If anyone had told me five weeks ago that I would be quoting Emily Dickenson in the woods with Drew, I would have told that person to invest in a good psychotherapist.

If anyone had told me just a week ago that I would be kissing Drew on the back porch of my momma’s house as though his lips and body were my only source of nourishment, and I would be left with a lingering craving that could not be satiated, I would have told that person about the alien invasion happening in Poughkeepsie. I also would’ve mentioned that I was loyal to the kumquat trees. Because what else do you say to the severely insane?

Yet, there I was—consumed.

I love the fire most because of what it leaves behind….

Ash. It leaves behind ash.

I pressed the base of my palms against my eyes and gathered a deep breath. At present, I was upstairs in my room, trying to take a nap before my Tuesday night knitting group Skype call, and failing miserably. This would be the second time I’d been able to Skype in and attend my knitting group, and I’d been anxious all week about it, looking forward to it.

I was tired. I had the place, motive, and opportunity for a nap. But I couldn’t sleep.

Earlier in the day, I’d called my father and left a message on his cell phone. I told him that Momma wanted to talk to him, and I hung up. Then I’d started spreading the word to my brothers that we were going to have a family meeting after my knitting group Skype call.

I could have been worrying about any number of things: my father’s impending visit, breaking the news to my brothers, my mother’s impending departure, how I was going to butcher all those roosters. But I wasn’t.

I was thinking about Drew.

What was wrong with me?

How was it possible for me to be feeling this way—consumed—about Drew’s kisses and words when I was already consumed with grief for my mother and the certainty of her death? It loomed in the distance like a deranged bully at the end of a schoolyard.

But kissing Drew had felt so good, and the idea of giving in….

I was quickly becoming addicted to the way my heart picked up and my belly twisted when I felt his eyes on me. I think I was a little in love with the way he said my name or called me Sugar like I was sweet and he just knew I’d taste delicious.

Frustrated and disappointed with my behavior, I kicked off my covers with a lot more force than was necessary and turned my face into my pillow. My muffled growl became a muffled scream, and I punched the mattress several times.

I glanced at the clock on the nightstand and saw that I had only fifteen minutes until I was supposed to call my friends on Skype. Giving up on the notion of a nap, I grabbed my laptop and knitting bag and made my way downstairs.

Cletus and Joe were in with Momma. Joe was on duty, which usually meant he’d stop in for a few minutes, maybe sit in the den for a bit and shoot the shit. Then he usually drove off to visit another patient. Tonight he decided to stick around. He said one of his other patients had died, so he had more wiggle room in his schedule.

At present Cletus and Joe were playing chess, which…I couldn’t wrap my mind around. Regardless, they were supposed to come get me when she woke up. Momma had slept through most of the day, and when she did wake up, she didn’t eat hardly anything.

I’d been keeping a log of her activities—when she slept, when she ate, how much she ate, how long she was up, her self-reported pain level, how much morphine she used. I hoped all the information would serve as an early warning sign—when the time came—that the end was near. I also knew the data gathering served as a placebo, soothed my need to control a situation over which I had absolutely no control.

Therefore, based on all the days that came before, today’s sleeping and lack of food intake was a stark outlier.

I tried not to think too much about it as I sat on the couch—where Drew had slept the night before—and booted up my laptop. If I thought about it, I would go crazy.

“What are you doing?” Roscoe asked conversationally, flopping down on the sofa next to me.

“I’m signing on to Skype for my knit night.”

“Why are you doing it out here? I thought the wireless worked everywhere in the house?”

“It does. But when I tried to do Skype from my bedroom, the video and audio kept cutting out. The signal is best down here.”

Roscoe frowned. “Did you tell Drew?”

“No.” I felt a little surge of awareness at the mention of Drew’s name, like it was a secret, and hearing it spoken aloud was a thrill. I was truly ridiculous.

Swatting away the butterflies in my stomach, I opened Skype, made sure that it showed my avatar as available, then set the laptop on the coffee table and reached for my knitting.

“Why not?” Roscoe persisted. “I’m sure he’d fix it.”

“I’m sure Drew has better things to do with his time. Besides, I’m just thankful it works at all. I don’t mind doing the calls out here. Why?” I glanced at my brother. “Does it bother you? I did it here last week and no one seemed to care.”

He shook his head. “Not at all. I really liked your friends, especially the blonde one. They were both hot, but Sandra scared me a little. Now, Elizabeth…she’s the kind of health care provider I can get behind, if you know what I mean.”

“Ugh.” I rolled my eyes. “You’re gross.”

“I’m not gross. I’m at peace with my sexuality, and I’d like to give others a piece of it as well, spread a little peace around, get several pieces out there.”

I stifled a giggle and smacked him on the arm. “Well, I’ll be sure to tell Elizabeth’s husband about your feelings.”

