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Stede Bonnet’s childhood was, as these things go, not ideal. His family had too much money, to be sure, and materially he wanted for nothing. Emotionally, however, things “were not great.” It took his therapist two years to get him to say those words, but it was a very nice breakthrough when it happened.
There was one exception to that miasma of misery: Uncle Bill. It was so obvious, in retrospect, that Bill was gay. The outfits, the accent, the quips about mother’s hair. Everyone knew, but as long as there was plausible deniability, they weren’t the type of family that could disown a second of two sons just for being flamboyant. Bill was even married to a woman, whom no one ever saw, because she was (supposedly) too busy raising dogs on their ranch far in the country.
Bill made sure Stede had some normal childhood experiences. He took him bowling, and to amusement parks, and gave him his first sip of alcohol. He wasn’t around much, but he always took the time to single out Stede when he was and supported him as best he could.
When Bill died, the funeral was full of people Stede had never been exposed to before. The Bonnets were the only ones in black; everyone else was a riotous rainbow from hair to toenails. Two people came in full drag, and seventeen-year-old Stede even managed to ask one of the queens how long it took to do her makeup before he was removed rather forcefully by his mother. The Bonnets left the funeral early, but Stede never forgot Uncle Bill or his friends.
After three miserable closeted years at a university where his academic struggles were second only to his social ones, Stede received a call from a financial advisor. Now that he’d reached the age of majority, his UTMA account opened by Uncle Bill had come due to be transferred into his name.
It wasn’t a lot, by Bonnet standards. But it was certainly enough for Stede to break free from his family.
The first thing he did was buy a lavish bouquet of long-stemmed roses and drive to the cemetery. Bill’s grave was as colorful as his friends had been. Even four years after his passing, there were heaps of flowers and other trinkets, including (Stede blushed to see), a surreptitious bright purple dildo arranged among some lilacs.
He placed the roses carefully on the grave and whispered, “Thank you.”
He tracked down the former custodian of his account. Regina was a tall, glorious woman, bright and tacky in a way Stede instantly coveted. Upon learning who he was, she enveloped him in a perfect, pillowy hug that smelled like cheap perfume and cigarettes.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she said. “You’re okay. You’re alright. I’m so sorry you’ve been alone so long.”
Regina was Bill’s wife.
“But—” Stede stammered. “I thought he was…?”
“As a three dollar bill,” Regina laughed. “He just loved me more than he loved the label. I told him I had to be true to myself or I’d die. He proposed later that night.”
“So you really have been raising dogs in the country this whole time?”
“Fuck no. I am a city girl through and through. I do have a Maltese who is the bane of my existence, but I love her just the same.” She patted Stede on the hand. “Do you think your parents would have been okay with me just because I turned out to be a woman?”
“No,” Stede said. “Of course they wouldn’t.”
“Not that I wanted to be around you vile people anyway. No offense.”
“None taken.”
“If it weren’t for you, Billy would’ve cut ties a long time ago.”
Stede felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes. He scuffed at them hastily before they could fall.
“First rule of your new life, sweetheart,” Regina said. She hugged him again and said gently into his ear, “You cry when you need to.”
For the first time in a long, long time, Stede let himself go.
~*~
Stede left flowers on his uncle’s grave once a week. Once, he was so hungover from a night with his friends at Glitter Up he threw up on it, but from Regina’s stories he thought Bill would probably be okay with that.
About three years into his new life, Stede noticed that the grave next to Bill’s never had flowers on it, even though they’d died around the same time. The name read Christopher Teach and he’d died pretty young. Stede felt so sad that his uncle had a veritable florist on his grave and this man had nothing. From then on, a few times a month, Stede brought him flowers too. His uncle and Regina had made a life together helping those who had no one else. He thought Bill would approve.
Stede knew it was weird, but he started thinking of Christopher Teach as a friend. He started to wonder if they had some connection in life, some kind of ships passing in the night sort of thing. So he googled him.
He should not have googled him.
On Christmas day in 2013, Christopher Teach murdered his wife. Then he turned the gun on himself and pulled the trigger.
Stede was aghast. Almost three years leaving flowers for this man every few weeks and he was a bonafide murderer. Abusive and alcoholic, if the local papers were to be believed. Left behind a sixteen-year-old son to the wolves.
Fuck.
Stede had to do something to repent this egregious error. He found out where the wife was buried and bought a beautiful peace lily to lay at her grave. He knelt in the dirt and placed the plant carefully beside her gravestone, for maximum aesthetic impact.
“What the fuck are you doing,” said a voice from behind him.
Stede jumped and looked over his shoulder in a panic. And there stood—oh. My god. The most beautiful man he had ever seen. Long hair, full beard, bronze skin. His arms were crossed and he was glaring.
“I’m sorry!” Stede said. He got up and brushed dirt off his knees. “I—it’s a long story.”
“Try me.”
“I—my uncle died, and his grave is always covered in flowers. But there’s a man buried next to him that never got any. And I felt bad, so I started buying him flowers as well. But then I looked him up and he was this terrible person and this is his wife, whom he murdered, and I had to say sorry!” He buried his face in his hands. “And now I’m—I know this is awful. That I’m awful. I’m so sorry.”
There was a long pause.
“That wasn’t a long story at all.”
When Stede looked up from behind his hands, the man’s body language and eyes had softened.
“You left flowers on this dude’s grave because…” the man said. “Because you thought he’d be sad?”
“Yes,” Stede said. “I know it’s so stupid—”
“It’s not stupid.”
It was still a struggle to let himself cry, sometimes. And how rude, to do it in front of this stranger who’s own grief Stede was certainly encroaching on. Still. He cried.
“I am so sorry—” Stede began.
“Stop apologizing, mate.”
Stede hiccupped and said, “I’m so—”
The man raised his eyebrows.
“—ber,” Stede recovered. “Can I buy you a drink?”
The man looked startled and then grinned. “Yeah. That sounds great.” He extended his hand. “I’m Ed.”
Stede took it. Ed’s hand was warm and calloused. “Stede.”
When Ed and Stede got married, Regina walked Stede down the aisle. He knew whatever stardust left of Uncle Bill was there as well.