Beauty and the Mustache Page 15

  My mother laughed lightly then sighed. “When does Marissa get here? I promised her a recipe yesterday.”

  “Which one?”

  “Mother’s biscuits.”

  I nodded, knowing the recipe. “If you want me to, I’ll transcribe it for you.”

  “No. Just get me the card and I can do it. I’d like to use my hands for something useful.”

  I caught Drew’s eye and indicated with my head that he should follow me. His eyebrows lifted in what I guessed was surprise. Nevertheless, he stood, left North and South on the wooden chair where he’d been sitting, and turned to my mother.

  “I’ve got to get going. But I’ll be back tonight.”

  “That’s fine, dear,” she slurred, giving him a hazy smile.

  Drew exited the room first, giving me a quizzical look.

  “I’ll be right back, Momma. I’m going to brush my teeth.”

  “Please do. For heavens’ sake, I didn’t want to say anything, but you’ve been looking rough the last few weeks. Maybe go get a facial and a hairstyle. While you’re at it, get your nails done.” She laughed lightly and winked at me. “Take your time, dear. I’m fixin’ to take a little cat nap.”

  I crossed to her bed and gave her a kiss on the forehead. Her eyes were already closed. When I left the room, I closed the door behind me.

  Drew was waiting for me in the hall, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression both solemn and curious.

  We both started speaking at the same time.

  “Can we just….”

  “I need to tell you….”

  He sighed and closed his eyes. I glanced at the ceiling.

  “Please, you go first,” I said, fiddling with the tie of my robe.

  He gave me a measured look, but he relented. “I thought I saw an Indiana Bat in your backyard last week while I was here. It’s an endangered species in this part of the forest. Since your property backs up to the park, it’s not unheard of to have sightings from time to time.”

  “Okay.” This news and conversation topic took me completely by surprise. I thought he was going to fuss at me for my poor behavior. Instead, he was discussing game warden business. “What does that mean?”

  “It means the fiber-optic cable that’s buried in your front yard, which is being used by the county, has been hooked up to the house. We’re going to put cameras facing the park off the back porch, hoping to catch one of the Indiana Bats.”

  I nodded and shrugged. “That’s fine.”

  “It also means you’ll have free Internet access—really fast Internet access. I installed a router this morning.” He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to me. “Here’s the login and password for the wireless. You can choose your own, of course.”

  I stared at him, my mouth falling open by inches. My mind might be moving like a river of molasses these days, but I caught his drift and then some. He’d had Internet connected to the house. I could now call my friends in Chicago. I could now Skype with them on Tuesdays.

  My eyes stung, and a rush of gratefulness swelled in my chest. Drew held my gaze, his own cautious and watchful.

  “Thank you,” I blurted. “Thank you so, so much.” Instinct told me to hug him, but something about his glare told me that hugging him would be a mistake.

  In the end, I squeezed his bicep. “Thank you,” I repeated, my eyes going to where my hand rested on his bare arm. Four jagged white lines caught my attention and I frowned, speaking before I thought better of it.

  “What on earth…? What happened to your arm?” I stepped closer, inspecting the scars.

  “Ah, that was a bear.” He said this matter-of-factly, like everyone has a bear scar.

  My eyes lifted to his, and I’m sure my face betrayed my incredulousness. “A bear? You got these from a bear?”

  He nodded.

  “What? When? How?” My attention went back to the scars. They were ugly, like the bear had tried to take his arm off.

  “I go trail running in the morning. Sometimes one or more of your brothers come; sometimes I’m alone. Sometimes there are bears on the trails.” He shrugged like everyone goes on runs with bears. “Usually they leave me alone.”

  “How long is the trail?”

  “Anywhere from six to twelve miles.”

  “And this time the bear…what—he wanted to take your arm and beat you with it?”

  He grinned down at me. “No, Sugar, and it was a she bear. A momma bear can get testy if you come between her and her cubs.”

  “How did you get away?”

  “I carry a tranquilizer gun strapped to my back when I run. I shot it, but it took a swipe at me before it went down.”