“She’s married?” He sounded forlorn.

“Yes. Here, if you stick around you can meet him. They’re just about to call me.”

“No thanks.” He snorted, paused, then narrowed his eyes at me. “What’s he like? Is he a doctor too? I bet they play doctor together.”

“Ugh! Really, Roscoe? Really?”

“Seriously, what’s he like?”

I inhaled a deep breath and held it, thought about how I would describe Nico to someone who’d never met him. It was difficult because I didn’t know where to start.

Nico was a famous comedian. And he was hot. And sweet. And completely, totally, in love with Elizabeth.

“He’s great,” I finally said. “They have crazy schedules and hardly see each other. He learned how to crochet so that he could join our knitting group and spend more time with her.”

“He learned how to crochet just to please a woman?”

I smacked Roscoe again. “Yes. He learned how to crochet—for a woman. And you’re a dumbass.”

“I would never do that,” Roscoe said with a smirk. “Talk about losing your man card.”

I grunted and sighed. My little brother would learn one day that falling madly in love with a woman and cherishing her was how a boy earned his man card.

The indicator on the screen announced that a call was coming through, so I clicked on the button to accept the call. An image of Elizabeth and Nico’s penthouse materialized on the screen, and my heart was warmed by the sight. Sandra, Elizabeth, Janie, Fiona, Marie, and Nico were all sitting on the large sectional in the family room; a bay window in the background provided a stunning view of downtown.

It was Chicago. It was knit night. My friends were there. It looked like home.

“Ah! It’s you!” Marie smiled a huge smile and tossed her blonde curls behind her back. “Look at your beautiful face. I’ve missed it.” She blew me a kiss.

Marie always looked like she’d just stepped out of the pages of Vogue. Her ambition and her ferocious need for independence could make her come across as cool and calculating. Personally, I thought she was a badass.

“Hey, girl.” I returned her smile and sighed, feeling content in a way that I’d missed since stepping on that plane to Tennessee. “Where is Kat?”

“She’s getting beverages.” Marie tipped her head in the direction of Elizabeth’s kitchen, outside the frame.

“Who is that? Who is sitting next to you?” Elizabeth indicated to my right where Roscoe was sitting. “Is that Billy or Roscoe?”

“That’s Roscoe, and he was just leaving.”

Everyone in Chicago ignored me and waved at my brother, giving him friendly smiles and greetings.

“Hi, Roscoe. I’m Janie,” She introduced herself with a short wave as she twisted her long, curly, red hair into a bun behind her head. “It’s nice to meet you. You share a striking resemblance to your sister. But where she’s exceptionally beautiful, you are exceptionally man beautiful, which means you would not look attractive dressed up as woman.”

I knew Janie, so I knew she didn’t mean anything by this at all. She frequently made observations out loud that most people merely thought…quietly…in their head…where those thoughts should be.

Roscoe sat up straighter and leaned forward, his voice infused with Roscoe-swagger. “Hey, nice to meet you.”

“Down, boy.” Sandra laughed and indicated Janie with her chin. “You don’t want to mess around in the strawberry jam. Her husband is big and scary and makes people disappear on Fridays, or really any day of the week.”

“He’s not so bad.” This statement came from Fiona, the most levelheaded and also the oldest of our group, though only by a few years. She’d gone to school for engineering, but then left the world of work to become a stay at home mom.

“He’s terrifying,” Nico said, causing everyone to laugh. I could see he was crocheting; both he and Janie crochet while the rest of us knit.

“Hello, Nicoletta.” I waved at him. We called him Nicoletta so he would feel like one of the girls. It didn’t help, however. No one could ever mistake Nico for being one of the girls.

“Hi, Ashley.” Nico returned my wave with a twinkly-eyed smile. “Marie is right, it’s good to see your face. I miss your dairy farm analogies.”

Before I could retort, Roscoe abruptly stood and darted out of the room. I frowned after his retreating form then shrugged, a bit perplexed by his sudden departure, but not curious enough to find out why he left so fast.

Just then, Kat’s voice sounded over the speaker of my laptop. “Oh my goodness gracious, look who it is. Fancy Yarn McGee!”

I glanced at the screen and saw Kat standing at the edge of the frame, her hands holding two glasses of wine.

“What are you talking about?”

“That’s my new name for you after raiding your yarn stash. Do you have any acrylic yarn in your stash? Anything synthetic? Or will only luxury fibers do?” Kat poked fun at me, obviously having dug through my yarn stash when she stopped by my apartment to water my plants. I didn’t mind the teasing at all, but the behavior was very unusual for her. Typically, she was reserved and quiet. It was actually really nice to see her breaking out of her shell; it only took her four years.

“That’s reverse yarn-snobbery, and I will not justify your questioning with an answer.”

