Chapter 3 #3
The tallest figure wore what looked suspiciously like a leather vest.
The third possessed long yellow lines stretching nearly to the bottom of the page.
Across the top, written in careful backward letters, Charlie had proudly declared:
Daddy. Me. Sunshine.
Sunshine's breath caught.
She hadn't even known Charlie remembered drawing it.
Before she could look away, another voice interrupted the silence.
"You found the artwork."
She turned.
Bishop stood in the doorway with one shoulder resting casually against the frame, his expression carrying that familiar mixture of warmth and quiet understanding that somehow never felt intrusive.
"I didn't mean to come in."
"You don't have to apologize."
He nodded toward the picture.
"Charlie insisted it belonged in here."
Sunshine looked back at the drawing.
"Why?"
"She said Remedy smiled every time he looked at it."
Something tightened unexpectedly inside her chest.
She hadn't realized.
"I should probably..." She gestured vaguely toward the hallway. "Melissa was looking for me."
Bishop didn't move.
Instead, he walked into the office and picked up the forgotten plate still sitting near the edge of the desk.
Only half the lunch remained.
The fresh coffee he'd brought a few minutes earlier had already begun cooling.
"He forgot again."
The words escaped her before she thought better of them.
Bishop looked up.
"Forgot what?"
"To eat."
A knowing smile touched his face.
"Most days."
She frowned.
"Most days?"
He nodded once as he scraped the untouched toast into the trash.
"If somebody doesn't remind him."
Sunshine watched him quietly rinse the plate beneath the small sink.
"He spends every day making sure everyone else has what they need."
Another nod.
"He always has."
She hesitated before asking the question that had been quietly growing in her mind since morning.
"Has he always been like this?"
Bishop turned off the faucet and leaned lightly against the counter.
"Even before Charlie."
His eyes drifted toward the family photograph sitting near the computer monitor.
The frame held a picture taken during one of the clubhouse cookouts.
Charlie sat proudly on Remedy's shoulders, laughing at something outside the frame while several of the brothers surrounded them.
Sunshine noticed something else.
Remedy wasn't looking at the camera.
He was looking at Charlie.
The kind of expression that only appeared when someone forgot anyone else was watching.
"Back then," Bishop said quietly, following her gaze, "he'd stay until every brother was patched up."
She listened.
"Then he'd drive somebody else home."
Another pause.
"Then he'd stop by Mrs. Henderson's because she'd forgotten to take her insulin."
Sunshine smiled faintly.
"Then he'd probably come here."
"He usually did."
"And somewhere in there..."
Bishop chuckled softly.
"...he'd forget he'd skipped dinner."
The smile faded from Sunshine's face.
"Doesn't anyone stop him?"
"We've tried."
His answer came without hesitation.
"Toxic orders him to sit down."
She laughed softly.
"I can't imagine that goes well."
"It lasts about five minutes."
"What about Daisy?"
"She hides snacks in his office."
Sunshine blinked.
"Seriously?"
He opened one of the desk drawers.
Protein bars.
Mixed nuts.
Crackers.
Three different kinds of granola.
She stared.
"He never remembers they're there."
She couldn't help laughing.
"He bought them himself."
"I know."
"But he forgets."
Their shared laughter faded naturally, leaving behind the thoughtful quiet that often followed conversations about Remedy.
Sunshine hadn't expected such an ordinary discussion to uncover something that made her chest ache, yet the more she learned about the man behind Harbor House's dependable medic, the more she realized how rarely anyone seemed to ask what he needed in return.
Bishop closed the drawer.
"You asked if he's always been like this."
She nodded.
"He wasn't."
That surprised her.
"No?"
"He still took care of everybody."
Bishop folded his arms loosely.
"But before Brooke left..."
His voice softened.
"...there was someone waiting at home who reminded him to come back."
Sunshine remained silent.
"Somebody who made sure he'd eaten."
He smiled sadly.
"Somebody who argued with him when he worked too late."
His gaze drifted once more toward Charlie's drawing.
"When Brooke left..."
He sighed.
"Remedy stopped believing he deserved that kind of care."
The words settled heavily between them.
Sunshine looked toward the doorway where Remedy had disappeared only minutes earlier.
Bishop didn't answer immediately. His eyes drifted toward Charlie's drawing one last time before he nodded. "Yeah," he said quietly. "He does."
Silence returned.
Outside the office window, children laughed somewhere near the playground while volunteers unloaded another truck filled with donations. Harbor House continued moving forward exactly as it always did, every person carrying a small piece of the work so no one had to carry all of it alone.
