and check on her a couple times a week.”
“Is she still there?” Charlie asked softly.
“Nah,” I replied and cleared my throat again. My eyes started to burn at all the shit I’d willingly dredged up. I was a fucking idiot. “She passed away in her sleep when I was nineteen.”
Charlie didn’t say anything as she threw back the blankets and got out of bed. Without a word, she came to me. I scooted back a little as she sat on the edge of the couch, her hip pressed against my stomach.
“I’m sorry,” She whispered, draping the top half of her body over mine, her arms wrapped around me. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“Hey now,” I said, running my fingers through her hair. “Nothin’ to be sorry for. I coulda told you that you tasted like honey or some shit.”
I laughed as she pinched me.
“I would’ve known you were bullshitting me,” she said with a huff.
“I’m pretty convincin,’ you woulda ate that shit up,” I teased.
Charlie let go of me and leaned back, but she didn’t stand up.
“You’re named after your uncle?” She asked, smiling.
“Yes,” I replied, propping my head on my bent arm so I could see her better.
“Your first name is Beauregard?”
“Where you goin’ with this?” I grumbled.
“Beauregard Augustus Bishop?” Her voice was wobbling with suppressed mirth.
“You got a problem with my name?”
“Your name is Beauregard Augustus Bishop,” she repeated.
“You sayin’ it fifty times ain’t gonna change the fact.”
“And you go by Bishop?” She hit my shoulder lightly. “Why the fuck would you go by Bishop when you have that epic fucking name?”
“Well, I wasn’t gonna go by Beau,” I said with a laugh. “One Beau was enough for our tiny trailer. Went by Gus growin’ up.”
“You don’t look like a Gus,” she said immediately. “Did your mom call you Gus?”
“You know, I can’t really remember,” I said, thinking back. “My memories of her are bits and pieces, ya know? I remember her calling me son and baby and buddy, that type of shit.”
“Huh,” she said.
“She called me her sunshine boy,” I said, remembering the woman with soft hands and the perfect shape for curling into when I was tired.
“That’s really sweet,” Charlie said softly.
“She was a good mom,” I replied. “I remember that much.”
“She must have been to give you that incredible name.”
“Hell, she copied it,” I replied with a laugh. “So, you know, good mom—but no imagination.”
“She must’ve really loved your uncle.”
“From what he said, they were tight when she was growin’ up. He and my grandpa were best friends and since my uncle was a bachelor, he was always at my grandparents’ place hangin’ out.”
“I can understand close knit families,” Charlie said dryly. “You can’t pick your nose in my family without every single person making fun of you for it by dinnertime.”