Kat laughed, took a swig of her red wine, and claimed the empty spot next to Marie. “Fair enough. Seriously though, I totally stole some of your yarn. And your life-size cutout of Charlie Hunnam says hi.”

Before I could respond, I felt something hit me in the head, something unsubstantial. I turned and glanced behind the couch and saw a plastic cup on the floor. Lifting my eyes to the doorway of the kitchen, I found Beau and Roscoe standing there, out of the frame of my webcam.

I glanced at the cup then back at them, one of my eyebrows lifted.

They waved their arms frantically, indicating that I should join them in the kitchen, but said nothing aloud.

I turned back to the webcam, sighed, and announced, “Sorry, I’ll be right back. Two of my hillbilly brothers want to play charades in the kitchen.”

“Is it hillbilly charades?” Marie asked, her eyes on her knitting.

“What is hillbilly charades?” Janie perked up.

Sandra provided a definition that was only mildly offensive. “It’s where the male players have to be drunk on moonshine and are only allowed to give hints by playing different tempos on a banjo.”

“Or a jug. They can also give hints by playing on a jug,” Fiona added.

“And the answer is always the movie, Deliverance.” This gem came from Nico.

“Ha, ha. Very funny.” I rolled my eyes.

“Go right ahead,” Elizabeth said, waving her hand in the air. “And while you’re up, you might as well grab some red wine.”

“We’ll miss you while you’re gone, Ashley.” Nico grinned at me. He was really too adorable. Like, illegal levels of adorable. Someone should be held responsible for his adorableness in a court of law.

“Agree!” This came from Sandra. “Roses are red, violets are blue, rhyming is hard. Wine.”

Laughing at her nonsense, I placed my knitting to the side and padded to the kitchen. My mission was two-fold: berate my brothers for throwing plastic cups at my head and find wine. I wasn’t even sure we had wine. It suddenly occurred to me that I’d gone an entire month without red wine.

That was just not healthy.

As soon as I was within three steps of the entrance, Beau reached out and grabbed my wrist, pulling me into the kitchen.

“Ashley Austen Winston.” His voice was a harsh whisper. “Do you know Nico Moretti? I demand you answer me now.”

I assumed Beau meant Nico, Elizabeth’s husband, because Nicoletta and Nico Moretti were in fact the same person.

I gave my brother a look that I hoped conveyed the extreme nature of my irritation. “Beauford Fitzgerald Winston, you do not make demands of me. Not ever. You apologize for this appalling behavior.”

Roscoe darted forward, his eyes wide and accusatory. “Ashley Austen Winston! How could you not tell us?”

“It was none of your business, Roscoe Orwell Winston.”

“You know Nico Moretti, Ashley Austen Winston. You know him. And he’s hilarious.” Roscoe threw his hands up.

“Do either of you know if we have any wine?”

“Wine…? Wine? You want to talk about wine right now, Ashley Austen?” Beau shook his head at me and huffed. “I feel like I can’t trust you anymore.”

“Beauford Fitzgerald Winston, you are being silly.” Then, a thought occurred to me. My eyes narrowed as I surveyed them both. “Listen, if you can find me or go get me some red wine, I’ll introduce you to Nico Moretti. Do we have a deal?”

They both nodded in unison. “Deal.”

“Good.” I spun on my heel and walked out to the family room, intent on getting back to knit night. I could hear the group’s chatter coming from the small speakers of my laptop.

Just then, however, the front door opened revealing my brother Duane and my childhood friend / ex-boyfriend / now hottie police officer, Jackson James. Duane looked anxious and was pushing his fingers through his hair. Jackson was dressed in his police uniform, appearing much like he had a few weeks ago when I’d seen him briefly at the ranger cabin.

“No harm, no foul, Duane,” Jackson was saying, and I faltered a step, glancing between the two of them.

Jackson’s eyes lit up when he saw me. “Ashley!”

“Jackson.” I blinked at him then looked to Duane for a clue regarding what was going on. Duane sighed and rolled his eyes.

Duane was not being helpful.

Police Officer Jackson stepped forward, a giant grin on his face, and reached for my hands. “It’s good to see you, Ash.” His grin faded into an earnest expression of concern. “How are you holding up?”

I blinked at him some more, frankly startled by the sight of him. He was Jackson, but he wasn’t Jackson, and I hadn’t thought about him in years.

“Uh, fine. I mean, things are fine. Well, you know, they’re as fine as can be expected.” I stuttered and my eyes flickered to the laptop perched on the coffee table. The group in Chicago could probably see and hear everything that was happening right now in my family room.

“I’m so sorry, about everything.” Jackson said these words sincerely, gaining another step forward before reaching out and clasping my hands. His brown eyes held mine with such fixated concentration that I got the feeling he was apologizing for more than what was currently going on with my mother.

