Beauty and the Mustache

“That’s so great, Roscoe. I’m….” I swallowed because I was going to say I’m really proud of you, but then stopped myself. I didn’t feel like I had the right to say those words since I’d left him and the rest of my family nearly a decade ago. Instead, I finished the thought with, “I’m really happy for you. I’m happy for all of you. You’re all doing so great.”

“Yeah….” Roscoe nodded, glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, his tone teasing. “Now that you see we’re not a bunch of skunks, maybe you’ll come visit more often.”

I blushed, embarrassed and ashamed of the years I’d been gone. Even though he was poking fun, his words hit a nerve.

I sighed, looked out the window. “Sure—if ya’ll want me to.”

“Of course we want you to. Don’t be stupid.”

“You could come visit me in Chicago. It’s a pretty great city.”

“Isn’t it cold all the time? Sleet and snow and forty below zero wind chill and all that mess?”

“No, not all the time.” I glanced at him and pressed my lips together to keep from smirking. “Just nine months out of the year.”

Roscoe laughed and shook his head. “How do you stand it? Don’t you miss four solid seasons? And the mountains, I can’t wait to finish college and move back here. I don’t think there’s a more beautiful place on earth.”

As if on cue, we passed a lookout turnoff with a particularly breathtaking view of the Smoky Mountains. They were ensconced in their typical blue mist and descended fold upon fold to a green tree-lined valley. I had to admit, it was beautiful country.

Instead of vocalizing this, I said, “Well, you haven’t been many places on earth. You might change your mind once you go out there and check out what it has to offer.”

“Nah.” He shook his head and shocked the crud out of me by saying, “I spent a summer hiking all over Europe. Old buildings don’t do much for me, but I can see why other people think they’re pretty. I took a semester off school and did a road trip from New York to Los Angeles. We went the long way and saw the Redwood Forest, which is probably the second most beautiful place on earth. Then I flew to New Zealand. That’s where the third most beautiful place on earth is, Doubtful Sound.”

He paused for a minute because we’d come to a fork in the road and a stop sign.

I couldn’t help my blurted question. “How did you afford all that?”

He looked at me, his mouth quirking to the side. “It wasn’t all that expensive because I went with Drew, and he had to go for work. He had the option of going by car or flying to each location, so he picked the road trip and took me with him. He thought it would be good for me to see the country, see what’s out there. He said I could go anywhere and be anything. I don’t think I believed him until we went on that trip.”

Roscoe and I stared at each other for a long moment until I blurted another question. “Why would he do that? Why would he do any of this—helping Jethro, the twins, Duane, you—what’s in it for him?”

My brother narrowed his eyes at me, but a smile tugged at his lips. “Family, I think.” Then his eyes lost focus and he frowned. “It’s not really my place to say.”

“What does that mean?”

He shrugged, looked left and right for oncoming cars, and took the road to Green Valley. “It means just that. Drew’s got his reasons, and I don’t tell other people’s stories.”

***

We made it back to the house after 2:00 p.m. and immediately set to work rearranging the furniture in the den. We moved out a big wooden desk that had belonged to my maternal grandfather as well as several tables, the vintage sofa and matching chair, an old freestanding globe, and other various antique pieces. The majority of the items had been inherited by my mother from her parents, and she’d kept them all in pristine condition.

My momma came from money. She was an only child. The house we grew up in and all the land surrounding it had belonged to her parents. My grandfather died before I was born, but my grandmother died when I was ten—quite suddenly, from a stroke—and left the house and all her wealth to my mother.

This all happened two years after my parents separated. My grandmother also left trusts for each of us, which have been controlled by Momma, and which we can’t access until our thirtieth birthdays. I didn’t know how much money was in the trust, as I’d never given it much thought, but I did know that the money was why my father was always trying to re-insert himself into our lives.

We left two recliners in the room, all the bookshelves, and a side table. I was determined that one of us would be with her at all times, and the leather recliners were big and comfortable.

Once we were certain that the room would now accommodate her hospital bed, equipment, and the sleeping cot, we took a short break to have some lemonade and a sandwich. Well, I had lemonade. Roscoe had a beer.

