35
“Separation
Your absence has gone through me
Like thread through a needle.
Everything I do is stitched with its color.”
― W.S. Merwin
*Beau*
“Are you going to cry?”
Duane slid Roscoe a glare. “No. But you will when I punch you in the face.”
Roscoe grinned. “I’m really going to miss you, Duane.”
My twin rolled his eyes and sighed. “Stop being a dummy. Come over here, let’s get this over with.”
Roscoe complied immediately and crossed to Duane for a hug.
We were all at the airport—Jethro and Sienna, Billy, Cletus, Ashley and Drew, Shelly and I, Roscoe, and obviously Duane and Jessica. Jessica’s parents were also present, as was her irritating brother, Jackson James.
Our entire crowd was gathered outside the security line, saying our last goodbyes. And it sucked. Jessica’s eyes were rimmed red, like she’d been crying.
Cletus was in a particularly surly mood, pointing out that Duane’s luggage tags were “insufficient” and reminding him to watch out for pickpockets.
Sienna was a bright spot, though. She had us all laughing when things got too tense. Or, if that didn’t work, she’d talk about how terrible it was to be pregnant and make everything awkward with her oversharing—which eventually made us laugh.
Claire was there too. She’d hastily arranged to take the afternoon off and met us at departures. At first, she stood with Jessica’s parents.
But then Shelly motioned for her to come over. “Stand with us, with Beau,” Shelly whispered to Claire as she approached. “He needs you.”
My sister—my sister—smiled gratefully at Shelly, then gave me a softer version. “Are you hanging in there?”
“I’m fine.” I shrugged.
I am not fine.
I was very not fine.
I glanced at Claire, sliding my arm around her shoulders. Then I glanced at Shelly. She gave me a small kiss and smile.
I’m not fine, but I will be fine.
Duane took a big breath, glancing at his watch, and then at all of us.
“Well, time for us to go.” His gaze landed on me.
My chest hurt. And this sucked.
Jess moved around the circle gathered, embracing each person one more time. Duane came after, shaking hands with Sheriff James and Jackson, then giving quick hugs to each of his family in turn.
This sucks, I kept thinking, this is the worst. I hate this.
When Jess got to me, I gave her as big a smile as I could manage and accepted her embrace.
She held me a moment longer, whispering in my ear, “I’ll take care of him. I promise.”
I nodded as she leaned away, wanting to say thank you, but not trusting myself to speak.
This sucks. Fuck Italy, fuck airports, fuck airplanes.
Then came Duane.
He didn’t smile. He pulled me in for a hug. We held each other, and I remembered.
I remembered all the times I’d comforted him after a fall, all the times I’d kept him safe, all the times he’d needed me. All the times I’d needed him.
I don’t know who let go first, but one of us did.
As we separated, he turned to Shelly and—serious as shit—said, “You take care of him. He’s the best.”
Just as somberly, she nodded. “I will and he is.”
Duane moved to Claire next and I brought my arm back to Shelly’s shoulder, needing to lean on her. She placed her cheek against my chest and snuggled close.
I’m not fine.
We all stayed and watched Duane and Jess move through the security line. It was torture, but we did it. And when they were through, they turned and waved. Jess tossed us air kisses, and then—just like that—they were gone.
Gone.
I’m not fine.
I stared at the spot where they’d disappeared, part of me hoping they’d change their mind, another part of me knowing they wouldn’t.
It was time.
Our paths had diverged.
He was gone.
And I was left.
I’m not fine . . . I took a deep breath. But I will be fine.
“Where are you parked?” Shelly directed this question to Claire, rousing me from my contemplations. “We’ll walk you to your car.”
“You mean Jessica’s car.” Claire slid her arm around my waist and gave it a squeeze.
Life was moving on, people were talking. I forced myself to pay attention.
Ashley caught my eye and she crossed to us, shaking her head and wearing a teasing smile. “I see I’ve been replaced.”
After Duane and I told Claire about our maternity, and explained that within our family only Billy knew the truth, she gave us the go-ahead to tell everyone else. Unsurprisingly, none of our siblings—or our sibling-in-law—seemed to care two stitches that Christine St. Claire was our biological mother. But they all expressed happiness at the prospect of Claire coming into the Winston fold.
Well, everyone except Billy. He remained quiet on the matter until Duane had asked him point-blank what he thought about me asking Claire to Thanksgiving and Christmas.
