We visited with the minister to talk about the service, and I cried.

We went to the funeral home to confirm the details, and I cried.

We stopped by the cemetery to check out the burial plot, and I cried and cried.

Several of Momma’s friends called Jethro while we were out and about, wanting to know about the wake, the funeral, the reception after the funeral. Jethro told me that casseroles had started to arrive en masse, and he asked if I thought a new deep freezer would be a good idea.

This made me cry.

Other things that made me cry: washing Drew’s T-shirts while doing my laundry; knitting; reading books; eating pie; playing chess with Cletus when he and Roscoe came over to Drew’s house to bring me Momma’s jewelry, her antique books, and all the letters she’d kept from me over the years; learning that the twins had finally butchered the roosters; hugging any of my brothers; making plans to visit over Christmas; and booking my return flight to Chicago.

I was set to leave Thursday afternoon, the day after the funeral, in two days’ time. I’d called my boss, let her know I’d be back to work Monday morning, and would have the death certificate faxed to the hospital’s human resources department. All my laundry was done. My bag was all packed.

Things that didn’t make me cry: laying and snuggling with Drew in bed; listening to the rain; drinking coffee with Drew before he left for work and arguing with him about the negative influence of the German composer Wagner on Nietzsche’s philosophies; Skyping with my friends; walking in the woods; making dinner with Drew for my brothers when they came up the mountain to visit; listening to Drew read novels out loud after dinner while I knit (of note, for some reason, knitting without his vocal accompaniment made me cry); then, discussing the merits of fiction versus non-fiction until 1:00 a.m.; Drew teasing me; falling asleep in Drew’s arms; kissing Drew; holding Drew’s hand; looking at Drew; being with Drew.

I tried not to dwell on how much I loved being with Drew, because if I did, I cried.

“I’m glad we cancelled the wake,” Jethro said; his eyes narrowed on the road. We were on our way back from the funeral home in town, and I could tell he was concentrating. The drive to Drew’s wasn’t simple; missing one turnoff could mean wasting an hour trying to find the way back. “It gives Darrell one less opportunity to spread his shit around.”

I nodded because I had to agree.

Since the confrontation on Saturday night, Darrell had been to the police station, the town hall, The Dragon biker bar, Momma’s church, Billy’s work, the ranger station where Jethro’s office was, and the Winston Bros. Auto Shop. He’d also been back to the house several times, so I’d been told, but left before the police arrived each time.

Darrell wasn’t the only reason we’d decided to cancel the wake. We didn’t want an open casket. As well, we were planning a reception after the funeral. There was no reason to have both a wake and a reception other than to give people additional time to make awkward conversation.

I could feel Jethro’s eyes on me, so I looked at him. His attention was split between me and the road.

“Ash, can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“What’s going on with you and Drew?”

I held my brother’s gaze for a beat, then inhaled slowly, closed my eyes, and let the back of my head hit the headrest.

“Jethro…I honestly don’t know.”

“But something is going on…more than just friends?”

I shrugged, still not looking at him. “What did he say? I mean on Saturday after I stood on the porch and told Darrell that Drew was my man. What did Drew say to you all downstairs while I was in my room?”

Jethro cleared his throat before he spoke. “He just said that he didn’t have sisterly feelings for you, but that he’d been trying to help you deal over the last month or so, trying to give you a sympathetic ear, comfort. He wanted to be what you needed.”

I nodded and swallowed; my mouth tasted like salt and disappointment.

Jethro continued. “He also said that he didn’t have any expectations because he knows you belong in Chicago. He was real insistent that he wasn’t trying to keep you in Tennessee. He said he wanted you to be happy. He said he wanted all of us to be happy.”

“And you all didn’t press him for more information?” I peered at Jethro, but his eyes were glued to the winding mountain road.

“We did, but Beau backed him up. He told us to stop badgering Drew and just ask you directly.”

“Hmm….” I watched the road ahead as a quick series of switchbacks had me holding on to the door. The trees were changing color, and some would argue that the old mountains were at their most resplendent in the fall. They were every shade of vibrant orange, yellow, and red. A few stubborn greens remained.

I briefly wondered if Drew had written any poetry about it, the beauty of the leaves changing. I felt confident that he’d do justice to the phenomenon.

“So…Ash? Are you okay with Drew? I trust him not to take advantage, but I’d like to hear it from you.”

I sighed. “Yes, I’m okay with Drew. He’s not…he’s not taking advantage.” If anyone was taking advantage, it was me.

