Beauty and the Mustache

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.

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