Becoming Bonnie by Jenni L. Walsh
For my husband, Matt, for putting my dreams before your own.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
So, that happened: my first book is published. Cue blurry eyes. Thinking back, the whole process feels like it went by in a snap, but the reality is that many years went into this moment and many fabulous people helped to bring this crazy dream to fruition.
To my agent, Stacey Glick: This wonderful craziness is happening because of you. Thank you for believing in me, advocating for me, and officially putting author in front of my name. Building a career as a writer doesn’t simply mean the world to me, but to my whole family.
To my editor, Bess “Champion” Cozby: Where do I start? It’s been a complete pleasure to transform and polish this story with you. You truly championed this book. I wish I could add emoticons to fully illustrate my appreciation for all you’ve done for Bonn and me.
To Forge and Linda Quinton, along with Desirae Friesen, Jessica Katz, Todd Manza, and the talented Seth Lerner: Having you all is like having my own Dumbledore’s Army. I’m so fortunate and blessed.
I’m very blessed to exist within the most wonderful book world: the Fearless Five, Kick-Butt Kidlit, my Debutante Ball gals, fellow Pitch Wars mentors and ’17 Scribes, Binders, Hazel Gaynor, Lauren Willig, Summer Wier, Lee Kelly, Lindsay Currie, Isabel Davis, Kelly Calabrese, Camryn Garrett, Sarah Van Goethem, Amy Rolland, Bethany Crandell, Rachael Dugas, and Kathy Coe. A world of thanks for lending your eyes, words, brains, positivity, well wishes, support, or all the above. Also, thank you to Carissa Katz McCutchen and Jeff Abelson for lending me your creative brains and artistic skills.
To my real-life friends and family who realized this “book thing” was a big stinking deal to me: Your inquiries, congratulations, and genuine interest mean so much to me. Sending you all ginormous thank-yous and hugs.
To my new readers: Thank you for debuting with me. I sincerely hope you enjoyed Bonnelyn’s transformation to Bonnie as much as I enjoyed writing it, and hope you’ll pick up the sequel, Being Bonnie, to see how Bonnie and Clyde finish their song.
To Carolyn Menke: You aren’t merely a staple in my publishing day-to-day, but in my every day-to-day. A million thank-yous for being an amazing book bestie and friend.
To my dad: You once likened being published to making it as a pro athlete. As a child, we always joked about me playing in the Olympics. I’m going to go ahead and count this publication as my first appearance in the Book Olympics.
Truly, this book wouldn’t be possible without my husband and without my mom. Thank you, Matt, for making my dreams your own and also, time and time again, for doubling your domestic duties from half to all so I can put words on a page. And thank you to my mom for packing an overnight bag every Tuesday night (for over three years and counting) so Wednesday could be my kid-free day of getting all the things done.
To my three-year-old and one-year-old kiddos, Kaylee and Devlin: Every single moment of this publishing journey has been for you.
Last but not least, to God: Thank you for giving me a hunger to write and create.
PART I
SAINT BONNELYN
1
But I, being poor, have only my dreams.
Hands in my hair, I look over the words I wrote on the Mason jar atop my bureau. I snigger, almost as if I’m antagonizing the sentiment. One day I won’t be poor with dreams. I’ll have money and dreams.
I drop my hair and swallow a growl, never able to get my stubborn curls quite right.
My little sister carefully sets her pillow down, tugs at the corner to give it shape, the final touch to making her bed. “Stop messing with it.”
“Easy for you to say. The humidity ain’t playing games with your hair.”
And Little Billie’s hair is down. Smooth and straight. Mine is pinned back into a low bun. Modest and practical.
Little Billie chuckles. “Well, I’m going before Mama hollers at me. Church starts in twenty minutes and you know she’s got to watch everyone come in.”
I shake my head; that woman always has her nose to the ground. Little Billie scoots out of our bedroom and I get back to taming my flyaways and scan my bureau for my favorite stud earrings, one of our few family heirlooms. Footsteps in the hall quicken my fingers. I slide in another hairpin, jabbing my skull. “I’m coming, Ma!”
A deep cough.
I turn to find my boyfriend taking up much of the doorway. He’s got his broad shoulders and tall frame to thank for that.
I smile, saying, “Oh, it’s only you.”
Roy’s own smile doesn’t quite form. “Yes, it’s only me.”
I wave him off, a strand falling out of place. Roy being ’round ain’t nothin’ new, but on a Sunday morning … That gets my heart bumping with intrigue. “What ya doing here so early? The birds are barely chirpin’.”
“It ain’t so early. Got us less than twenty minutes ’til—”
“I know.”
“Thought I could walk you to church,” Roy says.
“Is that so?” My curiosity builds, ’specially with how this boy is shifting his weight from side to side. He’s up to something. And I ain’t one to be kept in the dark. Fingers busy with my hair, I motion with my elbow and arch a brow. “That for me?”
Roy glances down at an envelope in his hand, as if he forgot he was even holding it. He moves it behind his back. “It can wait. There’s actually something else—”
I’m across the room in a heartbeat, tugging on his arm. “Oh no it can’t.”
On the envelope, “Final Notice” stares back at me in bold letters. The sender is our electric company. Any excitement is gone.
“I’m sorry, Bonnelyn,” Roy says. “Caught my eye on it in the bushes out front.”
My arms fall to my sides and I stare unblinking at the envelope, not sure how something so small, so light, could mean something so big, so heavy, for our family. “I didn’t know my ma hadn’t been paying this.”
Roy pushes the envelope, facedown, onto my bureau. “I can help pay—”
“Thanks, but we’ll figure it out.” I sigh at my hair, at our unpaid bill, at the fact I’m watching my sister after church instead of putting in hours at the diner. Fortunately, my brother’s pulling a double at the cement plant. Ma will be at the factory all afternoon. But will it be enough?
I move in front of the wall mirror to distract myself. Seeing my hand-me-down blouse ain’t helping. I peek at Roy, hoping I don’t find pity on his face. There he goes again, throwing his weight from foot to foot. And, sure, that boy is sweet as pie, but I know he ain’t antsy thinkin’ my lights are suddenly going to go off.
“Everything okay, Roy?”
“Yeah.”
That yeah ain’t so convincing.
“You almost done here?” he asks. Roy shifts the old Mason jar to the side, holds up the earring I’d been looking for.