To which Billy responded, “If she comes to Christmas, I’ll be the first to hang the mistletoe.”
We took that as approval.
But one thing was for certain: even if our momma hadn’t been on a pedestal in our minds before, she’d now been elevated to the rank of saint.
“You haven’t been replaced.” I reached for Ashley as Shelly and Claire moved to one side, giving us some space. I pulled my sister into a hug, and teased her back. “You’ve been supplemented.”
“Fine. I see how it is.” She laughed, leaning away, her hand sliding to mine. “I love you, Beau.”
“I love you too, Ash.”
She stared at me for a moment. “Are you okay?”
“I will be.” Just not quite yet.
Ash’s attention moved to where Shelly and Claire stood a short distance away, their heads together. “I was thinking about our conversation, back in October, about how things change. It seems to me things are changing so fast, every time I blink, something crucial is different.”
“And some things never change.” I squeezed her fingers. “Like how if you’re not happy, then no one gets to be happy.” I shifted my eyes meaningfully to Drew.
My sister laughed, the joyful sound raising my spirits as she followed my line of sight. “Oh, I’m happy. Probably more happy than I deserve to be.”
I disagreed. My sister—my sisters—deserved every happiness, and I wasn’t above meddling to make sure it happened.
We all moseyed toward the parking garage after that. None of us seemed to be in any hurry to leave or get on with the business of our day.
Claire, Shelly, and Ashley were trying to find a mutually agreeable date to make soap. Apparently, Jennifer Sylvester—who was currently in New York—had offered to teach Shelly. Mrs. James chimed in that she’d like to learn as well. Sienna and Jethro then asked if they could tag along.
The Sheriff, Roscoe, and Billy were talking about politics—local, not national—and I caught them saying something about the Paytons. At intervals, I also noticed Billy’s eyes stray toward Claire. She was walking next to me, so at first I thought it was me he was watching.
But, no. It wasn’t me. It was my sister.
Hmm . . .
Drew and Cletus were discussing Cletus’s recent boar hunting trip. He’d just returned the previous night. Duane and I had used the small window of time to fill him in on our meeting with Christine. Cletus had told us to let him handle Darrell and not worry about it. He’d also told us to keep the news to ourselves about Darrell being up for parole soon.
I trusted Cletus, but I couldn’t help worrying about it.
As we strolled past the check-in counters, I wasn’t so lost to my thoughts that the flash of a familiar face escaped my notice. I did a double take, and then I stiffened, my steps faltering, as the face came fully into view.
Repo, one of the highest-ranking members of the Iron Wraiths, was leaning against the wall just past the corner of the check-in, his eyes lowered to the floor. He was standing conspicuously close once I caught sight of him, but inconspicuously far away until I had.
Maneuvering next to Cletus and Drew, I whispered, “Hey. Why’s Repo here?”
“What? Where?” Cletus cast his eyes about.
“Stop it. Don’t look. He’s over there, to the left, by the Delta line.”
Drew was much better at acting natural than Cletus. The big guy turned slowly, like he was checking his pocket for something, then glanced up.
“Yep. That’s him.”
“Do you think this is about Christine?”
“No.” Cletus shook his head, following Drew’s line of sight and lowering his voice. “Repo being here has to do with Jess. It’s not about you, or Duane, or . . . that other matter.”
“Jess?” I looked from Drew—who also seemed confused—to Cletus. “What does Repo have to do with Jess?”
Cletus placed his hand on my shoulder and began in an instructional air, “You see, my dear boy, Duane and Jess have a lot in common.”
“Meaning?”
“I suspect Repo is her daddy.”
“What?” I jerked back, but managed to keep my voice quiet. “What the hell?”
Clearly there was more to understand about the Wraiths than I wanted to know.
Meanwhile, Drew sighed. “I’m going to need a chart to keep up with y’all. I can’t remember who is related to who these days.”
“Socks, underwear, jeans, boots, and an extra coat.” She ticked the items off a printed list.
“Leave them there.”
“What?”
“Your underwear.”
“Where?”
“In Chicago.”
Shelly tilted her head to the side, her gaze flickering over me. “Why would I leave my underwear in Chicago?”
I was lying in the bed on my side, watching her. My pillow was folded behind my head, hers was clutched to my chest. “All they do is get in the way.”
She threw three pairs of underwear at me.
