Beauty and the Mustache (45 page)

At the end of those two
weeks, receiving nothing in return, I called him.

His phone went to voicemail.

I decided I would wait and
call him twelve hours later so I didn’t seem like a desperate
stalker. His phone went to voicemail again.

It was at this point that
I panicked. The panic didn’t last long, however. It quickly gave
way to intense, angst-filled depression. I couldn’t find anger
because I was buried under wallowing and self-pity; that’s just
south of ridiculous and a little west of
pull-yourself-together.

I was a pathetic,
heartbroken train-hopping hobo.

In the past, I would call
Momma during these times. I would call her up and she would give me
advice; she was my soft place to land. But she was gone. I missed
her terribly, and not just because my soft place was gone, but
because I missed
her
.

I thought about talking to
Sandra about it, but chances were she’d turn into a
psychotherapist.

I thought about talking to Kat about it, but
she seemed to be going through some kind of family drama and was
away in Boston.

Everyone else was busy
with the holidays, I reasoned. Really, it was just an excuse. If
I’d called, they would have answered, they would have listened,
they would have helped. I didn’t call because I didn’t want to. I
wanted to hurt, as crazy as that sounds. I wanted to mourn
privately—for Momma, for Drew, for myself—before I had to talk
about my stupidity with someone else.

Christmas now loomed as an
inescapable doom. Since air travel was so spotty around the
holidays, I planned to drive from Chicago to Tennessee over two
days. Jethro didn’t want me to go by myself—even though I’d
explained that I was perfectly capable—so he and Beau decided to
take a road trip up to fetch me. They’d rented a car for the way
up. We were going to take my truck for the trip back to
Tennessee.

I think Jethro suspected I
might back out of a Tennessee Christmas if I was left to my own
devices. I honestly didn’t know what I would have done if left to
my own devices. Probably curl up in a ball with cookie dough,
fruitcake, and wine.

As it was, I had little
choice but to spend two weeks in Tennessee with my adorable,
loveable, tremendously fantastic hillbilly brothers. Thoughts of
drowning myself in a punch bowl full of moonshine eggnog got me
through the requisite motions of packing.

They were due to arrive at
4:00 p.m. We would spend one night in the city to give them a
chance to rest, then start on the journey to Tennessee the next
day.

Presently, I was sitting
on the couch watching Dr. Phil, drinking wine and eating fruitcake
and cookie dough when my phone rang. I glanced at the caller ID,
prepared to let it go to voicemail. I’d been avoiding Sandra and
Fiona’s calls for the last week in particular. They were worried
about me, I could tell. I just wasn’t ready to face them and their
sympathy.

To my surprise, it was a
Tennessee number that I didn’t recognize. My heart skipped a beat
and I stiffened, gripping the phone tighter. I cleared my throat,
swallowed, and brought the cell to my ear.

“
Hello?”

“
You have been avoiding my
calls.” Sandra’s stern voice cut through the line.

I sighed. “I haven’t…I’ve
just been…busy.”

“
That’s a lie. I can tell
when you’re lying.”

“
What number are you
calling from? It’s a Tennessee number.”

“
Alex hacked the line and
got me a Tennessee number. I suspected you wouldn’t pick up if you
thought it was me.”

I sighed again, rolling my
eyes. “Can’t you just let me wallow?”

“
No, hon.” This was Fiona,
apparently also on the line. “We can’t let you wallow. That’s not
how we roll. You know better than that.”

“
Plus,” I heard Janie’s
voice, “we don’t know what you’re wallowing about.”

“
Last time we saw you was
three weeks ago. You’d just received that burned journal.”
Elizabeth, it seemed, was also on the call. “You never told us
whether you read it, and we have no idea what’s in it. Feel free to
keep the details to yourself, but something happened; don’t try to
deny it.”

Marie was the last to
speak. “Now let us in. We’re downstairs and we have
wine.”

I glanced at the bottle on
my coffee table and the half-empty glass next to it.

“
Isn’t it a little early
to drink wine?” I asked.

“
Don’t give me a line
about wine,” Sandra’s voice was still stern. “I know you’re up
there right now and feeling just fine. As you can see, I’m so upset
I made up a rhyme.”

“
She’s really upset,”
Marie chimed in. “Best to let us in before things get
ugly.”

I groaned, closing my eyes, and rubbing my
forehead. “Fine. Fine—bring up your wine.”

I hung up the phone and
crossed to the door, opening it and waiting for them to arrive.
They made a big commotion climbing up the stairs, and I heard the
tail end of their plans right before they reached my
landing.

“…
Let her do the talking.
She looks trustworthy.” Marie said this, but to whom, I do not
know.

Then Fiona said, “Thanks. Always nice to
know I look trustworthy.”

Sandra snorted and said,
“Little do they know….”

Then they were at my door.

I stood there and regarded
them. They all gazed back at me with sympathy—wretched, wretched
sympathy. Sighing for a third time, I turned from the door and
called over my shoulder, “Come in, and bring your wine.”

Disrobing commenced—winter attire—and then I
was assaulted from behind by a group hug.

Fiona, the
trustworthy-looking one, spoke first. “Ashley, darling, we’re not
leaving until you tell us what happened and why you’ve been
avoiding us for nearly a month.”

“
It’s only been three
weeks,” I said in lame protest.

Just then, the buzzer to
my building’s outer door went off. I glanced at the wall clock. It
was only 10:20 a.m. I had another six hours of wallowing planned
before my brothers were set to arrive.

“
Who is that?” Janie asked
as the group hug dissolved. “Are you expecting anyone?”

I shrugged. “My brothers
aren’t supposed to be here until four,” I said, and I shuffled to
the door and pressed the button.

