Oh, baby please,
Say I'm not late.
I'm on my knees,
And you know it, don't ya?
Then I saw you that evening,
Yeah, I saw you with another man.
Yeah, baby, I was sufferin',
And I knew, I knew I really can't.
Gonna change for you, baby,
Gonna stop my wicked ways.
I'm gonna take you home to Memphis,
And that's where we're gonna stay.
Oh, baby please,
Please say I'm not late.
I'm on my knees,
And you know it, don't ya?
I just stared at the stage with tears welling in my eyes. I had tried to prevent them from forming, but the song was just so beautiful that I couldn't help myself. The lyrics alone were enough to make me cry, but what did it was Wes's passionate, soulful, musically-perfect delivery of them. His voice was rich and raw, and he painted a picture with it—a masterpiece. He loved me; he truly did. And, apparently, he was taking me home to Memphis.
He played the outro on the guitar and leaned into the mic to tell the audience 'thank you' one last time before walking off stage. The song was so beautiful that the audience gave him a standing ovation. Everyone around me was yelling and cheering and clapping, and I clapped numbly as I watched him exit the stage.
It wasn't until the crowd had already stopped clapping and gone back to their murmuring that I looked around our table and realized that everyone in my party was staring at me. Katie was crying right along with me, and Chasidy looked like she was about to.
"Oh, my goodness, that was for you, wasn't it?" Chasidy asked.
"Of course it was!" Katie said, wiping her cheeks. "Like five of those songs were. One of them even had her blimey name in it over and over again."
"Was that about you—that part about Memphis?" Luke asked. "Are you moving there?"
A song began pumping through the speakers. It was loud, so Luke had to yell the last part of his question. "Are you moving to Memphis?" he asked again just in case I hadn't heard.
"Nooo," I said by instinct, and then I thought better of it. "I mean, he hasn't mentioned that. He told me he wanted me to go on a trip with him, that's all."
We waited at the table while Wes and his band broke down and packed up their equipment. I could see him from a distance, talking to his bandmates and the venue manager, but I stayed back, knowing he would make his way over to me once he finished. The crowd thinned out a little, but the music was pumping, and the night was still relatively young as far as club-goers were concerned.
Wes caught my eye from across the room and gave me a hand gesture indicating that he wanted me to wait where I was before he disappeared, carrying equipment.
The music was highly conducive to dancing, so Chasidy and Katie talked my brother and Micah into joining them on the dance floor. Katie wasn't going to stand for me sitting at the table alone, so she drug me out there with them. I wasn't much of a dancer—especially without a partner, but joining them seemed like a better option than being stuck at the table by myself. I feared it might be awkward, but it wasn't. We all just danced in a big group, laughing at my brother and Micah who both had good moves, but acted like clowns for our entertainment.
I stopped moving when I saw Wes come back into the room with a few others. He was now wearing his black leather jacket over his t-shirt, looking like my very own James Dean. He instantly glanced at my table, and I watched his expression shift to one of concern when he noticed that another group had taken it over.
I watched his eyes begin to dart around the room, and I waved at him when he looked my way. I succeeded in catching his attention, and he shot me a relieved smile. The sight of it sent a shockwave of anticipation through me. I put my hands over my face and then opened them up again in an impromptu, almost accidental game of peekaboo that was a result of me feeling shy.
He smiled wryly and shook his head at me as he walked my way. We were at the edge of the dance floor and we had all sort of stopped dancing by the time Wes got there. Before I knew it, I was in his arms. He instantly leaned in and gave me a kiss on the neck and then he shifted so that he could greet everyone else who was standing around. He held me close to him as he reached out to shake hands with the others, starting with my brother.
"Thanks again for coming out," he said in a loud voice to speak over the music.
"It was amazing!" Katie said, leaning in to speak to him with a huge smile. "I told Jolene a few of those songs were about her."
"They were," Wes agreed easily. "I have more than that, too, but I couldn’t work them all up for the show tonight. My band wanted to kill me as it was."
I thought my brother might say something about Memphis, but he didn't—he just stood there, looking at us like he couldn't quite believe his eyes.
A couple of people from the crowd came up to us to congratulate Wes on the show and shake his hand. One girl even wanted to take a picture. Right when she walked away, Wes pulled me into his arms again.
"Well, y'all, I do appreciate you coming out and bringing my girl, but I'm ready to get out of here, and I promised the lady a ride."
Chapter 16
Two weeks later
In route to Memphis
Wes and I had a three-hour layover at the JFK airport before catching our flight to Memphis. I had been to New York three times, but two of them were just layovers at the airport. The only time I had been into the city I was too young to appreciate it. I remember seeing Cats on Broadway, and going to Times Square, but many of the details of our trip had been lost over the years.
I felt a sense of expectation during our approach and decent, and in the back of my mind, I thought it would have been nice to spend a few days in New York before we made our way to Memphis. Maybe I was just nervous about meeting his family and felt like putting it off as long as possible. In fact, a stopover to Philly sounded nice, or even one to Savannah or Atlanta. Phoenix or Denver. I had to smile at myself for being so nervous.