  “Oh, my God.” I shook my head. “You are a lunatic. If you had a Viking name it would be Drew the Thrill-Seeker or Drew Never-A-Dull-Moment.”

  His grin dimmed to a small, perplexed smile like he didn’t know whether or not my poking fun was mean spirited.

  I frowned at the confusion casting a shadow over his features. “What’s wrong? What’d I say?”

  He shook his head, studying me as though trying to determine my intentions. “Nothing.”

  But it was something. I’d inadvertently said something to diminish the brightness in his eyes. I decided to let it go for now and let my hand drop. “Anyway…again, thank you.”

  “No need for thanks.” He cleared his throat. “What did you want to tell me?”

  “Oh, yeah.” I’d almost forgotten. The gift of Internet connectivity and the bear attack story had driven all thoughts from my mind. I tucked the piece of paper that held the wireless password into the pocket of my robe.

  Preparing myself for the conversation to come, I planted my feet and took a deep breath, determined to move us out of our perpetual loop of snarkiness. “Drew, I want to apologize for calling you an ass last night. That was very rude, especially after you fed me dinner and pie. I hope you will accept my apology.”

  Drew’s jaw ticked, his mouth a flat straight line, but his eyes were vibrant and vivid quicksilver, traveling over my face. I had to wait several seconds before he gave me a stiff nod.

  “Good.” I sighed my relief and eyeballed him. Good….” I repeated, not knowing what else to say. I was trying to gauge his mood, and wondered if now would be a good time to broach the subject of a ceasefire. I’d known him three weeks, but after eavesdropping on that conversation between him and my mother, I realized I barely knew him at all.

  Ultimately I decided sooner was better than later, and I plowed ahead without thinking too carefully about my words. I didn’t want them to seem rehearsed or forced.

  “So, you appear to have a very positive relationship with my momma and my brothers, wouldn’t you agree?”

  His gaze sharpened and he licked his lips before responding. “Yes. I’d like to think so.”

  “Almost familial, it seems. Like, Roscoe told me about the road trip you two went on. That seems like something brothers might do together. And the way you helped out Jethro and the other boys with their auto shop, and how you seem to care a great deal for Momma, almost like she was your own.”

  Drew held very still, watching me but saying nothing. Since he didn’t appear to be inclined to confirm nor deny my statements, I pressed forward.

  “Do you have a sister?”

  He flinched, blinking several times before releasing a slow breath. “I….” He swallowed and looked at the wall behind my head then back at me. “I had a sister.”

  I frowned at this. “Had a sister?” The words slipped out of me and betrayed my surprise. I’d expected him to say, Yes, I have a sister. Her name is Christine.

  “Yes. She died.” He added in a rush, “She committed suicide when I was ten.”

  “Oh!” My hand lifted of its own accord and affixed itself to his arm again, squeezing him. I shifted a half step forward. “I’m so sorry. That must’ve been really terrible. I’m so sorry.”

  “Why do you ask?” His voice was gravelly
and tense, as if the memory was a fresh wound. Her death seemed to affect him with the same force twenty years later.

  “Uh, I was going to suggest that, since you seem to think of my brothers as your brothers and you care a great deal for Momma, that maybe you and I could find some common ground too. Maybe you could think of me as a…as a sister.”

  Drew stared at me, the sadness in his eyes morphing into incredulous confusion then finally settling on bewildered amusement.

  “You want me to think of you like my sister?”

  “Not like your sister. I’m not looking to replace anybody; rather, as another sister—a new sister.” I gave him a hopeful smile.

  I was suddenly very aware of how small and intimate a space the hallway was as Drew’s eyes traveled down my body and back up again. His were smoldering.

  He surprised me by taking two steps forward, which caused me to step back and bump into the wall. He was crowding my space, yet the only place we touched was where my hand still rested on his arm just above the elbow.

  “Ashley….” he whispered.

  “Yes?” I breathed, my heart in my throat, my body hot all over.