“Are you two going to keep talking after you leave?”

I didn’t answer immediately because I hadn’t talked to Drew about it. As much as I wanted to keep in touch with him, I also didn’t want anything about our interactions to change. The thought of keeping in touch filled me with dread, because that meant talking on the phone or via email, not in person. It would be utter torment; we wouldn’t be able to kiss and touch and tease and argue.

It would be like watching the leaves change or listening to the rain in the Smoky Mountains via web cam. Sure, it’s pretty, but it’s a hollow experience. It only makes you sad because you’re not there to live it. I wanted to live Drew.

“I don’t know,” I finally said. “I haven’t decided.”

It was Jethro’s turn to say, “Hmm….”

We drove several more miles in silence, he with his thoughts, me with mine.

Then he blurted, “Today is Tuesday!” He might as well have screamed “Fire!”

I gasped and grabbed my chest, startled by the volume of his declaration. “Bejeezus, Jethro! You scared the tar out of me. What’s the matter with you?”

He shifted in his seat and said quietly, “I just forgot that today is Tuesday.”

“Well you don’t have to shout about it. You’re not going to make Tuesday any more of a Tuesday by hollering about it.”

He nodded, staring out the windshield, but I noticed he wore a suggestion of a smile. It was his I’ve got a secret smile.

I stared at him, trying to reach into his mind and read the reason behind his badly hidden grin. Obviously, it didn’t work.

“What are you hiding, Jethro Whitman Winston?”

We pulled into Drew’s short, gravel drive, Jethro still smiling. “No reason. I just like Tuesdays.”

He put his truck in park then jumped out, light on his feet, and opened my door for me. Now I knew something was amiss.

“What is wrong with you?” I said this as he reached for my hand and pulled me out of my seat.

“Nothing is wrong.” He kicked the door shut with his foot and gripped me by the shoulders, pushing me toward the porch.

“I am capable of walking in a straight line, you know. I’m not drunk.”

“Not yet,” he mumbled.

“What did you—?”

Just then, the screen door opened and Janie, my dear friend and member of my knitting group, stumbled out of Drew’s house.

Upon seeing us, her face brightened with a ginormous grin and she shouted over her shoulder, “She’s here!”

I stared at her and literally took a step back, quite frankly dumbfounded by the image of Janie standing on Drew’s porch dressed in sensible gray pants, a red long-sleeved fitted knit shirt, and four inch crimson stilettos. Even though she was naturally Amazonian height, she enjoyed walking around on girly stilts.

Jethro’s steps slowed as he caught sight of her, and I heard him say under his breath, “Butter my biscuits, now that’s a woman.”

I ignored him because everyone—male and female—reacted this way when faced with Janie for the first time. Janie was boobs and butt paired with a tiny waist and long legs. But my dear friend was completely oblivious to the effect her physique had on men; rather, she assumed men stared at her dumbfounded because she had a tendency to spout trivial information at random.

I still couldn’t believe my eyes that she was there, in the flesh; a towering, red-haired sight for sore eyes.

She rushed forward and hugged me, her cheek pressed to mine. “We just arrived. This place is amazing! The view is spectacular,” she gushed, and I knew it was only the beginning of a typical Janie observation. She stepped back, releasing me, and gazed around at the autumn color, which was at its peak. “Now that the chlorophyll is receding, the glucose is trapped, thus turning the leaves different colors. The ultraviolet light and diminishing temperatures are, of course, to blame. Kind of like how people become paler in the winter, it’s important to get enough vitamin D.”

She turned to Jethro, whose mouth was agape. “Hi, I’m Janie. You’re Jethro, the oldest. Did you finish your hat? Can I see your yarn?”

“I couldn’t find my way back up here if my entire yarn stash were at risk. How many turns did we take? Fifty? One hundred?” Elizabeth said this from her seat by the hearth.

Drew had started a fire because the weather had turned rainy and cold rather abruptly. As well, the temperature at the top of the mountains was always a good five to ten degrees cooler than it was in the valley.

“More like fourteen,” Drew answered, handing both Marie and Elizabeth a glass of wine.

I followed him with my eyes, looking up from my knitting just long enough to watch his easy stride and lissome movements as he crossed to the fireplace and added another log. He was grace in motion, and he’d arranged for my friends to surprise me by coming to Tennessee.

