Beauty and the Mustache (37 page)

“
So noted,” Billy snapped.
“But honestly, Ash? If you hadn’t agreed, I was prepared to tie you
up and have Roscoe drop you off on Drew’s doorstep. You’re more
stubborn than Momma sometimes.”

Something in me snapped at his harsh tone. I
was tired of this distance between us. I was tired of earning his
censure. I needed to own up to my mistakes, and I needed him to
understand that I was sorry.

So I reached for his hand
and held it. “Billy, will you forgive me? Will you please forgive
me? I’m fighting to stay now because I’m trying to learn from my
mistakes. I don’t want to leave you all like I did before. I feel
like I abandoned you.”

I watched his throat work
without swallowing. At length he said, “Don’t be
stupid.”

I ignored him and
apologized again because I had to, because he needed to hear it.
“Billy, I’m so sorry I left.”

Billy’s eyes moved between
mine, and I could see a raw wire of emotion in his blue eyes. I’d
struck a nerve.

“
Ashley Austen Winston,”
he said, his voice rough and unsteady, “it was never about you
leaving. You had to go. I get that. We all knew that. Never regret
needing to better yourself.”

I nodded, tears springing
to my eyes; I thought he was finished and I was grateful for his
words.

Therefore, he surprised me
when he continued, “It was the staying gone that pissed me off. I
can handle your irritation and hard looks. Hell, I can even handle
your disappointment, your anger, your sarcasm, and your screaming
like a banshee about nothing much that matters. What I can’t abide
is your apathy. Apathy between family members makes the blood they
share turn to water.”

***

Neither of us
spoke during the ride up the mountain. Lost to my
thoughts, I was caught in a net of my own making.

Drew grabbed my suitcase
from the bed of his truck before I had a chance to reach it. I
thought about reminding him that the giant bag had wheels but
decided against it. He looked restless like he wanted to carry
something heavy.

I’d packed everything,
even the vibrator and condoms from Sandra, as I didn’t know when or
if I would get a chance to go back to the house before returning to
Chicago. Also, God forbid one of my brothers found the vibrator
and/or condoms in my room. The roof would blow off the
house.

Life was happening too
fast. Momma had died at 4:33 in the morning; now it was 10:30 at
night, and everything had changed.

He unlocked the front door and opened it,
motioning for me to walk in first. I did.

The last time I’d been at
Drew’s place was several weeks ago when I’d called him an ass for
calling me sexy. I couldn’t help but smile at the memory because I
was so mad at him I could hardly see straight. Now Momma was gone
and I missed her. Drew and I would also be indefinitely separated
in just a few days.

But that wasn’t quite
true. I was thinking of coming home to Tennessee for Christmas.
Maybe we’d see each other then….

For some reason, the idea of seeing Drew in
passing during family holidays made me feel worse than not seeing
him at all.

Drew led me down the hall,
past the bathroom where I’d dulled his razor, to a large bedroom.
The walls were painted a pale green. A double bed anchored the
center of one wall; the comforter looked to be an old quilt made
with white and yellow hexagons of fabric hand-stitched neatly
together in the honeybee design. A side table was next to the bed
and a wooden bench was at the foot of it.

Much like the library I’d
woken up in during my first visit, one entire wall was windows, but
two of the glass panels were also doors leading out to a large
porch or balcony. I couldn’t see much of the porch now, but in the
daytime, I would have to explore it.

“
You’ll sleep here.” Drew
carried my suitcase to the wooden bench and added, “You can use the
bathroom you used before. If you’re hungry, help yourself to
anything.”

I nodded, thinking that
the bed looked sublimely comfortable. It had that cushy appearance,
like the mattress was that super swanky orthopedic memory foam and
the pillows were feather.

He lingered at the bench, glancing around
the space as though inspecting it.

“
You should get some
sleep,” he said, not looking at me as he moved toward the
door.

Just then, an owl hooted.

I shivered and murmured,
“Hootiedoom.”

Drew stopped in his tracks, his eyes moving
to mine. “What?”

I gave myself a little
shake. “Sorry, I said hootiedoom
.
”

His brow furrowed, but his mouth curved just
slightly. “What is hootiedoom?”

“
It’s when you experience
a sense of dread right after an owl hoots.”

Drew stared at me for a
beat then smiled. “I’ve never heard of hootiedoom. Maybe I should
add it to my field notes.”

I was grateful for the
break in tension, and I managed a small smile. “You have a PhD, and
you’ve never heard of hootiedoom? What kind of graduate school was
this ‘Baylor University’?” I used air quotes for
emphasis.

“
Obviously not a very good
one.”

“
Obviously. Then I’m
guessing you never heard of Snipe-shivers?”

He pressed his lips
together and faced me, his feet braced apart like he was planning
to stay awhile. “No. I’ve never heard of Snipe-shivers.”

“
Oh, bless your heart.”
I’d said it before I knew I was going to say it. Obviously, some
part of me craved bantering with Drew, engaging in a battle of wits
and thinking about something other than death and funerals, and
crazy dangerous family members, and leaving in a few short days for
Chicago.

His mouth dropped open and
his eyes became wide saucers under arched eyebrows. “I can’t
believe you just
bless your
heart-
ed me.”

“
What?”
I shrugged, hoping my forced expression of obliviousness was
halfway convincing, “What’s wrong with saying
bless your heart
?”

“
Ashley,
I grew up in Texas. Ladies all over the south use
bless your heart
for one
reason and one reason only.”

I shrugged. “I don’t know
what you’re talking about. I have only good intentions for your
heart.”

The air in the room
shifted as soon as the words left my mouth, my last statement
echoing between us, and I realized their double meaning way too
late.