  “You are very beautiful.”

  “I…I am?”

  “You know you are, because you’re also very smart, and you’re sweet, and you’re kind. And there’s not a man alive—that’s not married or related to you—that wishes he were your brother.”

  Drew lifted his hands and I thought for a moment he was going to snatch them away, liked he’d done before. Instead he cupped my face, his thumbs caressing the line of my jaw. “I’m sorry,” he said, the words escaping on a slow rumbly sigh. He shook his head slowly. “But I’m never going to be able to think of you as a sister.”

  My stomach flipped.

  “How about a cousin?”

  He shook his head again, his lips forming a hint of a smile.

  “A niece?”

  His smile stretched then flattened, and his head lowered a fraction toward mine, our mouths three inches apart. “None of my feelings for you are familial. I’m sorry if that upsets you, but I’m not good at playing make-believe, lying, or pretending—as you might have noticed.”

  “Oh….” I breathed, my knees feeling a little weak.

  “Here’s the thing, Sugar,” Drew’s hands lifted to my hair and tucked several strands behind my ears, his fingertips brushing against the sensitive area of my neck. They lingered for several seconds causing a shiver to race down my spine. “You tell me what you need, and I’ll give it to you.”

  His eyes were soft and searching, and he somehow managed to say this without making it sound lewd or suggestive. Rather, it sounded like a plea to let him help, like the thing he wanted most in the world was to see to my needs—whatever those needs might be.

  “But what about you?” My voice was hushed. “What do you need?”

  Drew’s mouth hooked to the side but his eyes held no smile. “I don’t need anything, not from you.”

  I flinched, because—whether he meant to or not—his words felt like a slap. I let my hand drop from his arm and I glanced around the hallway.

  “Oh, okay,” I said, nodding and feeling the hot confusion that accompanies rejection. At least he was honest.

  He must’ve detected my desire to escape because he grabbed both of my hands and held them hostage between his. “Ashley, that’s not—what you’re thinking—that’s not what I meant. You have a lot on your mind; you’re barely taking care of yourself. You’re not eating.”

  I nodded, still not looking at him, my throat working without swallowing. My mouth felt dry, and I needed water.

  He pressed on. “I’m not asking anything of you other than to let me help. I have no expectations. I know your life isn’t…it isn’t here. You have a job and friends in Chicago. You need someone to help you get through this, through the next weeks, because things are going to get worse.”

  I blinked away sudden moisture from my eyes and was finally able to manage a swallow before I said, “So, you won’t help by being a brother to me?”

  “Hell, no.”

  I allowed myself to glance at him and was nearly overcome by the passion and sincerity in his eyes. I had to look away to regain my composure. I nodded, accepting that he meant what he said, because he wasn’t good at playing make-believe.

  I cleared my throat. “Then what about a friend? Could you be my friend?”

  He didn’t answer for a long time, so long in fact that I thought I might have upset him. I lifted my eyes to his, hoping to gauge his reaction. He didn’t look angry or upset, but his eyes were sad. They were momentously sad. The melancholy hit me in my chest and made it difficult to draw a breath for three beats of my heart.

  “Of course,” he said, nodding and taking a step back, dropping my hands gently, giving me space. “I would be honored to be your friend—if that’s what you need.”

  “Thank you.” My chin wobbled, but I reined in the tears. “It’s what I need.”

  Apparently, I was quite talented at playing pretend.

  CHAPTER 12

  “To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.”

  ― Ralph Waldo Emerson

  My mother put her foot down—figuratively—and ordered me out of the house the Friday after the raccoon attack.

  She said I was hovering. She was right. I was hovering, but I was actually doing a lot better overall.

  I’d changed. I felt different. I was different.

  As cliché as it sounds, the day of the bear chase and raccoon attack had changed me. It was like turning on a switch. One minute I’d been content playing dead, waiting to become a bear snack; the next I felt anxious and restless with unspent energy.

  I was still taking care of my momma, watchful when visitors arrived to make sure they weren’t overtaxing her; spending every one of her waking moments with her and a lot of her sleeping moments too.