I laughed, pulling them away from my face. She had good aim.
Shelly was packing for Chicago. She’d promised to spend Thanksgiving with Janie, Quinn, and Desmond, and so she was keeping her word. She’d only be gone five days, but I was going to miss her.
“T-shirts, extra T-shirts, sweaters, extra sweaters. Floss, toothbrush, toothpaste, night guard—”
“Night guard?”
“It’s the thing I wear to keep from grinding my teeth.”
“Oh. Right.” I twirled a pair of her panties around my index finger. It was blue and lacy. Just looking at it turned me on. I stopped twirling it.
“Moisturizer, cotton balls, Q-tips, shampoo, conditioner, brush. Yarn for Janie, whiskey for Quinn, thankful journal, two pens, graphite pencils, sketchbook, book for flight.”
“What’s that?” I sat up, inspecting her suitcase.
“What?”
“Thankful journal? What’s that?”
Shelly reached into her grey bag on the floor, pulled out a composition notebook, and tossed it to me. “This.”
“You have a diary?” I didn’t open it.
“No. Dr. West said a diary wouldn’t be a productive use of my time. That’s just a book of lists.”
“Oh.” I glanced at the cover; she’d written Thankful Journal in black sharpie, all caps. “What do you mean, lists?”
“Things I’m thankful for.” She scratched her forehead distractedly. “I’m going to bring LUNA Bars, in case I get hungry on the plane.”
“It’s your brother’s private plane. He’ll probably have food for you. And by lists, do you mean a running list? You keep a running list of things you like?”
“No. Every day, a list of—just look at it. You’ll see what I mean.” She grabbed her checklist from the dresser and strolled out of the room.
I watched her walk down the hall, and then turn right, into the kitchen. She was probably grabbing those LUNA Bars.
Smirking at her stubbornness, I flipped open the journal and scanned the first page. It started spring last year and it was just what she’d said, a list of three things under each date.
April 6
1. Pepper
2. Awls
3. Stoneware mugs
April 7
1. Sunshine
2. Rain
3. Mud
April 8
1. Ivan
2. Laika
3. Oliver
Flipping ahead, I skimmed pages until something caught my eye toward the middle of the book.
September 22
1. Auto lifts
2. Air compressors
3. Beau Winston
I looked down the hall again, heard a kitchen cabinet open and then close. Then I glanced back to the book, flipping another page, then another, automatically scanning it for my name.
October 8
1. Silver forks
2. Switchbacks
3. Beau Winston
October 18
1. Classic cars
2. Beau Winston
3. Kissing
October 19
1. Beau Winston
2. The basin sink at the shop
3. My brother
PS I am not thankful for corn chips
A short, disbelieving laugh burst from my lungs. I shook my head, sitting up completely in the bed as I read page after page, seeing my name more and more each day.
October 28
1. Beau
2. Dr. West
3. Pajamas
October 29
1. Beau
2. Long walks
3. Autumn
October 30
1. Beau
2. Cotton sheets
3. Hot tea
October 31
1. My TIG Welder
2. Beau
3. Books
November 1
1. Beau
2. Sex—especially oral sex
3. Teacups
“See? Lists.” Shelly said, breezing back into the room.
I looked up, finding her carrying two boxes of LUNA Bars and shoving them into her suitcase.
It was too much.
The journal was too much.
She was too much.
Placing the book reverently on the nightstand, I reached for her arm as she straightened and pulled her to the bed, bringing her on top of me. Her hair fell like a curtain around us, her eyes wide as they moved between mine.
“What?” she asked, soft and curious.
“I love you.”
“I know that.” She grinned, soft and open.
“And I’m grateful for you.”
“Good.” Her grin grew, her lovely gaze dropping to my mouth. “What date did you read last?”
“November 1. It was my favorite. I might read it again.”
She laughed, resting her elbow on my chest and placing her chin in her palm. “You stopped just when it was getting good.”
Holding her gaze, I lifted my head. I kissed her.
And I stopped, just as it was getting good.
I stopped my mind.
I also asked time to stand still.
Because I’d been wrong.
In life, there are three periods of time: before, after, and now. I’d always thought of now as a limbo. Sometimes, rarely, it was limbo.
But in the scheme of things, if I took the time to stop and open my eyes; if I paid attention, and counted my blessings, now wasn’t limbo.
Now was heaven.