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Bowie was a high school vice principal. He was used to dealing with emotions that terrified the rest of us.
It was one thing when I was a state representative. A married man with a nice house and a five-year-to-D.C. plan. But now that I was a nearly divorced, newly disgraced lawmaker on leave? I wasn’t exactly in a hurry to start making small talk with anyone.
And just like that, I felt like the biggest asshole in Appalachia.
“Let’s not play my pain is worse than yours,” I said, giving his hand a squeeze before picking up my soda. “Pain is pain.”
Dusk fell. It was my favorite time of day. Sure, there were merits to the sunrise, and the sunset was no slouch either. But dusk was when the world got quiet.
Gibson was an asshole, but he was my asshole.
But was I really missing him or the man he should have been? The one we’d see glimpses of over the years. The two-steppin’, bacon-frying, handyman who always had time for a conversation. Where had that man gone? He’d disappeared into a bottle and never came out.
loved public service. Sure, the lawmaking was tedious to the point of impossibility. And party lines were more like trenches divided by minefields. But it was a noble calling.
You only get a set number of days, a limited number of sunrises and sunsets. And it’s up to you to make sure you’re taking full advantage of them,”
Sins of the father carried weight here, even if they were only perceived.
Our days were numbered. Devlin and I had an expiration date.
That was her power. Her unapologetic authenticity.
I loved Scarlett Bodine. She might not know it yet, but she sure as hell loved me back.
