Beauty and the Mustache (7 page)

Somewhere outside, the roosters crowed. I
hated those damn roosters, always crowing, always making a fuss for
no reason.

Drew opted to remain
standing, his expression patient and sober.

“
Ashley.” Jethro’s voice
was tight and concerned.

“
Just a minute,” I managed
to say when I’d caught my breath. I wiped my eyes and added, “I
just need a minute.”

It took several minutes.
Maybe ten minutes during which I swung back and forth between the
urge to erupt in absurd laughter and unleash a tide of mind-blowing
anger.

After the initial red haze
of fury began to recede, I tried to see past my frustration and
hurt to the real issue. My mother was sick. She was dying, and
likely would be gone in six weeks…or so. Things needed to happen.
Arrangements needed to be made, and we needed to
prepare.

This, none of this, was
about me. It was about her, providing care and comfort to my momma
in her final days with as much selflessness as she’d given me all
my life. I rejected my instinct to take her decision to trust Dr.
Nobody with her medical and financial wellbeing as an indication
that she had no faith in me, her daughter.

I refused to be petty. I
would waste no time on anger, and at the very least, I would do my
best not to take this personally. She’d raised me better than
that.

When I was quite finished, and at a complete
loss as to what to say or how to proceed, I gathered a breath and
released it on a big sigh.

“
When did this happen?” I
asked the room, not caring who answered.

“
Three months ago,” Drew
responded, and he cleared his throat, his eyes flickering to
Jethro’s then back to mine.

I glanced between them. “Did you know she
was sick?”

“
No.” Drew shook his head,
his shoulders slumping. He appeared to be frustrated, and I
believed him. “She didn’t tell me she was sick. She just said she
didn’t want any of you to be burdened with making decisions down
the road.”

“
Well….” I said, finding
myself dangerously close to actual tears. I sucked in another
calming breath and endeavored to keep my tone open-minded and free
of derision, though I wanted to slap the beard right off his
face.

“
It
would seem,” I began, and then I stopped. I pressed my lips
together, cleared my throat, and swallowed, taking a moment to
steady my voice. “It would seem that you are the decider. So, Dr.
Decider, please tell me what
I
can do to help
you.
”

His eyes narrowed and
searched mine. He seemed confused by my response. Obviously, it
sure as heck wasn’t what he’d been expecting me to say. Most
likely, I guessed, he thought I was going to launch a full-scale
attack with woman-hysterics, accusations, and manipulative
maneuverings.

But that wasn’t how I
rolled. Prolonged irrationality wasn’t in my wheelhouse.
Recrimination was not my homeboy.

So we stared at each
other.

I cleared my face of all
expression and waited for direction. This was a ninja trait I’d
perfected while interacting with egomaniac physicians. I clenched
my teeth to keep from telling him what I thought he could do with
his power of attorney, where he could shove it, and whether the sun
shined in that particular locale.

Finally he spoke, “Your
mother appointed me to this role because she didn’t want any of you
to have to think about end-of-life decisions. She did this to spare
you, not to hurt you.” It was obvious he was choosing his words
carefully. His tone was reasonable, imploring, even
gentle.

I nodded. He made sense,
but it didn’t make me feel any better.

I glanced around the room.
“She’s coming home today. What have you decided regarding her
care?”

He grimaced, frowned,
sighed. “I’m not trying to usurp your role, Ashley.” He sounded
frustrated.

I glared at him again, my
jaw set. I spoke slowly so I wouldn’t be tempted to scream. “And
I’m not arguing with you. You have all the power in this situation.
I just want to know what I can do to help.”

Jethro finally spoke up,
placing a hand on my knee. “I just found out, Ashley. I had no idea
either. But I trust Drew. And Momma obviously trusted him. You know
how she is, not wanting to burden anybody. Drives me
crazy.”

I gave my brother a small,
conspiratorial smile. Jethro’s confession softened my hard edges. I
covered his hand with mine and squeezed. “No point in getting
twisted up in things that don’t matter. What matters is that Momma
is coming home today.”

I returned my gaze to
Drew. “If you’re waiting for me to freak out, that’s what my little
laughing fit was. I’m over it. It’s done. Nothing I can do about
this situation other than live through it. So, again, what have you
all decided, and what can I do to help?”

Drew crossed his arms over
his chest and glared down at me with skepticism. “We all talked a
little this morning about how to handle the next few weeks,
but….”

He paused when he saw my
eyes widen. My blood pressure spiked, my vision turned red, yet I
ignored my murderous impulses. I breathed in and out and listened
with all outward appearance of calm.

“
But your brothers said
that you were likely the only one who had some rough idea of what
to expect and how best to plan and proceed. This is assuming that
you’ll be staying in Tennessee.”

I nodded, my acute
hypertension gradually declining to near baseline levels. Drew was
asking for my opinion. I didn’t know if it was a token olive branch
or if he’d just handed me an olive orchard. Regardless, it was a
step in the right direction.

“
Okay, well, I think we
should put her in the den. It’s downstairs, has a door, and is on
the quiet side of the house. I can tell you that hospice will be
providing two nurses, one to stay during the day, and one to stop
in at night to monitor her condition. Regardless, I’m going to put
a cot in the den and sleep in there with her.”

Drew frowned. “You’ll need
sleep, good sleep. If you stay with your mother, your sleep is
likely to be interrupted. How can you take care of her if you’re
exhausted during the day?”

I swallowed my sharp retort
that where I slept was none of his business. “Someone
in the family
should stay
with her all the time. I don’t want her left alone.”

“
The nurse will check in
on her.”

“
But the nurse isn’t her
family.”

