Beauty and the Mustache (27 page)

Gradually, like waking
from a dream, I was once again aware of the rain and the rolling
thunder and the lightning; the symphony that was a rainstorm in the
old mountains.

“
I’ve wanted to do that
for a while.” Drew’s voice—the sound and the tone—startled
me.

“
You have?” I lifted my
head from the wall and blinked at his inky silhouette, still some
distance away. “For how long?”

“
Since I saw
you.”

“
Since you saw me?” My
echo was a squeak.

“
Yes.” He admitted,
stalking closer. His eyes glinted in the sparse light offered by a
distant flash of lightning. They were focused with heated intensity
on my mouth.

I sought to clarify his
meaning. “Since you saw me tonight?”

“
No. Since I first saw
you. Since I first laid eyes on you and felt sorry for every
beautiful thing that was made no longer resplendent—nullified by
your being.”

I didn’t breathe for ten
seconds. When I did, the air left my lungs in a whoosh, and with it
departed my peace of mind.

“
Fuck….” I said, because
what I was feeling deserved a remarkably harsh expletive. “You
really are a poet.”

“
Ash….”

I shook my head and closed
my eyes because the memory of our damn hot perfect kiss, the vision
of him standing in front of me, the whisper of his delectably
distressing admission, became too much for my little heart to
handle.

“
No more talking,” I
begged. “I think your words aren’t safe for me to hear.”

They’re weapons,
I thought,
as sure as a
martial artist’s fists are weapons
. With
enough use, practice, and honing of skill, words were the weapons
of choice used by exceptional writers and poets. Minds can be
changed, hearts can be lost and broken, souls can be surrendered
given the right words.

Or the wrong
ones.

“
No more talking,” he
repeated, closer than I’d expected. His breath fell over my cheek
and his hands slid around my waist, pressing my body to his. “No
more talking.” He said again, this time as a whisper against my
neck.

“
Drew….”

“
Shh.” His hand lifted and
cupped my cheek, his thumb caressing my bottom lip.

I was mixed up and turned
inside out. I didn’t know what to say or do or how to move forward
from this labyrinth of my own making.

So I blurted, “Can we
forget this happened?” I didn’t try to disguise the desperation in
my voice. “Can’t we call it a mistake?”

He was quiet for a long
time, holding me in a full-body embrace, his hand caressing my
cheek and then smoothing its way down my shoulder and arm. His
fingers found mine, brought my wrist to his lips, and kissed it,
his breath and beard tickling the sensitive skin.

Then he pressed my open
palm to his chest.

At last, he said, “No,
Sugar. You know I’m no good at pretending.”

I released a shaky breath
and gripped the front of his shirt. “I don’t know what we’re
doing.”

“
Don’t you?”

“
I live in
Chicago.”

“
I know.”

“
I have a life
there.”

“
I know.”

“
Your life is
here.”

“
Yes, Ash, I know.” He
bent and kissed my neck, made me shiver.

“
When
all this is over,” I swallowed the last word, because
over
really meant
when Momma dies
, “I’m
leaving. I’m leaving and I’m not coming back.”

“
Sugar, I know all
this.”

“
I don’t want either of us
to get hurt,” I pleaded, but I wasn’t sure whether I was pleading
with Drew or myself.

“
Nothing you can do about
that.” He nipped my jaw then kissed it. “You underestimate how
deeply you cut when your intentions carry no knives.”

***

Drew walked me
back to the den, holding my hand as we navigated
the dark, then he left me with a quick and impulsive
kiss.

I watched his form depart,
listened for the sound of him reclaiming his spot on the couch, and
waited several minutes more. I don’t know what I was listening for,
but soon the only sound was my own breathing and
heartbeat.

Finally, I ducked into the den and my cot.
But my mother stopped me by calling out my name.

“
Ash, is that
you?”

I crossed to her bed and reached for her
hand. Her eyes were still closed.

“
Yes. It’s me.”

“
What’s wrong, baby? Can’t
you sleep?”

I opened my mouth to say
that I was just using the bathroom, but I stopped. I didn’t know
how much time she had left, and I didn’t want to spend any of it
pacifying her or being polite just for politeness’s
sake.

“
Momma, how did you meet
Drew?”

Momma laughed lightly and
gave my hand a feeble squeeze. “So…thoughts of Andrew are keeping
you up?”

I swallowed uncomfortably. “Honestly, the
rain woke me up. But I think thoughts of Andrew are going to keep
me up.”

She opened her eyes and
peered at me. “You want to know about Andrew.” It was a statement,
not a question.

“
Yes. I want to know. I’m
not upset—at least, not anymore, but I was for a little bit—about
you giving him your power of attorney. But why would you do that?
How well do you know him? How did you meet him?”

“
Well…let’s see….” Momma
slurred; she sounded drugged but not confused, yet not nearly as
aware as she had seemed earlier in the evening.

“
I’m sorry, am I pushing
you? We don’t have to talk about this.”

“
No, baby. It’s fine.”
Another weak squeeze as we held hands. “Let’s see…did you know
Andrew is a poet?”

“
Yes.” I’d found that out
several days ago, when he told me that fires leave behind
Ash.

“
I met him about three
years ago. I’d started a poetry-reading group at the library. I
think I told you about that when it started. Mostly it was me and
Diane Sylvester and a few ladies from the senior center. Anyway,
one day, in walks Andrew.” She paused and I saw her mouth curve
into a smile.

