Beauty and the Mustache Page 9

  “What? Men get to fantasize about ménage à trois with twin sisters, but I’m a sicko because my spank naughty list includes twin leprechauns?”

  I gagged instinctively, covering my mouth with my hand, but I also laughed. Through my fingers I mumbled, “It’s like there’s a party going on in my mouth, and everyone is throwing up.”

  “That’s right, Ashley. My mind just went there.” Sandra said this loudly, her head doing a weird little jazzy pivot. “My mind went to the double the ginger, double the fun.”

  “Inappropriate Shrink Sandra is inappropriate!” Elizabeth wagged her finger at Sandra, but she was giggling.

  “Seriously, stop.” I shook my head, holding my stomach—laughing and grossed out and close to tears of hilarity. “Please!”

  Sandra crossed to stand behind Elizabeth and did a little hip pump dance; she wagged her eyebrows at me. “You know I like my sushi like I like my men….” She paused for dramatic effect then added, “…With two slices of ginger.”

  “You are such a freak.” I lost it in a fit of giggles.

  Elizabeth was laughing so hard she had to hold the kitchen counter for balance. Between loud bursts of chortling, she managed to say, “I like…my men…like I like…my meat….” She struggled for breath as she wiped tears from the corners of her eyes.

  Sandra, now laughing so hard that she was completely silent, gasped out, “How’s that?”

  “Hot with a red…with a red…with a….”

  “Don’t say it!” Sandra waved her hands in the air and burst out laughing even harder this time.

  Elizabeth couldn’t finish for several seconds because she literally could not speak, her eyes shut tight as she laughed with abandon.

  Then she blurted, “Hot with a juicy red center!”

  “AGH!” I shook my head and covered my ears.

  As luck would have it, Duane and Beau chose that moment to walk into the kitchen.

  “AGH!” I yelled again, horrified but unable to control the laughter that convulsed my body.

  My twin brothers looked at each other then at the three of us like we were aliens.

  I don’t think I could have stopped laughing if my life depended on it, especially when Duane asked, his features completely befuddled, “So, uh…what’s for dinner?”

  Then, because Sandra was Sandra, she shouted, “Steak and sushi!”

  Sandra let out a loud guffaw and smacked her thigh.

  Elizabeth held her stomach and shook her head, gasping for air.

  My jaw hurt and my sides ached, and I had to bury my head in my arms, because every time I looked at either of them I ended up laughing all over again.

  Despite the ridiculousness of the moment, I wondered in some dark place in the back of my mind how I would survive when my friends left me tomorrow. Who would I lean on? How would I cope with watching my mother slip away daily until nothing was left of her?

  There was nothing funny about what was coming next, but without the laughter, I was afraid I would go insane.

  CHAPTER 7

  “May you live every day of your life.”

  ― Jonathan Swift

  Momma was the hospice patient who cried wisdom-wolf.

  “Ashley, where are you, honey? I’ve got something really important to tell you.”

  I was sitting in the recliner by her bed, knee deep in my third reading of Catch 22. I’d just given her a bath a half hour ago and helped her dress. She was weak and sleepy from the effort. The strain in her tone surprised me because I thought she was asleep.

  I immediately set the book aside and reached for her hand. “I’m right here. What is it, Momma?”

  “Come closer.” She squeezed my fingers, so I stood from the chair and leaned over the bed so she could see me better.

  “Ashley, you need to know, of all the things you wear, your expression is the most important.” Momma said this with fevered earnestness. I gave her a gentle smile and she continued, her eyes losing focus. “And deodorant…always wear deodorant…and clean underwear.”

  This had become a usual occurrence. Over the last week and a half since she’d come home, my mother would get this look of urgency in her eyes and tell me to come close, insisting that she had some grave, important bit of wisdom to pass on. And when I leaned in close, it was always something peculiar, random, or mundane.

  It didn’t matter who else was in the room. Her coworker friends from the library stopped by for a visit, during which my momma urgently told me, “The angleworms aren’t anxious for the fish to bite.”

