Beauty and the Mustache (41 page)

The door to the library
opened and I sucked in a startled breath. Luckily, it was just
Jethro.

“
Ash, there you are.
How’re you doing? We brought food, and Drew put on some coffee.”
Jethro crossed to me and gave me a quick hug. “Hey,
Alex.”

Alex gave Jethro a little wave. “Hi,
Jethro.”

“
You need to go get
ready,” Jethro said to me, and he pushed me out the door, down the
hall, and into the bathroom. “You’ll ride with me for the funeral.
We need to leave in the next half hour because you know it takes
forty-five minutes to get into town from here. Reverend Seymour is
expecting us, and I left my suit at the church.”

Then he abruptly closed
the door, leaving me alone with my mixed-up, broken-hearted
thoughts as company.

"
We are afraid to care too much for fear that the other person
does not care at all
."

—
Eleanor
Roosevelt

I hurried through
my shower. This was because I needed to see and
talk to Drew, and I needed to do it as soon as possible or else I
was going to lose my mind.

When I was drying off,
Sandra knocked on the door then handed me my underthings and a
black dress. I dried my hair, dressed quickly, applied minimal
makeup—no mascara—and rushed to the kitchen only to find that Drew
was taking a shower in the other bathroom.

Sandra pushed a cup of
coffee into my hands and two Danish pastries wrapped in a napkin.
“Eat this. Drink this.”

I nodded, glancing past
her toward the hallway and Drew’s door. I was struck by the
realization that I’d never seen his bedroom. We’d only ever slept
in my room, the guest room.

I handed the pastry and
coffee back to Sandra, not looking at her as I walked past and
said, “Hold this for me a sec, would you?”

“
Uh, yeah. Sure. But you
have five minutes,” she called after me.

I gave her a thumbs-up.
When I arrived at Drew’s door, I hesitated in front of it—caught
between wanting to barge in and knowing that knocking was the right
choice.

Eventually I knocked. He
didn’t respond.

“
Drew?” I asked, not
liking that my voice was higher pitched than I’d intended. I
cleared my throat. “Drew, can I talk to you?”

I listened to him walking
around, a drawer opening and closing. “Yeah, give me a
minute.”

More walking. More drawers
opening and closing.

Then I heard him coming
closer to the door. I placed my hands on my hips then crossed my
arms over my chest. I couldn’t figure out what to do with my
limbs.

He opened the door about
four inches, just enough for me to see his eyes, that he was
shirtless, and that he wore a towel around his waist.

“
Drew, can I—can we talk
for a minute?”

His eyes darted over my
shoulder, then back to my face. He didn’t respond, but he looked
troubled.

I felt a little stab of
pain in my chest and a rising heat over my neck. I released a slow
breath, trying to reason my way through this and not jump to
conclusions that were unflattering to us both. But it was hard not
to. Jumping to unflattering conclusions was in my genetic
makeup.

“
Drew….” I licked my lips,
swallowed. “I really need to talk to you.”

His eyes moved between
mine, then he stepped away from the entrance and opened the door
wider so I could enter. He glanced around his room like he was
searching for something.

“
Drew, I….”

I didn’t know where to
start. A sudden and uncomfortable distance had grown between us; it
had happened sometime after he’d made love to me this morning. I
wanted to talk about last night. I wanted to ask why he’d arranged
for me to leave today. I wanted to ask him if I was the only one
who was feeling like I’d been caught in a rainstorm
naked.

“
What is it?” He stood
apart from me, his back stiff and straight like he was bracing
himself. His usually vibrant eyes were cool, guarded.

“
Did you arrange with
Quinn for me to leave today?”

“
Yes.”

I stared at him, hoping he
would continue with some explanation. When he didn’t, I blinked
several times (because blinking was my default when I was confused
and flustered).

I didn’t know what else to
say.

Perhaps if I’d been in my
right mind; perhaps if it weren’t the morning of my mother’s
funeral; perhaps if every single one of my previous experiences
with physical intimacy hadn’t ended with me being discarded, I
might have asked him for an explanation.

But I didn’t.

I didn’t have the
energy.

I pressed my lips together, nodded slowly,
and pretended. “I see. Well, thanks. That makes things a lot
easier. I guess I should pack.”

“
Sandra already did that,”
he said, his face and his tone expressionless.

“
What?”

“
Sandra, she already
packed your stuff.” Drew tightened the towel around his
waist.

I nodded again and removed
my eyes from him, not wanting to see him. Instead, I glanced around
his room, not really noticing much. The bed was bigger than mine.
His leather notebook was on his bedside table. He had no pictures
anywhere.

I inhaled a steadying
breath, turned, and walked to the door, mumbling, “Jethro is
probably going to give me the stink eye if I make him
late.”

I was out the door, down
the hall, and outside the house before I started to cry. I wasn’t
watching where I was going, and I nearly collided with Sandra. She
was still holding my coffee and pastry.

***

Momma’s funeral was
an exercise of going through the motions for the
sake of going through the motions. I’ve never been a fan of
funerals for more than the obvious reasons. Of the emotions,
mourning in particular feels like something that should be sacred
and intensely private.

The entire town showed up
at the church. My brothers and I sat in the front pew, and I
couldn’t help but feel like I was on display.

Regardless, other than
having to share my grief with a few hundred people, it was a lovely
service.

I didn’t cry until Mrs.
Beverton, the choir director, sang the second verse of “Amazing
Grace.” I feel like it’s compulsory to play “Amazing Grace” during
a Christian funeral. It’s the only way to make sure everyone leaves
sobbing like a baby.