“
Do you?” He said this
simply, the smile waning from his lips.

Drew broke eye contact
first, took a step back, and lowered his eyes to the floor. “I’ll
let you get some sleep.”

Unthinkingly, I stayed his retreat by
grabbing his arm just above his elbow. “Wait, Drew.”

His eyes sliced to mine
and a grim smile seemed to curve his mouth both up and down. He
covered my hand with his. “The funeral will be on Wednesday. I
imagine you’ll want to get your flight booked as soon as possible.
I have a satellite connection up here for the wireless.”

I sighed, my heart feeling
like dead weight in my chest, so I likely sounded overwhelmed when
I said, “I honestly don’t know what I want.”

“
Ashley….” Drew stepped
forward and cupped my face with his big paw. I immediately wrapped
my hands around his wrist to keep him there. His eyes became lost
while studying my face. The fact that he was staring at me didn’t
feel weird because I was staring at him. I had a mounting urge to
memorize every detail of his features, just in case—after this
week—I never saw him again.

His expression sobered,
like his eyes were once again focusing, and he said, “Ash, you just
lost your momma, and I just lost a really good friend. Now you know
I don’t think of you as a sister…” His eyebrows lifted as he said
this, his voice dipped with Texas charm, and it made me laugh even
though I felt close to crying.

“
Yes. And you know I don’t
think of you as a brother.” I sniffled, proud of myself for not
succumbing to tears.

“
Good.” He kissed my nose,
his thumb tracing my cheek, and then he held me away and looked
into my eyes. “So let me be the friend you need to help you get
through these next few days. Stay here, with me. I’ve told you
before, I’ve got no expectations of you. I’m not asking anything
from you. You have your life in Chicago; I know that. There’s no
pressure here.”

I nodded, feeling a twinge
of both disappointment and relief—but mostly disappointment, which
made me feel wholly disoriented—when he reminded me that ours was a
relationship with no expectations.

Despite my confusion on
the subject, I wanted what he was offering. If we could focus on
comforting each other, then I was going to make the most out of the
next few days. I was going to take as much comfort from Drew as he
was willing to offer. And I was going to try to be the friend he
needed in return, even if he didn’t actually need anything from
me.

“
Okay,” I said, shuffling
a half step forward. “If that’s the case, then I want you to sleep
with me—just sleep—like we did last night. Because I could really
use a Viking man-pillow right now.”

“
Viking man-pillow?” His
lips pressed together again and his beard twitched.

I nodded, gazing into his
silvery eyes, my hands slipping from his wrist to wrap around his
waist. I wanted to commit his closeness and comfort to memory. I
wanted to live the next few days like we could spend forever on top
of this mountain. I wanted him to teach me how to just
be.

“
From which stars have we fallen to meet each other
here?
”

―
Friedrich
Nietzsche

We visited with
the minister to talk about the service, and I
cried.

We went to the funeral home to confirm the
details, and I cried.

We stopped by the cemetery
to check out the burial plot, and I cried and cried.

Several of Momma’s friends
called Jethro while we were out and about, wanting to know about
the wake, the funeral, the reception after the funeral. Jethro told
me that casseroles had started to arrive
en masse
, and he asked if I thought a
new deep freezer would be a good idea.

This made me cry.

Other things that made me
cry: washing Drew’s T-shirts while doing my laundry; knitting;
reading books; eating pie; playing chess with Cletus when he and
Roscoe came over to Drew’s house to bring me Momma’s jewelry, her
antique books, and all the letters she’d kept from me over the
years; learning that the twins had finally butchered the roosters;
hugging any of my brothers; making plans to visit over Christmas;
and booking my return flight to Chicago.

I was set to leave
Thursday afternoon, the day after the funeral, in two days’ time.
I’d called my boss, let her know I’d be back to work Monday
morning, and would have the death certificate faxed to the
hospital’s human resources department. All my laundry was done. My
bag was all packed.

Things that didn’t make me
cry: laying and snuggling with Drew in bed; listening to the rain;
drinking coffee with Drew before he left for work and arguing with
him about the negative influence of the German composer Wagner on
Nietzsche’s philosophies; Skyping with my friends; walking in the
woods; making dinner with Drew for my brothers when they came up
the mountain to visit; listening to Drew read novels out loud after
dinner while I knit (of note, for some reason, knitting without his
vocal accompaniment made me cry); then, discussing the merits of
fiction versus non-fiction until 1:00 a.m.; Drew teasing me;
falling asleep in Drew’s arms; kissing Drew; holding Drew’s hand;
looking at Drew; being with Drew.

I tried not to dwell on
how much I loved being with Drew, because if I did, I
cried.

“
I’m glad we cancelled the
wake,” Jethro said; his eyes narrowed on the road. We were on our
way back from the funeral home in town, and I could tell he was
concentrating. The drive to Drew’s wasn’t simple; missing one
turnoff could mean wasting an hour trying to find the way back. “It
gives Darrell one less opportunity to spread his shit
around.”

I nodded because I had to agree.

Since the confrontation on
Saturday night, Darrell had been to the police station, the town
hall, The Dragon biker bar, Momma’s church, Billy’s work, the
ranger station where Jethro’s office was, and the Winston Bros.
Auto Shop. He’d also been back to the house several times, so I’d
been told, but left before the police arrived each time.

Darrell wasn’t the only
reason we’d decided to cancel the wake. We didn’t want an open
casket. As well, we were planning a reception after the funeral.
There was no reason to have both a wake and a reception other than
to give people additional time to make awkward
conversation.

I could feel Jethro’s eyes
on me, so I looked at him. His attention was split between me and
the road.

“
Ash, can I ask you
something?”