He narrowed his eyes at me
then looked to my brother. “There are seven of you. You’ll each
take a one-night shift a week.”

Before I could object,
Jethro nodded and said, “We’ll make a schedule.”

I closed my eyes briefly
and fought the urge to say,
You boys have
a gift for making schedules.

“
So, you’ll be staying for
the duration?” Drew pressed me. “How is this going to affect your
employment in Chicago?”

His question stunned me to
the point that I was bereft of words. He sounded like a father
asking his daughter to justify the soundness of her decisions. He
almost sounded like he cared. It was unnerving; especially since my
father was the least responsible and caring man I’d ever known and
had never made a sound decision in his life.

An honest, guileless
response—likely because I was so taken aback by the
question—tumbled from my lips. “I’m part of a union. We have
insurance that covers taking time to tend to critically ill family
members. They have to hold my job for three months.”

He considered this and
nodded. “Of course there are other issues, like house upkeep, bill
paying, groceries, incidentals, and the like.” Drew stared at me
for a moment—actually, he stared through me—and I could tell he was
re-tallying and considering all that would have to be done. “You
should return your rental car and drive your momma’s car while
you’re here. And I’ll give you access to her checking account for
household expenses, but I’ll take care of the monthly
bills.”

Drew’s pragmatism
surprised me. I hadn’t thought of who would be paying the
bills.

I nodded and stuttered,
“That…that makes sense.” Because it did make sense. In fact, I was
grateful. I didn’t particularly want to be the one having to think
about paying bills and related logistics. I wanted to focus on
Momma, on taking care of her and spending time with her.

“
I also suggest we hire a
house cleaner. Your brothers aren’t up to the task, and you
shouldn’t be bothered with it.”

I nodded again. “O-okay,”
I stammered, again surprised.

A long moment passed. At
first, the atmosphere in the room grew lighter as Drew and I
watched each other. But then his stare grew increasingly intense,
sharp, heated. My neck began to itch. I didn’t know him well enough
to guess at what he was thinking, so I sat very still and waited,
trying not to blush under his obvious scrutiny.

“
Right.” Jethro said,
breaking the moment.

Drew blinked as if he were
coming out of a daze and turned his focus to my brother.

“
This plan sounds solid,”
Jethro said, and he put his arm around my shoulders and squeezed,
then stood and nodded like everything was settled. “I’ll tell the
others how this is going to work. I can start putting together a
schedule.” He looked down at me and added, “Roscoe will be here
with you all day; he can help you take your rental car back, and
he’ll be here when Momma arrives.”

“
Okay, sounds good.” I
stood as well, crossed my arms over my chest. Everything was
happening so fast.

“
I’m fixin’ to put my
coffee in a travel mug, then we can head out.” Jethro gave Drew a
nod and walked back to the kitchen.

I stared at the carpet and
thought about the order of things to accomplish. Dress, eat, drive
to town, drop off the rental car. I also needed to find out
Elizabeth and Sandra’s arrival time. Maybe I could pick them up at
the airport.

I felt the heat of Drew’s
solid hand on my back just before he spoke. “I didn’t peg you for
the type to surrender so easily.”

I looked up to find him
standing a foot away. His gray-blue eyes ensnared mine and bored
into me as though he was dually trying to figure me out and will me
into submission. He’d said the words with a low intimacy that I
felt in my knees and hips. The word
surrender
seemed to echo in the room
and through my body.

The shift in the
atmosphere was palatable, yet I found myself wondering if I were
the only one who noticed. Was it a byproduct of my wonky,
grief-induced vulnerability? Were my emotions susceptible to
delusion? Was I imagining the galvanized tension between
us?

I issued him a miniscule
smile, hoping to convey irritation, while I tried to regain the
abrupt loss of my body’s ability to regulate its temperature. I was
hot, flustered, ill prepared, and emotionally unequipped to
interact with fictionally handsome men speaking to me in intimate
tones and staring at me like I was cake.

And what the heck was
wrong with me that I was even noticing Drew’s tone of voice? Let
alone his fictional handsomeness. My mother had just been given a
terminal diagnosis for heaven’s sake. I was wrong in the
head.

I swallowed, finding
strength in my self-recrimination. I leaned close and whispered,
“Understand this, cowboy: I’ve surrendered
nothing
.”

Inexplicably, he grinned.
It was small and knowing and smugly sexy, and I found it intensely
irritating. He quoted Nietzsche again, “‘Perhaps truth is a woman
who has grounds for not showing her grounds.’”

I stepped away,
immediately finding relief from my muddled hormones by putting some
distance between us. I held his gaze for a beat then walked
backward to the stairs as I dismissively informed him of a real
truth. “You can kiss my grits and my grounds, Nietzsche. And while
you’re at it, go jump in a lake.”

“
Which lake?”

I turned away and took the
stairs two at a time, not liking that my palms had grown hot. “I
don’t care,” I called out, “Preferably one with no
water.”

“
There is nothing I would
not do for those who are really my friends. I have no notion of
loving people by halves; it is not my nature.”

―
Jane
Austen,
Northanger Abbey

Roscoe and I
drove into Knoxville to drop off the rental car.
He took Momma’s car and I took the rental. On the way back, we
stopped by the hospital to check on Momma; she was asleep, so we
met with the hospice social worker to arrange her transport
home.

Roscoe held it together,
which was the opposite of how Winston men usually dealt with
stressful situations. Of course, this was based on previous
experience, which was now eight years out of date.

I also held it together
despite my ping-ponging emotions with Drew from earlier that
morning and the bizarre, intimate moment that followed. But then, I
usually held it together. My motto was
save your drama for your llama.