Our timing was close to perfect; the transport arrived just after 4:30 p.m. Momma had slept through the entire trip. I knew she was likely on an impressive regimen of painkillers and sleeping aids. They were usually called quality of life meds, which really meant end of life meds.

Momma woke up just briefly when she was wheeled into the den. Her eyes were foggy and unfocused as she glanced around the room.

She asked, “Where are Mother’s things? Daddy’s desk?”

I leaned over her bed and held her hand. “We moved them out so we could keep you on the first floor but also give you some privacy.”

She nodded then stared at me. “Ashley, I have to tell you something, and it’s really important.”

I squeezed her hand and braced myself. “I’m listening, Momma.”

“The only thing that helps a baby through teething pain is bourbon on the gums.” She then closed her eyes and was asleep again within seconds.

I stared at her for a long moment, replaying the words of wisdom in my head, and came to the conclusion that she must’ve been half-dreaming.

“Hi, I’m Marissa.”

Still a little bewildered, I turned and blinked at the very pretty, twenty-something woman holding her hand out to me. She was in scrubs and comfy shoes, and was obviously a nurse. She wore her dark brown hair in long, small braids down her back, and her dark brown eyes were warm and compassionate.

I took her hand. “Hi. I’m Ashley, the daughter.”

“Nice to meet you, Ashley. I’ll be your mother’s day nurse Monday through Thursday. I’ll stop in during the day. George comes on Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays. Tina and Joe will split the night shift.”

I nodded. “Okay. Just so you know, I’m a nurse in Chicago—pediatric intensive care.”

Her eyebrows lifted in surprised delight. “I’m from Chicago! I grew up on the south side. I just moved to Knoxville two months ago.”

Roscoe cleared his throat from the place at my side where he’d suddenly appeared, drawing our attention to him.

“Hi. I’m Roscoe Winston. Pleasure to meet you, Marissa.”

I lifted an eyebrow at the way he said her name and the way he held her eyes and the way he leaned forward with just a little too much swagger and southern charm.

She smiled at him like he was a cute puppy and accepted his hand for a shake. “Nice to meet you, Roscoe.” She turned her attention back to me. “I’m going to get your mother settled and check her vitals.”

“Sure. They should have taken her to the den. It’s at the end of the hall.”

Marissa gave me a warm smile then left to find the room where Momma would be staying.

Roscoe turned his head and watched her walk away. More precisely, he watched her bottom—in baggy scrubs no less—as she walked away.

“She’s new in town. I wonder if I could show her around.”

I elbowed him in the side and gave him my best disapproving scowl.

“Ow! What did I do?”

My voice was a harsh whisper. “You’re flirting? With Momma’s nurse?”

He didn’t look at all repentant. “Yeah, sure. Why not?”

“Why not?” I couldn’t believe him. “Why not?! Aren’t you upset about Momma?”

Roscoe flinched and appeared to be a little hurt by my words, but he held his ground. “Of course I’m upset. Don’t be stupid. But that right there is an exceptionally fine looking woman, and Momma being sick doesn’t mean that I’m blind.”

“Ugh! Men!” I shook my head and turned to leave.

Roscoe caught me by the arm and pulled me into the kitchen. “Now, hold your horses. Just you listen for a sec.”

I pulled my elbow from his grip and crossed my arms over my chest, glaring at him.

He didn’t appear to be affected by my disapproving glower. “Who is it going to hurt, me flirting with a pretty girl? Is Momma going to die faster?” I flinched, but he pressed on. “Is it going to increase her pain? Don’t give me that look, Ashley Austen Winston. You would have us all dress in black and ring bells every fifteen minutes. I’m not going to feel bad for admiring someone pretty. You were always too serious for your own good.”

What he really meant was that I was always too sensitive for my own good, and he was right. But I’d toughened up over the last eight years. I’d fallen in love twice, bludgeoned into it with all the bad sense of a girl with a user for a father, and come out the other side determined to learn from my mistakes.