The plane we took from New York to Memphis was smaller than the one we had been on from London to New York. We sat near the back, and there were three of us on our row. Wes was near the aisle, I was in the middle, and there was an older lady named Margaret sitting by the window.
She began talking to me as soon as I sat down. Normally, I enjoyed being quiet during a flight, but she was sweet, and I fell into easy conversation with her right away. I was happy about it, actually, because I had a lot of nervous energy.
Wes was sitting next to me with his eyes closed. He had zoned out as soon as he realized I was enjoying my conversation with Margaret. She was a retired schoolteacher from Memphis who had been in New York visiting her son who was an attorney. She was familiar with the Bishops and with the church where Wes's grandpa Jacob preached. She said the Bishops were a well-known family in Memphis and that she had met a few of them herself over the years.
"I'm hoping I can remember everyone," I said when she mentioned that. "We're supposed to have a big family dinner tonight, and I'm really anxious about meeting them all. Wes has told me a lot about them, but it's different meeting them in person. I made them all nametags so I can try to keep them straight."
"Nametags?" Margaret asked, sounding amused.
"Yes ma'am. I made eighteen of them for the ones I knew would be there, and I brought some extras, too. Wes said he has some cousins on his mom's side who might show up, and his sister, Ivy, might invite some friends."
I had been digging in my purse while I spoke, and by the time I finished, I came up with the stack of nametags that I had been working on for days. They were held together with a rubber band, and I pulled it off before handing the stack to Margaret. She began to flip through them slowly. Ivy, Michael, Alice, Jacob…
In parenthesis, under each name, I had given myself other details, so Ivy's tag said, "Ivy (a.k.a. Shug, the grandmother)". In addition to these details, I had also written matriarch and soul s
inger and drawn pictures that related to things Wes had told me about that individual. Each nametag was completely full of words and pictures, all done in black pen.
"Oh, my word, sweetheart," Margret said, inspecting each one carefully. "These are really a work of art, aren't they? Are you an artist or something?"
I sighed, feeling relieved that she liked them. "Yes ma'am. Kind of. I'm a graphic designer, but I love to draw."
"They're going to love these."
"I hope so. I'm really nervous about meeting them and I guess I hoped they would work as little icebreakers for me. Plus, they'll help me keep everyone straight."
"Look at the little motorcycle," she said, adjusting her glasses as she inspected Michael's tag.
"Several of them have motorcycles on their tags," I said. "His dad and his brother both work for the family business, and so does Uncle Max."
"Have you ever ridden one?"
"Only on the back of Wes's," I said. "I'd like to learn for myself, but I haven't yet. My brother is really into it. He said he'd teach me if I don't learn while I'm on this trip."
"Your brother likes to ride, too?"
"Yes ma'am. He loves Bishop motorcycles. He works for the dealership in London. That's how I met Wes."
"Well, isn't that neat?" she said, still slowly flipping through the nametags. "Jane," she said, holding Jane's up. "Here's one I've met before. Years ago. She got into a fender-bender with my husband. It was his fault. He backed into her car in a parking lot. She was real nice about it."
"Jane's Wes's aunt," I said. "She's got a twin named Jesse. He's Wes's dad."
"Oh, well, I'll be. I didn't realize that," she said, nodding.
I was happy to explain all of this to her because I hoped it would help me to keep them straight.
"How long are you staying in Memphis?" she asked.
"Almost two weeks," I said. "Wes's brother and his wife are having twins any day now.
"Aw, how sweet," she said as she continued to stare at the tags. "Did you make them one?"
"No ma'am. Not yet. That's a good idea, though."
She flipped through the nametags one by one, pointing out various things about them. She asked me why Courtney's had a microphone on it and I told her she was a singer. She also noticed Taylor's sewing needle and measuring tape and surmised that she was a seamstress, which I told her was correct. She continually complimented me on them, saying that the family was going to have the best time wearing them. This made me feel better because I was so nervous about meeting them that I honestly didn't know whether or not I would even give them the nametags.
"I didn't see one with Jolene on it," Margaret said once she finally got to the section of blank tags at the back of the pile.
"Oh, I didn't make myself one," I said. "I guess maybe I should have."
"You still have time," she said.
I knew by her expression that she was hoping I would do it. I could tell that she would enjoy watching me make one. She grinned at me with her round face and soft wrinkles, and what was I to do besides take out a pen and draw a nametag for myself?
I wrote my name in the middle.
Jolene.
Under it, in parenthesis, I wrote: (a.k.a. Jo or JoJo) since that's mostly what Wes called me. I also wrote graphic design and knife throwing in tiny letters under my nicknames just to give a couple facts about myself.
"What's it say?" Margaret asked, leaning into get a closer look when she noticed the tiny script.
"It says my name and then graphic design and knife throwing," I said.
"Knife throwing?" She asked the question like she surely must have misheard me.
"Yes ma'am." I realized when I glanced up at her that she was looking at me like this news might have frightened her a little. I gave her a reassuring smile. "Not at people or anything. Just at targets."
"Really?" she asked. "You know how to throw knives?"
"Yes ma'am, I do. I practice at it a lot."