Billy put his arm around
me and held me close; my other brothers and Drew were the
pallbearers. Drew stood out from the rest as the tallest, and he
was the only blond one in the bunch. All I saw was the back of his
head as they carried the casket to the hearse. All I felt was
empty.

Billy and I were swarmed
on our way out and spent as much time as we could listening to
people recount stories of my mother’s kindness. Eventually we had
to break from the crowd and drive to the cemetery in order to make
it in time for the burial.

Upon arriving, we were
ushered to a tent set up next to the burial site. Billy and I took
the last two chairs in the front row next to Jethro and Cletus.
Drew and my younger three brothers were in the second row behind
us, but Drew was on the far side, four seats from where I was
seated.

I told myself I didn’t
care, and I think I believed it, mostly because I was burying my
mother. Drew, me, us—it didn’t really matter. I was having one of
those
nothing matters because we’re all
going to die anyway
moments.

I watched with some
fascination as they lowered Momma’s casket into the ground after a
few prayers.

Reverend Seymour then expected us all to
place a handful of dirt on top. I refrained.

When it was over, I
glanced over my shoulder and saw my friends and their husbands
standing at the back of the tent, all in black dresses and suits.
Drew was talking to Quinn and Fiona. The three of them seemed to be
in deep conversation. My attention moved over the rest of the
group, and I caught Marie waving and blowing me a little kiss. I
gave her a grateful smile.

I also noticed that two of
Momma’s hospice nurses were present, Marissa and Joe. They were
standing together, holding hands, and both gave me gentle smiles as
our eyes met. I suddenly realized that neither Roscoe nor Billy had
ever been in the running for Marissa’s affections, and I wondered
how I could have been so blind to what was happing around me over
the last six weeks.

What else had I missed?
What else had I not seen?

As the crowd departed for
the reception, several of Momma’s friends from the library started
blowing bubbles over the gravesite.

“
Naomi Winters is a
wiccan, I think.” Billy leaned close and whispered this information
in my ear.

“
What do bubbles have to
do with being a wiccan?”

He shrugged and shook his
head. “I honestly don’t know, but if it bothers you…”

“
No. It’s
fine.”

Billy and I stayed behind
from the crowd, let the cars clear out, and watched the ladies blow
their bubbles. I glanced at his usually serious face and found his
mouth curved upwards in a half smile.

Unprompted, he said, “Do
you remember when we were kids and we had that bubble
machine?”

I nodded, immediately recalling the memory.
“You and Cletus put it up in a tree and told me the bubbles were
fairies.”

He grinned, his eyes losing focus. “You were
so cute. I think you actually believed in fairies and unicorns and
all that stuff.”

“
I used to.” I nodded,
remembering fleetingly how it felt to believe in magic.

“
I think when you left,
you took that with you,” Billy said unexpectedly.

I glanced at him again,
searching his face. I didn’t want to tell him that when I left, I’d
buried that part of myself, much like we’d just buried our
mother.

“
You’re a good woman, Ash.
You deserve happiness, unicorns, rainbows, and bubble fairies.
Don’t settle for less.”

I swallowed and smiled at
my brother; when I managed to respond, my voice was rough and
uneven, “Thanks, Billy. You too.”

Of the seven kids, he was
definitely the toughest. But I suspected he also felt things the
most deeply.

***

The reception was
held at the library, and that’s when Darrell
showed up.

Really, we were lucky. He
could have crashed the service, making the entire day unpleasant.
For him, it was quite thoughtful to wait until the end of the day’s
events to make a scene and attempt a kidnapping.

Unluckily for Billy and
me, we were his targets.

Billy pulled into the
library parking lot, which was so full we had to park on the grass.
I was just getting out of the car, straightening my dress before
walking in with Billy when I felt a hand grab my wrist and yank me
off my feet. I would have fallen except my father wrapped his arm
around my waist, half lifting me.

I gasped then screamed. He
slapped me hard across the face twice, and my cheek hurt like a bee
sting radiating outwards, down my jaw, around my eye.

“
Shut your mouth, girl.
You do not scream at your daddy.” He shook me roughly, tossed me
against the car, then grabbed me again.

In my peripheral vision, I
saw Billy run around the car and charge my father. Unfortunately,
my father wasn’t alone. Two very large bikers reached Billy before
Billy could reach me. One punched him in the gut and the other hit
him over the head with a metal pipe of some sort. He crumpled,
falling face first into the grass. He didn’t have a
chance.

Fear for my brother
spurred me into action. I struggled in my father’s grip and managed
to stomp his foot and elbow him in the ribs. His hold loosened just
enough for me to head-butt him; the impact of my crown hitting his
nose gave a satisfying crunch. I hoped I broke his nose, because my
head hurt like a futher mucker.

He released me at once,
his hands coming up to his face. I screamed long and loud as I
debated what to do next.

Should I run to Billy? No.
The bikers were between me and my brother. That effort would be
futile.

Should I look for a
weapon? No. I was on the edge of a library parking lot, not in a
ninja locker room.

Should I try to make a
break for the library? Yes. Because Darrell was the only one
between me and the building, and Darrell was busy cussing and
screaming about his nose.

Just for good measure, I
kicked him in the shin with my pointy black flats as I ran past. I
was aiming for his balls, but chickened out at the last
minute.

I heard the bikers shout
behind me, but I didn’t spare a glance to see if they were in
pursuit. I sprinted around a large bush and began to cross the
throughway separating the parking lot from the library when I was
nearly run over by a car.