I had no idea they wanted to come for the funeral. During the Skype conversations since Momma’s passing, they hadn’t said a word about it, and I hadn’t asked. They all had their own lives and troubles.

But Drew had stepped in and contacted Sandra. Sandra contacted Janie. Janie asked her husband Quinn for the use of his private plane so that everyone could fly down together.

The men were in the kitchen and spilling out on the back porch, drinking beer and talking about who knows what, while the ladies were in the library knitting.

The house handled an impressive amount of people with ease. All my brothers were present, plus Drew and me. All the knitting group was accounted for, which meant six ladies and Nico. Plus, Fiona, Janie, and Sandra had also brought along their spouses.

Greg—Fiona’s husband—was currently in the kitchen making everyone laugh. He was a petroleum engineer and was gone most of the year for work; I was truly touched that he and Fiona had opted to come down, especially when their time together was so fleeting and precious.

“This place probably doesn’t even show up on aerial photos,” Fiona said thoughtfully. Her chair was next to the wall of windows, and she was gazing into the red, yellow, and orange wilderness. “It would make a great safe house.”

“Everyone is going to know where you live now.” Sandra pointed this out to Drew, and he gave her a smirk over his shoulder. She continued, “I’m going to take pictures and post it on Google Earth. You’ll have people knocking on your door trying to sell you cookies by next week. You can thank me later.”

“I’ll thank you now for not doing that.”

“Come on, Charlie,” Sandra implored, and she narrowed her eyes at him for effect. “Don’t you like cookies?”

“The name is Drew, and I like cookies just fine.”

A burst of laughter from the kitchen invaded our cozy respite, and I noticed Fiona shaking her head as her husband Greg’s voice rose above the others.

“…I didn’t care if it had bullet holes—the car was free. Are you telling me you’d turn down a free car just because it had bullet holes?”

Quinn’s tone was incredulous when he responded, “Please don’t tell me you drive your kids around in that car.”

“Uh, yeah. Of course I do.” Greg responded like Quinn had asked a ridiculous question, “That’s their inheritance, Quinn. I’m leaving my kids that holey car and my collection of antifungal cream when I die. No need to be jealous, but feel free to take notes.”

Kat chuckled as their voices faded; she turned to Fiona and said, “Greg is the funniest guy I’ve ever met. He should talk to Nico about becoming a comedian.”

Fiona snorted. “Um, no. I can’t imagine what would come out of his mouth in front of an audience.”

I saw that Drew cracked a smile, one that he was trying to hide.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “What? Why are you smiling?”

“Because your friend Kat is right, and so is Fiona. No offense, Fiona, but your husband isn’t right in the head. The stuff he says is hilarious, but it might not be ready for prime time.”

Fiona nodded once to Drew. “Exactly. That’s exactly right. Drew is a smart man.”

Drew stood, glancing around at us as he said, “If anyone needs anything, feel free to help yourself. There’s more food in the kitchen…” his gaze swung to Marie, “…and wine.”

“What?” Her eyes widened and she looked from side to side. “Why are you looking at me?”

He didn’t say anything, just gave her a good-natured suspicious glare. Before he left, he held my eyes and gifted me a small smile, then left the room to join the men on the porch. We heard a wave of chatter as the glass door off the kitchen opened then closed with his departure.

And that’s when everyone—but me—stopped knitting and shifted forward in their seats and leveled me with expectant stares.

Sensing their eyes, I sunk lower into the couch and said, “The fire is nice, isn’t it? So cozy….”

“Cut the poo, Ashley. What’s going on with you and the mountain man? When did this happen? How did this happen? Tell us everything. Leave out nothing. We want details! Also, I love that he wears suspenders. He totally pulls it off. I’m now buying Alex suspenders.” Sandra always did have a lovely way of cutting to the chase.

Marie raised her hand. “I second the motion about suspenders.”

“Third,” Elizabeth said.

“So passed,” Sandra announced.

I huffed hair from my forehead and set my knitting down, closing my eyes. “I have no idea. All I know is…he’s been awesome. He’s like…he’s…gah.”

“He’s ‘gah’? Uh oh.” Fiona said this, and I could hear the tempered amusement in her voice.

“No.” I opened just one eye, meeting her gaze. “No, there is no uh oh. There can’t be an uh oh.”

“Why, pray tell, can’t there be an uh oh?” Marie lifted her eyebrows, her eyes narrowed.