“
Who is it?” I said into
the intercom, and in the background, I heard Sandra say, “Her
brothers are coming? Did anyone know about this?”

“
It’s Jethro and Beau.
We’re outside.”

I stared at the speaker
for a long second then buzzed them in. I’d been saved by the buzzer
and my brothers’ randomly excellent timing. I unlocked and opened
the door a crack so they could walk right in.

“
Sorry to cut this short,
but—as you heard—Jethro and Beau are here to take me to
Tennessee.”

Fiona put her hands on her
hips and shook her head. “Nope. As soon as they see you they’ll
want to join the intervention.”

I glanced at myself,
noticed I had fruitcake crumbs on my sweatpants. Absentmindedly, I
brushed my hand up and down to dust myself off. “What are you
talking about?”

“
Ashley, you look like you
haven’t brushed your hair in days.” Elizabeth said this as a
concerned friend, with no condemnation in her tone.

“
And you have dark smudges
on your cheeks.” Marie pointed to her own cheeks and jaw to show me
where.

I touched my face and my
fingers came away with soot stains. It was from Drew’s book. I’d
been reading it off and on.

Jethro and Beau walked in
and filled the arched entry to the living room. They were glancing
around my apartment, obviously absorbing the lack of décor and lack
of general splendor.

“
Hey, ladies.” Beau waved
to my friends.

They all exchanged greetings for a minute or
two. I felt like I was watching the beginnings of a very bizarre
nature program on PBS.

“
Nice place.” Beau said
this like he meant it.

I gave him a flat smile and shrugged.
“Thanks.”

Jethro turned his gaze to
me, and I watched as his eyes swept up and down, narrowing on the
return pass.

“
Ashley Austen Winston,
you look like a lard bucket full of armpits.”

“
Right?” Sandra said, her
hand coming up in a swooping motion then falling flat against her
thigh with a smack.

I gave him a flat smile and shrugged.
“Thanks.”

My oldest brother put his hands on his hips,
his gaze piercing and irritated. “Care to tell me what the hell is
going on?”

“
What do you
mean?”

His eyes darted between my
friends, who surprisingly remained silent.

At length, apparently
making up his mind that he could speak freely, he asked, “Is it
Momma? Are you having a hard time with…with everything?”

I nodded. “Yeah. That’s a
big part of it.”

He watched me for a long
minute, his expression softening, then he shocked the bejeebus out
of me by asking, “Did you get my package?”

All of the ladies in the
room gasped, and I felt their eyes shift to me. I stared at Jethro,
I stared at the words he’d just said, my mind going quiet then loud
then quiet again.

When I spoke, it was
barely above a whisper. “What did you say?”

He shifted on his feet,
his eyes darting to Beau, the ladies, then back to me. “The
journal. Did you get it? Did you read it?”

“
Did you…” I blinked like
a hummingbird flaps its wings, falling off the non-blinking wagon
spectacularly and with style. “Jethro Whitman Winston, did you send
that journal to me?”

Jethro frowned at me. “Of
course I did. Didn’t you get my note?”

“
Note? Note?” Still
blinking in rhythm to my confusion, I shook my head, glancing at
Sandra, “No! What note?”

She held her hands up. “I
didn’t see a note either.”

“
Go get the journal. I’ll
show you.”

I didn’t need to be told
twice. I jogged into my room, grabbed the journal from my desk, and
sprinted back to the living room.

Beau had crossed the room
and picked up my fruitcake. He took a bite, leaned close to Janie,
and confessed, “I’m starving.”

She gave him a pleasant
smile. “I’m not surprised. Based on your height and weight, you
likely consume over three thousand calories a day, assuming you
engage in moderate exercise.”

I ignored them and handed the book to
Jethro.

Jethro fanned open the
book and a slip of paper fell out. It had been tucked in the very
back where the pages were blank. He retrieved it from the floor and
handed it to me. “There’s my note.”

I opened it up, gave him
one last look, then read the words on the paper.

Dear Ash,

I saved this from a campfire for you. Drew
tossed it in when he thought I was asleep, then he walked away. I
pulled it out because I suspected I knew what it was. Sorry the
edges are burnt. I fished it out as soon as I could.

When you were here, while
Momma was dying, he wrote in it every day. I saw him at work. When
you left, he carried it everywhere he went.

I read the first two
pages, and I knew you needed to see this because Drew is a good man
and you’re a good woman. You both deserve to be happy.

I know you got a life in
Chicago and it’s a good one. I like your friends and I think you
should keep them. But I also saw how sad you were when you left,
and I think only half of that was because of Momma.

Also, not that we get a
say in things, but I’m sure I speak for all of us when I say it
sure would be nice having you closer by.

Love, your
brother,

Jethro

I placed my fingertips to
my lips when I got to the part
he carried
it everywhere he went.

My chin began to wobble
when I read
I like your friends and I
think you should keep them.

The first tear fell
at
I think only half of that was because
of Momma.

And I was a blubbery mess
when Jethro confessed
it sure would be
nice having you closer by.

Jethro walked to me and
gave me a hug. It occurred to me that I’d cried more since August
than I had in my entire life. I’d also received more hugs from my
brothers than I had in my entire life.

“
I didn’t know it was you.
I didn’t know.” I cried into his sweater, gripping the front of his
jacket.

“
Well, who else could it
have been?”

“
I thought it was Drew.” I
confessed on an epically big, ridiculous, movie-worthy,
embarrassing sob. Jethro’s revelation changed everything. I was
never meant to see the notebook. He never wanted to share those
feelings with me. He wanted to burn it. He’d walked away—from me,
from the possibility of us—and I’d stupidly sent him my heart in
the mail.

“
So it was you?” Fiona
asked, seeking to clarify for the group. “You sent her the
journal?”