"That's one of the first things I learned about her," Wes said, leaning over me so that he could speak to Margaret. "Her brother was making some repairs on my motorcycle, and she came in, tossin' knives sidearm into the wall."
I laughed and shook my head at Wes, and he picked up my left hand and held to his mouth and kissed the back of it before continuing the conversation with Margaret. "She really did throw a knife into the wall the first night I met her," he said. "But only because I asked her to. She's amazing at it. She could probably hit a target this big from twenty feet away." Wes held up his fingers like an "okay" sign, showing Margaret a target that was only two inches or so.
Margaret gasped. "My word!" she said. "Who taught you how to do that?"
"My dad," I said. "He was into it for a while, and he got me into it. I might have already lost interest in practicing it by now, but I make tutorials for the internet, so that keeps me going."
"Tutorials?" she asked.
"Instructional videos, teaching people how to throw knives—different techniques and things."
"Why, I have never heard of such a thing. Videos about how to throw a knife? You never know who you’re gonna meet on an airplane." Margaret was truly amazed by this, and I couldn't help but smile. "Did she show you how to do it?" she asked Wes.
"Yes ma'am. I'm not nearly as good as her, but I'm still gonna put my brothers to shame. She throws darts, too. She can hit the bull's-eye just about every time."
Margaret just sat there and gawked at me. She stared at me as if she honestly couldn't believe that someone who looked like me would take pleasure and throwing sharp objects.
"How did you learn these things?" she asked.
"Practice," I said. "Hours and hours of failure and practice. Thousands of missed throws."
"I probably should have learned how to do something like that," she said thoughtfully. "Can you just imagine if I knew how to throw a knife? I could probably be on America's Got Talent for that."
"It's never too late," I said.
She chuckled. "What kind of knives do you use?"
"Any kind, really. I can throw a steak knife or a pocket knife, but they do make ones especially for throwing."
"Jo had two knives on her this morning when we checked in at the airport," Wes said. "Big ones, too. You should've seen the look on security's face. She almost got us arrested."
"They were in my purse," I said. "I completely forgot they were in there. I have a few others that are in my luggage, but the ones in my purse almost got us in trouble."
Margaret put her hand over her mouth. "What did they do?" she asked.
"They took them from me," I said. "They said we could take them back to the car, but we were already running late, so I just left them there."
Margaret was quiet, thinking for a few seconds. "Well, I am pretty glad they check for that kind of thing," she said. "Not in your case, but you know, if anyone was carrying them and meant to do harm."
"I know. I wasn't mad. They were just doing their job. And at least they weren't my favorite knives."
"They did look at her really funny when her purse went through the x-ray machine, though," Wes said.
"I can imagine!" Margaret said in her sweet old lady voice.
I grinned at Wes and he winked at me. He still had a hold of my left hand. I could have used it to hold the nametag steady while I continued doodling with my right hand, but I would rather have my hand in his than have the convenience of a sturdy nametag, so I managed with a nametag that shifted around a little.
I drew a little computer, a pencil, a knife, and a dartboard. None of them were masterpieces, but I filled up the nametag and it looked almost as cute as the other ones. I couldn't help but notice that Margaret had been checking in from over my shoulder the whole time to see what I would draw.
"I might just have to look up your videos," she said after a few minutes. "My grandbabies would get the biggest kick out of their Mimi learning how to throw a knife."
Chapter 17
Wes t
old his parents they could pick us up in the loading zone at the airport, but they didn't listen to him. They were waiting for us at the baggage carrousel when we arrived. He had told me there was a chance they would be there, so when we came around the corner, and he said, "My mom and dad are standing right over there," I tried not to be too surprised.
Nerves are a funny thing. I felt hot and cold at the same time as I scanned the crowd, looking for Jesse and Rose Bishop. Wes was holding my hand, and he gave it a squeeze as he tugged me in the direction of his parents. It was this urging that helped me find them in the crowd.
I had seen their picture, so I knew exactly what to expect, and even still, I was mesmerized, blown away, and scared out of my wits. I walked toward them, but all the while, I felt as though my feet were sticking to the floor—like the tiles had turned to sticky syrup and were now stuck to the bottom of my feet and causing me to walk funny. Did I even know how to walk anymore? It took all of my skill and concentration to put one foot in front of the other as I made my way toward them. I almost felt like I was high-stepping.
"I'm so nervous," I whispered. I tried not to move my mouth because I was afraid they were now close enough to read my lips. Rose was beautiful, and Jesse was handsome. She had her hair pulled back into a ponytail, and he had short, dark hair that I could tell was wavy, with a short beard. They both had on jeans and t-shirts and wore broad smiles. They were the very essence of a warm welcome, and I felt slightly more at ease when I realized how sincerely excited they were to see us.
Rose rushed up to us, taking us both into her arms at the same time. I started to pull away so that she could greet her son first, but she and Wes both pulled me into the hug. I let out a giggle as we all squeezed each other, and within seconds, Jesse had joined the party, wrapping his big, bear-hug arms around all three of us. He made a straining sound as he hugged us tightly, and then he placed a kiss on my head before he rubbed a nuggie on Wes's.
"Look what the cat drug in," he said.
Come Friday (Bishop Family Book 8) Page 11