  Her minister dropped in to check on the family, and Momma wouldn’t let go of my hand until she’d said, “You’ll lose your grip if you put too much spit on your hands.”

  One time she said, “When your kids tell you they have tummy aches, ask them if they’ve pooped yet. It’s usually just constipation.”

  Another time it was, “Happiness and rheumatism keep getting bigger if you tell people about them.”

  And another, “Fear don’t count if you really want something.”

  I couldn’t figure out if she was pulling my leg with this stuff or if she was serious, so I decided to tell her corny jokes. Stuff like:

  “How does the ocean say hello to the shore… it gives it a little wave.”

  “How can you tell the sun doesn’t feel good… it’s not so hot.”

  I needed to hear her laugh. When she laughed, it felt like it was okay for me to laugh—and I needed to laugh.

  This time, however, I didn’t tell her a joke, because her eyes were hazy and unfocused.

  I nodded, reached my hand up to her cheek, and brushed a few hairs from her temple. “I will remember to wear a pleasant expression as well as deodorant and clean underwear at all times. I promise.”

  “Also, baby, you need to stop hovering. When was the last time you left this room?”

  I shushed her. “I’m here to take care of you and spend time with you. This is where I want to be.”

  She grimaced and squeezed her eyes shut, her breathing short and rattled. I blinked away the stinging moisture in my eyes as I watched her struggle through the wave of pain. Her fingers gripped mine like a lifeline.

  I studied her morphine drip and found it full. This was distressing, as Marissa had replaced the bag several hours ago.

  “Momma, if you’re in pain, you need to use your button.” I kept my voice low and temperate.

  She shook her head. “It makes me feel groggy. I don’t want to sleep…not yet.”

  I inhaled a shaky breath and gritted my teeth. She moaned. It was a horrible sound and made me feel completely helpless. Movement at the door caught my attention. I looked up to find Duane and Beau hovering in the doorway.

  Their eyes were wide as their gazes moved from Momma to me then back again.

  “What’s wrong? What can we do?” Beau stepped forward and placed his hand on my mother’s forehead.

  “She’s in a lot of pain,” I explained, and then I looked at Duane. “Will you get her some ice chips?”

  Duane hesitated for a moment then disappeared. I decided that I would move a cooler into the room for her ice chips, just in case she needed them and I was by myself.

  “What about the medicine?” Beau was all restrained energy, his expression mirroring the helplessness I felt.

  “She….” I was going to explain that she wasn’t pressing the button for the morphine pump, but instead I swallowed. It felt wrong talking about her like she wasn’t in the room. I squeezed my mother’s hand. “Momma, will you please take your medicine? Press the button.”

  She shook her head, her face pale, her mouth a tight line.

  Moments like this made me wish desperately for the advice and comfort of my friends. Saying goodbye to Sandra and Elizabeth had been really difficult.

  They’d stayed for three days. While Sandra and Elizabeth were here, I’d gratefully allowed Sandra to become the emotional center of the household while I retreated into the safety and comfort of my eR
eader and novels. She’d stayed up late, talking to one or more of the boys—or, rather, men—helping them work through and come to terms with the painful reality of losing their mother.

  She’d also helped me, as had Elizabeth, by encouraging me to go on walks, help with dinner, take a shower…brush my teeth.

  It was now a week after their departure, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d bathed. It was definitely on a day that started with a T. I couldn’t bring myself to leave the den. I couldn’t stand the thought of Momma needing me and me not being there.

  Beau’s eyes were somewhat wild as they moved over her face then down the length of the bed. His attention focused on the corded white remote with the red button on the end, the button my mother refused to press.

  Beau picked it up and pushed the button several times. Then he looked up at me, his expression a strange mixture of defiant and apologetic.

  I sighed and closed my eyes, grateful that he’d done it, because I hadn’t been ready to take the choice away from her.

  “Is everything okay?”

  I opened my eyes to find Jethro and Cletus walking into the room. Duane was behind them holding a cup filled with ice chips.

  Jethro stood next to Beau and frowned at the remote in his hand then he looked at me. “What happened?”