“Thank you for your concern, Jack. But Ashley’s got her family to support her. And I don’t think now is a good time. So….” Duane came up next to me, real close next to me, and crossed his arms, sticking his ginger beard in Jackson’s handsome beardless face.

“Duane Faulkner, I am perfectly capable of speaking for myself.” I nudged my brother’s shoulder and tugged at my hands.

Jackson didn’t release me straightaway, hesitating for about a half second before loosening his grip. He gave me his crooked grin, and his eyes were every brown shade of hopeful.

“Jackson.” I gave him a reassuring smile. “What’s your availability look like this week? I’d prefer not to leave the house, but I could make sandwiches. If Momma is up to it, I’m sure she’d enjoy a visit.”

“Oh sure, I’d like to see her too. Let me give you my cell phone number.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pen and paper.

I took advantage of the brief lull in conversation to glance at my computer screen and had to fight against an eye roll when I found my entire knitting group huddled in front of the webcam watching what was going on in my Tennessee family room with avid interest.

“I found the wine!” Beau came charging out of the kitchen grinning from ear to ear in triumph and holding a small bottle in front of him.

I sighed. “Beau, that’s red wine vinegar. That’s not red wine.”

“It says red wine on it.” He glanced between it and me. “What’s the difference?”

“I told you so, dummy!” This shout came from Roscoe in the kitchen. “She isn’t going to drink that. It’s for salad dressing and marinating.”

“We can’t all go to college and drink fancy wine, Roscoe Orwell. Some of us work for a living!” Beau shouted back, then frowned at Jackson as he handed me a folded piece of paper. “What’s this? What are you doing here, Jack? What’s this paper?”

Beau and Duane stood on either side of me, red topped and bearded columns of suspicion and displeasure.

Duane snatched the paper from my fingers and handed it to Beau. I squeaked a shocked protest, but Duane cut me off. “Jackson, what is your middle name?” he demanded.

Jackson frowned at Duane and said, “Uh…John.”

“Give me that,” I said, reaching over Beau’s broad chest to snatch the paper back.

“Well, Jackson John James, I don’t appreciate you pulling me over tonight—for no reason—just so you could weasel yourself into this house.”

“Duane Faulkner!” I scolded. “Quit being ugly—that is quite enough!” As I said this, the front door opened and in walked Jethro, Billy, and—of course—Drew.

I groaned and closed my eyes. Paired with my frustration was also a galvanizing restlessness, because Drew was here. He was in the room with me, breathing the same air. I took a deep breath and opened my eyes. As much as I wanted to keep them focused on my oldest brother, they instinctively searched and found Drew.

His face was devoid of expression, which meant he looked annoyed. His eyes flickered over my body once as though checking me for injury. It took all my power of sanity to extract my gaze from Drew and pay attention to my brothers.

“What’s going on?” Jethro spoke first.

“Jackson is giving Ashley his phone number, that’s what.” Beau said this like Jackson was giving me a body to hide.

“And they’re making plans to have sandwiches,” Duane added, crossing his arms over his chest.

I groaned again, “Oh brother.”

“Yes?” Jethro, Billy, Duane, and Beau all said in unison.

“Listen to me, you all need to back off and mind your manners. Jackson is an old friend. It is normal for two friends to engage in discourse!”

“Just as long as it isn’t intercourse,” Billy muttered under his breath.

I sucked in a sharp gasp. “William Shakespeare Winston!”

He gave me a scowl. “Don’t look at me like that. We were all doing just fine before you showed up. Now that you’re back, we suddenly have the attention of local law enforcement? We all know why Jackson John James is here, and it’s not for sandwiches.”

I heard some commotion coming from the speakers of my laptop and glanced at the screen.

Everyone in my knitting group was huddled together, obviously in front of the screen on their side. At some point, one of them must have made popcorn, because all seven of them were eating it, their eyes glued to the action going on in Tennessee.

All the bearded men in the room followed my gaze.

“Don’t mind us!” Marie waved at the camera on her side—so, essentially, at my entire family room. “Keep going. This is more entertaining than Nicoletta’s Jell-O wrestling.”

“I agree,” Nico added, stuffing popcorn in his mouth.

“Wait a minute. Is that…?” Jethro tugged on my arm and with his other hand pointed toward my laptop. “Is that Nico Moretti? The comedian with that show on Comedy Central?”

“Hi,” Nico said cheerily through a mouthful of popcorn. “Nice to meet you.”

The room plunged into three seconds of silence as everyone in my family room stared at my computer screen and everyone on my computer screen smiled back.

I don’t know how long this would have continued if Roscoe hadn’t rushed out of the kitchen with a big toothy grin on his face, holding a bottle over his head and yelling, “Wine! I found the wine!”