  But now I was eating, talking to my brothers, voluntarily showering, and wearing clean clothes.

  So, you know, behaving like a sane person.

  The problem was, now that I had restless energy, I was making her restless. I think I was driving her a little nuts. She needed a break from me.

  “Cheer up, gorgeous.” Duane slipped his arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. We were sitting in the back seat of Billy’s car; Duane and Beau were sitting on either side of me. “Cletus is real good at the banjo.”

  “I didn’t even know you played the banjo.” I said this to Cletus who was sitting in the front seat.

  “It’s true. I play the banjo,” Cletus said, clutching his banjo case.

  “He started after you left, I guess.” Beau scratched the back of his neck. “And the jam session is good fun. They serve barbeque as well as various and sundry salads.”

  I glanced at Beau from the corner of my eye. “Various and sundry salads?”

  “Yeah, various and sundry—you know, all kinds, like macaroni, potato, macaroni and potato, fruit salad, coleslaw....” He nodded, and I saw his eyes widen before they flickered to Duane then back to me.

  “I like the coleslaw,” Duane added.

  I smiled at them. My twin brothers were seriously adorable.

  “So, tell me about it. Where is this place? What can I expect?”

  “You can expect me to play the banjo, that’s for sure. You can count on it.” Cletus didn’t turn as he said this; but his tone was emphatic like he was making me a sacred promise.

  “People come from all over every Friday night. I reckon about fifty musicians show up, all types, all ages,” Beau explained.

  “Fifty? And they all play together?”

  “No.” Duane shook his head. “There’s five or six rooms. You can walk from one room to the next and listen to whichever group you want. The musicians can move around too. If they want to change things up, they just walk to a different room.”

  “Each room usually plays
a different type of music.” Beau indicated his chin toward the front seat. “Cletus likes to stick with bluegrass, but one room usually has blues and another country and another folk.”

  “Where is this place? Is it a concert hall?”

  “No, no, nothing fancy. It’s the Green Valley Community Center, you know, the one down the block from Big Ben’s Dulcimer Shop. When we were kids it was abandoned, I think, but it used to be a school. They serve food in the old cafeteria, and the music is played in the classrooms.”

  “They put a mish-mash of theater seats, church pews, and desk chairs in each of the classrooms so people can sit and listen to the music. All the musicians play on one end of each room, and the chairs face the musicians.”

  “You can visit all five rooms if you get tired of listening to Cletus the banjo wiz.”

  “How do they know what to play?” I asked the car, not really understanding the concept of a jam session. When I was a singer and played the piano, I had recitals, but I always used sheet music. “Will someone provide the music, or do you have to bring your own?”

  Billy chuckled, finally speaking, “No, Ash. It’s not like that. Someone starts, and the others join in. You don’t know what you’re going to play when you show up; you just play in the same key as everyone else and try to keep up. If you happen to know the song, then you can play along. Sometimes you get a solo, sometimes you’re the melody, and sometimes you just play chords—whatever works for the group.”

  “Cool.” I nodded, mostly comprehending the idea. I figured it would all make a lot more sense once I saw it.

  “Sometimes Billy sings,” Duane volunteered, “but not often.”

  “Yeah, but he will if Drew is there.” Beau shifted in his seat, and he sounded a tad excited.

  “Drew will be there?” I croaked; my chest expanded then tightened as a jolt of panic shot through me.

  “I hope so.” Beau grinned at me.

  I tried to grin back.

  I still spent every night in the den on the cot next to Momma, but of the last three mornings, I’d awoken to find Drew there reading to her, or the two of them speaking in hushed voices.

  During his conversation with Momma—the one I overheard—he said he liked my goodness, sweetness, gracefulness, and wit. Then, later, he told me to my face that I was beautiful, smart, sweet, and kind. I thought about this more than I should, and it made me feel directionless and agitated. I never eavesdropped again. I was confused enough without hearing more of Drew’s opinions.