Looking around Harbor House, it was impossible not to notice how naturally everyone carried part of the burden so no one else had to carry it alone. The only exception seemed to be Remedy himself, who somehow managed to slip through the cracks whenever the conversation turned toward his own needs.
Sunshine looked back at the fresh coffee sitting on the desk.
The coffee she'd poured only a short while earlier had already begun losing its warmth, reminding her just how quickly another hour had disappeared while Remedy continued caring for everyone except himself.
"He'll come back," Bishop said.
"Eventually."
She nodded slowly.
"Probably after helping three more people."
"At least."
They shared a small smile.
Then Bishop picked up his own empty mug.
"I've got a veterans' group starting in ten minutes."
He paused beside the door.
"Can I tell you something?"
She met his eyes.
"Of course."
"He remembers everybody else's needs."
His smile held quiet affection.
"His own..."
He glanced once toward the empty hallway.
"...only when somebody reminds him."
The office fell silent again after Bishop walked away.
Sunshine stood alone for several moments, her eyes resting first on Charlie's drawing...
Then on the forgotten lunch...
Then on the coffee that was already growing cold.
Without fully deciding to do it, she picked up the mug.
She carried it to the sink and poured the cold coffee down the drain.
The bitter scent rose briefly before disappearing beneath warm water.
She rinsed the cup carefully.
Dried it.
Then crossed to the coffee maker sitting against the far counter.
A fresh pot had just finished brewing.
She filled the mug, adding a splash of cream before stopping.
She frowned thoughtfully.
Did he take sugar?
She searched her memory.
Every morning she'd seen him drink coffee...
Plain.
One splash of cream.
No sugar.
She smiled to herself.
The realization should have embarrassed her, but instead it left her quietly unsettled.
She couldn't remember consciously paying attention to the way he drank his coffee, yet somewhere between shared breakfasts, hurried conversations, and watching him move through Harbor House, she'd begun remembering details that belonged to someone becoming important.
She set the fresh mug exactly where the old one had been.
Then she looked toward the plate Bishop had just washed.
Lunch.
He'd probably miss that, too.
Her eyes wandered toward the kitchen down the hall.
She had just enough time.
Before she could second-guess herself, she slipped quietly out of the office, already planning a sandwich, fresh fruit, and something she hoped he might actually remember to eat before it went cold.
Sunshine crossed the hallway toward the kitchen with the quiet certainty of someone following an instinct she hadn't yet learned to question.
The lunchtime rush had finally begun slowing.
Most of the women had returned to counseling sessions or volunteer assignments, the children were either resting or outside enjoying the warm Carolina afternoon, and the familiar sounds of Harbor House settled into their gentler rhythm.
Running water splashed from the sink where Evelyn finished rinsing dishes while Melissa sorted paperwork at the end of the long farmhouse table.
Somewhere outside, Charlie's laughter no longer echoed through the building, replaced instead by birdsong drifting through the open windows and the distant hum of lawn equipment from one of the neighboring farms.
The quiet that settled over the kitchen felt peaceful rather than unsettling.
Sunshine had once feared silence because it often meant punishment or loss was waiting just beyond the next doorway.
Harbor House had slowly taught her that silence could also mean contentment, safety, and ordinary people simply going about ordinary lives.
There had been a time when silence terrified her.
Inside the Order, silence usually meant someone had been taken away.
Someone had been punished.
Someone had disappeared.
Here...
Silence simply meant people felt safe enough to breathe.
Evelyn looked up as Sunshine entered.
"Everything alright?"
Sunshine nodded, already opening the refrigerator.
"I'm making another lunch."
Evelyn smiled knowingly.
"I thought Bishop already took one over."
"He did."
"And?"
Sunshine reached automatically for sliced turkey.
"He forgot to eat it."
Evelyn didn't seem remotely surprised.
"No," she said with a quiet sigh.
"He forgot to eat it."
There was a difference between not wanting food and simply never remembering it existed.
Sunshine laid two slices of whole wheat bread onto the cutting board before carefully adding turkey, provolone, lettuce, tomato, and a thin layer of mayonnaise.
Nothing fancy.
Just enough to keep someone going through another impossible day.
She sliced an apple.
Added grapes.
Then paused in front of the pantry.
Protein bars.
Granola.
Pretzels.
Her hand reached for a small package of peanut butter crackers.
Something he could slip into his pocket later.
Just in case.
"You've been paying attention."