“Because he doesn’t…because I don’t….” I opened my other eye and struggled to put into words all the reasons Drew and I had no future; I settled on, “Because we just can’t…we just can’t uh oh.”

“Why not?” Kat pressed. “He clearly cares about you, and you care about him, and your family seems to like him—not that it should make a difference what your family thinks—so why not go for it? I mean, no one is perfect. And if you have feelings for him, you should act on them instead of pushing them aside and waiting too long. If you wait too long it’ll be too late, and he’ll start dating someone else, like a business analyst on the seventeenth floor.” At the end of her little tirade, it was clear that Kat was talking to herself.

We all stared at her, waiting for her to realize that she’d just inadvertently spilled a figurative can of beans.

“Uh…what?” Marie asked.

Kat sighed, finishing her wine with three gulps, her face shading a color to match; she continued in a quiet voice. “I just meant, don’t push him away if you care about him.”

Fiona cleared her throat, drawing our attention to her, and gave a little shake of her head. This meant that we should leave Kat alone and not press the issue.

Sandra, as usual, was the one to pick up the dropped ball. “Well, back to delicious Drew. I can understand why you’re hesitating. He’s a game warden in Tennessee. It’s not like he could get a job in Chicago.”

“He could, just not as a game warden,” Janie volunteered. “He’s got a PhD in biology and wildlife management from Baylor. He could easily get a job in Chicago.”

I shook my head. “No. No—I would never ask him to move to Chicago. He doesn’t belong there. He belongs here, in the woods and wilderness. He would wither and die in a big city. He needs wide open spaces and wild animals and breathtaking views and the quiet of the mountains. It wouldn’t be right; I would never ask that.”

“But what if he wanted to be near you?” Elizabeth squinted at me. “Nico left New York; he moved his TV show to Chicago to be with me.”

“That was different.” I was still shaking my head. “Nico moved from a big city to another big city and got the bonus of being closer to his own family. Doesn’t he have a sister in Chicago? And the rest of his family is nearby in Iowa?”

“Most of them, yes. That’s true.”

Sandra interjected. “But please tell me you two have done the deed.”

My mouth fell open in stunned indignation. “Sandra Fielding Greene, I know you did not just say that to me.”

“I did just say that. You two are having eye-sex every time you’re in the same room together. If you haven’t taken a roll in the hay yet, then you need to before you come back to Chicago with us. Tap that keg, Ashley. Tap it!”

“Fiona? Help me out here?” I looked to Fiona to be the voice of reason and found her watching me with a measured expression.

“Ashley,” she started, stopped, sighed, and began again. “Ashley, it’s clear to me that you are leaving Tennessee with a broken heart.” Her mouth tugged to the side and her eyes were sympathetic. “Your mother just passed away. You have to give yourself some time to grieve. Your path leads back to Chicago, at least for a little while. And Drew’s path is here in Tennessee. Whether those paths meet or cross again is entirely up to the two of you. Don’t let Sandra push you into an intersection before you’re ready.”

Sandra tsked. “Oh, you and your traffic analogies. Twerk and jerk, that’s what I always say.” Sandra smacked her thigh for emphasis.

“Ugh, Sandra. Can we have one conversation without you making twerking references?” Marie shook her head. “I am so over twerking.”

Fiona held my eyes and we shared a smile. Her advice gave me a measure of peace, but my selfish heart wanted everything now. It wanted Chicago and knit nights. It wanted my brothers. It wanted the old mountains and the fall colors, the winter snowfall, the spring blooms, and the summer fields of wildflowers.

My heart wanted my momma back.

And my heart wanted Drew.

Sandra’s crass response pulled Fiona and me out of our moment. “You know you love it. And besides, if you’re twerking right, you should be under and he should be over.”

“What is twerking anyway?” Fiona asked the room. “I saw someone on Ellen talking about it.”

“You don’t have enough junk,” I said. “Go eat more pie.”

“My junk’s in the front—the stomach,” Elizabeth said. “Is there a way to twerk with your belly?”

“No. That’s berking.” Sandra said this right as Kat was taking a sip of water, which promptly shot out of her mouth.

“Damn it, Sandra!” She wiped her chin.

“You’re lucky it wasn’t wine.” Sandra shook her head at Kat and tsked. “When will you ever learn, don’t drink when I’m talking.”

“Berking?” Janie asked. “Like the artist Bjork?”

“Completely different. Berking is belly twerking,” Marie explained.

“That’s not berking,” I said flatly. “That’s jelly rolling.”