“
I asked
him if I could help him find something, thinking—of course—that
he’d wandered into our little group on accident. He asked if we
were the poetry group, and when I admitted that we were, he took a
seat. Well, you should have seen Diane Sylvester’s face; for that
matter, you should have seen
my
face. I think we were both in a
state of shock. Never mind those little old ladies from the senior
center, except Mrs. Cooper. She was as pleased as salt on crackers.
She’s a cougar, not that there’s anything wrong with that, but I
think she made Andrew a little uncomfortable when she kept licking
her lips at him.”

I grinned at this image. “How old is Mrs.
Cooper?”

“
Eighty two, but she was
seventy nine then, and—I apologize for being impolite—she’s got
lots of money.”

In Tennessee, or maybe just
in my little corner of it, it’s considered impolite to say the
word
money.
You
can talk about gutting a deer and making venison sausages, you can
talk about a bar fight, you can talk about your hemorrhoids and all
the icky squicky details of childbirth—but if you say the
word
money
, you
must apologize for being impolite.

“
So, what
happened?”

“
He didn’t say much during
the first meeting, but he was eyeballing me something fierce. I
thought I might have offended him. But he came back a second time
and read a few of his own works. After that, he asked if I wanted
to grab some coffee, so we did.”

“
Did you ever think he
was…interested in you?”

“
Oh, Lord no! He’s younger
than Jethro!”

“
But….”

“
But nothing. I knew it
wasn’t like that. Andrew was lost, I could tell from his poetry,
and he was looking for a home. He stirred my maternal instincts,
not my womanly instincts. Besides, at the time he needed a woman
like a cow needs a saddle. What he needed, and what I tried to
provide him, was an unconditional ear and support.”

“
Why do you trust him so
much? I mean, you signed over your medical decisions to him. He’s
the executor of your will.”

“
Because I know him. I
know his history and his heart. He’s….” she sucked in a breath and
looked to be searching for the right words to continue. “Ash, he
feels like a son to me. And I hope he knows that. I hope he sees me
as the mother he never had, at least I hope I’ve filled that role
for the three years we’ve known each other.”

“
He didn’t have a
mother?”

She sighed, “Baby, that’s
not my story to tell. But I will tell you this: I trust Andrew
Runous more than I trust you right now.”

I flinched.

She
tsked
. “And that’s not because I love
you less. I love you to the stars and beyond, just like always. But
you’ve got a sensitive heart, and your momma is dying, and your
brain is all catawampus. I remember when my mother died. I made
terrible decisions in the months that followed. I almost reconciled
with your daddy. It was a mess.”

I understood what she
meant. Despite my initial reaction to her admission, I realized
that I also trusted Drew more at this moment. He’d broken the kiss.
He’d left me at the door to the den. I was thankful that he was
there to deal with all the logistics and details so that my
brothers and I could spend our time and energy on our
mother.

“
There is something else
that’s been nagging at me,” I persisted. I didn’t want to tire her,
but she seemed especially lucid right now, so it seemed like a good
time to ask. “Why didn’t you ever tell me about how things had
improved around here? The boys are doing so much better than I ever
would’ve imagined. Why didn’t you keep me up to date on all that? I
know I should have asked more, but I thought….” I paused, searching
my mind, then added, “I thought things were unchanged because you
never told me otherwise. I thought they were still all
rascals.”

Momma was very quiet, and
I could tell she was thinking; at last she shook her head, her eyes
unfocused, and said, “I don’t know. Your time here, growing up, it
was hard in this house full of disorderly, unfeeling boys. Maybe I
thought I was protecting you…they were so much like your father
back then… but that doesn’t make sense. I just don’t
know.”

This answer surprised me,
especially since she sounded lost. I couldn’t think of anything to
say.

Before I could form a
response, she said, “Maybe I was living through you, maybe just a
little bit. Maybe I envied the life you had, the one you made for
yourself. Maybe I wanted to keep you all to myself. I don’t know,
baby. I didn’t talk to them about you either; and you know, they
never asked. Sometimes we behave in ways that make no sense, not
even to ourselves. It’s a madness; we all got it. And I’m not
perfect. But I’m sorry. Will you forgive me?”

“
Yes. Of course, yes.” I
wanted to hug her but knew that was impossible, so I settled for
caressing her cheek.

“
Now, Ash, I got a favor
to ask of you.” She shifted in her bed and her face grew sober, her
eyes serious.

“
Sure, Momma,
anything.”

“
You’re not going to like
it. But I need you to listen to me, and I need you to trust
me.”

“
You know I trust
you.”

“
Ash, baby, I need you to
call your father. I need to see him, but—more importantly—he needs
to see all of you before I go.”

I couldn’t speak because I
was certain I’d misheard her. She couldn’t possibly be asking me to
invite that man into this home. Not now. Not ever.

“
Why, Momma? I just don’t
understand how you could….”

“
Ash, you need to trust me
on this. There are things you don’t know.”

I released a disbelieving
snort. “Then tell me.”

“
No, baby, because then
you’ll go off and call him and tell him yourself. I know your
daddy, and I know what I’m doing. I need to tell him face-to-face.
He needs to see all of you, all of you together, united. He needs
to see it so he knows he doesn’t have any wiggle room—because all
he needs is a little wiggle room in your head or Jethro’s or
Beau’s. You all need to support each other. That’s what he needs to
see.”

“
What are you talking
about? Wiggle room for what?”

“
Ashley, Darrell knows I’m
sick. He’s waiting, biding his time, and then he’s going to come
after this place and everything with it—that means your trust funds
too. He won’t get it, not outright, but he’ll try. And that’ll be a
nightmare for your brothers. You don’t live here anymore, but this
is their home. This place belongs to you all, but your daddy won’t
be happy about that. You think I want you all to deal with him
during the funeral? We need to settle this now.”