by Penny Reid
But that wasn’t quite true. I was thinking of coming home to Tennessee for Christmas. Maybe we’d see each other then….
For some reason, the idea of seeing Drew in passing during family holidays made me feel worse than not seeing him at all.
Drew led me down the hall, past the bathroom where I’d dulled his razor, to a large bedroom. The walls were painted a pale green. A double bed anchored the center of one wall; the comforter looked to be an old quilt made with white and yellow hexagons of fabric hand-stitched neatly together in the honeybee design. A side table was next to the bed and a wooden bench was at the foot of it.
Much like the library I’d woken up in during my first visit, one entire wall was windows, but two of the glass panels were also doors leading out to a large porch or balcony. I couldn’t see much of the porch now, but in the daytime, I would have to explore it.
“You’ll sleep here.” Drew carried my suitcase to the wooden bench and added, “You can use the bathroom you used before. If you’re hungry, help yourself to anything.”
I nodded, thinking that the bed looked sublimely comfortable. It had that cushy appearance, like the mattress was that super swanky orthopedic memory foam and the pillows were feather.
He lingered at the bench, glancing around the space as though inspecting it.
“You should get some sleep,” he said, not looking at me as he moved toward the door.
Just then, an owl hooted.
I shivered and murmured, “Hootiedoom.”
Drew stopped in his tracks, his eyes moving to mine. “What?”
I gave myself a little shake. “Sorry, I said hootiedoom.”
His brow furrowed, but his mouth curved just slightly. “What is hootiedoom?”
“It’s when you experience a sense of dread right after an owl hoots.”
Drew stared at me for a beat then smiled. “I’ve never heard of hootiedoom. Maybe I should add it to my field notes.”
I was grateful for the break in tension, and I managed a small smile. “You have a PhD, and you’ve never heard of hootiedoom? What kind of graduate school was this ‘Baylor University’?” I used air quotes for emphasis.
“Obviously not a very good one.”
“Obviously. Then I’m guessing you never heard of Snipe-shivers?”
He pressed his lips together and faced me, his feet braced apart like he was planning to stay awhile. “No. I’ve never heard of Snipe-shivers.”
“Oh, bless your heart.” I’d said it before I knew I was going to say it. Obviously, some part of me craved bantering with Drew, engaging in a battle of wits and thinking about something other than death and funerals, and crazy dangerous family members, and leaving in a few short days for Chicago.
His mouth dropped open and his eyes became wide saucers under arched eyebrows. “I can’t believe you just bless your heart-ed me.”
“What?” I shrugged, hoping my forced expression of obliviousness was halfway convincing, “What’s wrong with saying bless your heart?”
“Ashley, I grew up in Texas. Ladies all over the south use bless your heart for one reason and one reason only.”
I shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have only good intentions for your heart.”
The air in the room shifted as soon as the words left my mouth, my last statement echoing between us, and I realized their double meaning way too late.
“Do you?” He said this simply, the smile waning from his lips.
Drew broke eye contact first, took a step back, and lowered his eyes to the floor. “I’ll let you get some sleep.”
Unthinkingly, I stayed his retreat by grabbing his arm just above his elbow. “Wait, Drew.”
His eyes sliced to mine and a grim smile seemed to curve his mouth both up and down. He covered my hand with his. “The funeral will be on Wednesday. I imagine you’ll want to get your flight booked as soon as possible. I have a satellite connection up here for the wireless.”
I sighed, my heart feeling like dead weight in my chest, so I likely sounded overwhelmed when I said, “I honestly don’t know what I want.”
“Ashley….” Drew stepped forward and cupped my face with his big paw. I immediately wrapped my hands around his wrist to keep him there. His eyes became lost while studying my face. The fact that he was staring at me didn’t feel weird because I was staring at him. I had a mounting urge to memorize every detail of his features, just in case—after this week—I never saw him again.
His expression sobered, like his eyes were once again focusing, and he said, “Ash, you just lost your momma, and I just lost a really good friend. Now you know I don’t think of you as a sister…” His eyebrows lifted as he said this, his voice dipped with Texas charm, and it made me laugh even though I felt close to crying.
“Yes. And you know I don’t think of you as a brother.” I sniffled, proud of myself for not succumbing to tears.
“Good.” He kissed my nose, his thumb tracing my cheek, and then he held me away and looked into my eyes. “So let me be the friend you need to help you get through these next few days. Stay here, with me. I’ve told you before, I’ve got no expectations of you. I’m not asking anything from you. You have your life in Chicago; I know that. There’s no pressure here.”
I nodded, feeling a twinge of both disappointment and relief—but mostly disappointment, which made me feel wholly disoriented—when he reminded me that ours was a relationship with no expectations.
Despite my confusion on the subject, I wanted what he was offering. If we could focus on comforting each other, then I was going to make the most out of the next few days. I was going to take as much comfort from Drew as he was willing to offer. And I was going to try to be the friend he needed in return, even if he didn’t actually need anything from me.
“Okay,” I said, shuffling a half step forward. “If that’s the case, then I want you to sleep with me—just sleep—like we did last night. Because I could really use a Viking man-pillow right now.”
“Viking man-pillow?” His lips pressed together again and his beard twitched.
I nodded, gazing into his silvery eyes, my hands slipping from his wrist to wrap around his waist. I wanted to commit his closeness and comfort to memory. I wanted to live the next few days like we could spend forever on top of this mountain. I wanted him to teach me how to just be.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“From which stars have we fallen to meet each other here?”
― Friedrich Nietzsche
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 philoso
phies; 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 fr
om 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.”