  I shrugged. When I finally spoke, my voice was shaky and my chin was wobbling, but I didn’t cry. “Momma wouldn’t press the button.”

  My mother’s tight expression was easing, her jaw unclenching, and her grip on me was growing slack.

  Jethro nodded, looking grave. “Ash, why don’t you take a break?”

  I shook my head, my eyes on Momma. “I’m fine. I was just reading a book.”

  “Ash….”

  Something about Jethro’s tone, the way he said my name, made me look up. His eyes bored into mine, but they were compassionate. “Go take a shower.”

  I swallowed my automatic decline and nodded, gently laying my mother’s limp hand on the bed. Jethro’s grave expression, the set of his jaw, the hardness in his brown eyes told me I wasn’t going to refuse his “suggestion.”

  Mindlessly, I went upstairs and quickly did as instructed. But I was really just going through the motions. Nothing about it felt cleansing or necessary. My heart was still downstairs, twisted up and bruised and refusing pain medication.

  After drying off and changing into mostly clean yoga pants and a black T-shirt that didn’t smell, I descended the stairs, intent on getting back to the den and my now permanent spot in the recliner by Momma’s bed. I was going through my mental checklist: How much had she eaten today? How much had she slept?

  I turned the corner to the den and caught the tail end of a hushed conversation. The hallway was clogged with six Winston boys and one Drew Runous.

  “…Like I said, don’t worry about it, Billy. You all have enough on your mind without having to think about the bills.” Drew’s voice was infinitely calm, yet he also sounded uncomfortable.

  “You’re paying them yourself.” Billy’s voice was a tad frustrated. “That’s not right, Drew.”

  “I’ll reimburse myself later.”

  “No you won’t. You’ll just pay for everything.” I peeked around the doorframe and saw that Billy didn’t look upset; in fact, he looked grateful and good-naturedly irritated. “I called the bank and checked the schedule. I know you’ve already covered the car payment and the electric bill for this month and next.”

  Drew sighed. “I don’t want to argue about this, Billy.”

  Billy laughed lightly. “Are we arguing?”

  “Hey, Ash,” Jethro said.

  My eyes flickered to my oldest brother, who was frowning as he held my gaze. In fact, the lot of them were all frowning and standing a little straighter and stiffer. Drew, however, wasn’t looking at me at all; his attention was affixed to the wall behind Billy’s head.

  Sandra and Elizabeth’s worries about Drew had proved to be completely unfounded. He hadn’t made any advances of any sort, nor had he subjected me to any further Nietzsche quotes. We hadn’t even engaged in any stink-eye stalemates.

  Although, to be fair, it’s hard to stare at someone who isn’t there or who won’t make eye contact. Drew visited Momma, but he seemed to have a talent for only coming by when I was elsewhere or asleep. For my part, I was noticing him less and less, even when he showed up hot and sweaty after a workout.

  “Hi.” I gave them a tight-lipped smile and a little wave. “What’s going on?”

  “Are you hungry?” This question came from Cletus. “Cause Drew brought food.”

  I gave sweet Cletus a smile and shook my head. “Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”

  “You didn’t eat breakfast,” Billy said. He was scowling at me.

  I thought about this, realized he was right.

  Not eating breakfast was very atypical behavior for me. I’d never, ever, ever, ever been the girl who skipped meals. In fact, I liked to plan my workdays and vacations around food. I was a foodie through and through. I didn’t mind more junk in the trunk (or up front) if it meant cookies every day. But over the last week, nothing had tasted good.

  “Okay….” I hesitated, glanced at the door to the den.

  Surprising me, Drew came over to where I was standing in the doorway and placed his hands on my waist like he wasn’t going to let me pass. He captured my gaze with his; then his attention flickered between my eyes and my mouth as he said quietly, “She’s asleep, Sugar. You need a break. Come eat something.”

  His closeness, his warm hands on my body, the way he was looking at me with his steely eyes, the softness of his tone when he called me Sugar—it all pushed at some part of me that had been dormant for days. I elbowed the awakening sensations aside, wanting to focus on my mother.