The room erupted in laughter, and I couldn’t help giggling at my own joke.

“Oh my stars! I have missed you,” Sandra said, standing to give me a hug, pressing her cheek against mine. “I’m so glad we have you back.”

My brothers as well as my ladies and their husbands departed after midnight. Jethro led the caravan back to town where they were all staying in a quaint old inn until after the funeral.

Drew and I tidied up the house, bagging the remaining bottles for the recycle bin and wiping down counters. There wasn’t much to straighten, as Elizabeth and Janie had gone through the living area before departing and gathered all the empties. Fiona and Greg had washed and put away the dishes, and my brothers carted the trash away in the bed of Jethro’s truck.

As I was walking past the sliding door to the porch, I caught my reflection. I was smiling. It felt good to smile, and I was grateful for the distraction of my friends on the night before the funeral.

Drew caught up with me and kissed me on the cheek. “Go get ready for bed.”

I acquiesced and shuffled down the hallway to the bathroom, stretching my arms over my head as I went.

After I was all washed up and minty fresh, I changed into my pajamas and turned down the covers of the bed. A bright star out the window caught my attention, so I turned off the lights and opened the balcony door, stepping out to the porch.

It was still cold, but the rain had cleared. There was no moon. The stars were pinholes of brilliance against a black sky, vivid and bright. A sudden thought struck me: stars felt like a distant idea or concept in the city sky. They were dim and faraway.

But here, I felt as though I might be able to touch them if I lifted my hand, reached out, and wished hard enough.

“‘From which stars have we fallen to meet each other here?’” Drew quoted from behind me, and I turned to see him leaning against the doorway. He was still dressed in his black pants, white button-down shirt, and suspenders. But his boots were off.

I smiled at him over my shoulder then turned back to the sky. “Who said that?”

“Your old friend Nietzsche, as a matter of fact.”

I huffed a disbelieving laugh. “Are you sure? That sounds far too romantic for Nietzsche. It sounds more like Shakespeare or Byron.”

“In the context of the original text, the quote isn’t romantic. But I think Nietzsche was a romantic soul, in a way.” Drew’s voice was deep and thoughtful.

“How so? Was he very fond of cows?”

I heard Drew gather a breath before responding, a smile in his voice. “No, not precisely. He did say that women and men love differently, and I think there’s a lot of truth in his philosophy on the matter.”

“Let me guess, when a woman declares her love, she does so with sweet grass and clover. Cows love clover.”

“You’re never going to forgive me for the cow comment, are you?”

“Nope.” I shook my head.

We quietly watched the stars, and I thought about how I might be able to steal this moment and keep it, take it out and relive it when I needed Drew, when I missed him. Because I was going to miss him.

Drew broke the silence by saying, “I think Nietzsche would have appreciated the irony of his end-of-life situation.”

“What do you mean?”

“During his last years, he was completely reliant on the kindness and morality of his mother; then, after her death, his sister. In his professional life, he insisted that, at best, women were cows and that morality was an arbitrary construct of society. But it seems to me that women and morality showed him the truth in the end.”

I smirked at this, mostly because I was surprised by his words, but also because the thought was sadistically satisfying. This touch of sadism irked me about myself.

Humans are at their worst when they’re in the role of spectator. We eagerly watch as others receive comeuppance, yet we reject simple truths about ourselves even when the truths are gently administered.

I pushed these strange philosophical meanderings to the side, likely a sign that I’d been spending too much time in Drew’s company, and asked him for clarification on his earlier statement. “Specifically what truth was he shown in the end?”

“Well, to a dying man, intellectualism, pride, and philosophy have as much use as sand.” Drew felt closer, though I didn’t hear or see him move; his voice dropped in volume and tenor when he added, “Our will is only as strong as our body; the desire for what we need will always trump ideals.”

I shivered.

He continued, but he sounded distracted, like he was talking mostly to himself. The meditative, low timbre of his voice was hypnotic and paralyzing, and it made my heart beat faster.

“That’s always the way of things, isn’t it? In the end, our vision is clearest.” I felt the heat of him at my back just before he brushed his knuckles from my shoulder to my wrist in a whisper light caress. “Without being impugned by ideals—of image, perception, ambition, good intentions, even honor—we gain the knowledge of what really matters, knowledge that would have saved us from….”

I could hear the hesitation in his voice, so I prompted, “Saved us from what?”

“From wasting time.”