  “What if she wakes up?” I challenged. “I don’t want her to be alone.”

  “I’ll sit with Momma,” Beau said sheepishly. His expression told me he felt some guilt for forcing pain meds on her. I wanted to tell him I was glad he’d done it. As soon as the thought entered my head, I felt guilty.

  “I’ll sit with her too,” Roscoe volunteered.

  Jethro stepped forward and tugged on my elbow, pulling me out of Drew’s hold, which tightened before he let me go. “Come on, Ash,” my brother pleaded. “It’s fried chicken and mashed potatoes. Maybe you could call your friend Sandra and have a chat.”

  I let Jethro lead me into the kitchen, and the entire Winston brood—plus Drew, minus Beau and Roscoe—followed.

  “I can’t, actually. My phone doesn’t get reception out here, there’s no house phone, and there’s no Internet, so I can’t use Skype.” I said this flatly, without recrimination.

  “Why don’t you use Momma’s cell?”

  “I can’t find it. It wasn’t with her things when she came back from the hospital.” The situation was not easily fixable so I’d decided to do nothing about it. None of the houses in Green Valley had Internet unless they had a satellite dish. There was no point in asking for a satellite hookup since I wasn’t staying very long.

  “You can use my phone,” Jethro offered. “Or Billy’s, or any of them.”

  I shrugged. “Nah. That’s all right.” I didn’t really have the energy to think about it.

  “You haven’t talked to your friends all week?” Duane moved to the cabinet and grabbed a stack of plates. “That don’t seem right. Don’t y’all see each other every week?”

  I nodded. “Sometimes I meet them for lunch at the hospital during the week. But, yeah, Tuesday is the day we all get together. We meet up and knit and crochet, and of course we talk.”

  “Tomorrow is Tuesday.” Cletus placed a pile of forks and knives on the counter. “You’re going to miss your time if we can’t get you on the Internet.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” I glanced around the kitchen, not feeling particularly invested in the conversation. My eyes landed on Drew and found him standing off to one side, removed from everyone els
e, looking at his cell phone as if he were reading a text. For some random reason, I wondered who his cell phone company was.

  “Hey, Ash, Momma’s talking about someone named Jackson.” Roscoe said this from the doorway. “Do you know who she means? She keeps asking if you’re out with Jackson.”

  “Is she awake?” I moved toward the doorway, but Roscoe blocked my path.

  “No, Ash. You need to eat. She’s not really awake, just talking in her sleep, I think.”

  “She’s not talking about Jack Jackson James, is she—that little twerp who followed you around?” Billy asked this as he put napkins at the place settings on the table.

  “He wasn’t a twerp. He was my best friend.” I crossed my arms over my chest, but felt only a slight twinge of defensiveness.

  Jackson and I had been best friends all through school partly because I’d never been very good at making friends with other girls. He and I just got along so well because we were both oddball social outcasts. In my experience growing up in small Hicksville nowhere Tennessee, little girls were mean, adolescent girls were cruel, and teenage girls were ruthless—but that was probably true everywhere.

  Plus, Jackson James was the sweetest, kindest, most amazing boy in the entire world...until the end of our senior year when he dumped me.

  I was stunned when that happened. I wasn’t in love with Jackson—not in the passionate or romantic way that books and movies tell you is real—but I had come to rely on him. He’d been my first everything: my first kiss, my first boyfriend, my first first. And when he dumped me just before college, he cut off all communication. I was so devastated over the loss of my best friend that it felt like I’d lost a part of myself.

  Over the years, the feeling of loss had dwindled to a slight ache, mostly related to nostalgia. I’d come to view him as another example—in a long line of examples—of why men were as trustworthy and reliable as tampons made of sand.

  “Oh, please.” Duane rolled his eyes. “Jackson James is an asshole. I still don’t know why you gave him the time of day. You could have had any guy in a hundred-mile radius, and you didn’t give anyone a second look except that dipshit—and he was a scrawny little bastard. Didn’t he play something stupid like the clarinet or something?”