by Penny Reid
At length, looking pensive, Drew cleared his throat before starting again. “I looked up your father when I was in college, then I found out where he married your momma, and I discovered that she still lived here. I was curious about her. So when a game warden position opened up, I used the job interview as an opportunity to meet her.”
I propped my head up with one hand and laid the other on his chest, peering down at him. “And how’d that go?”
He smiled. “She was something else.” Then he frowned again. “In a lot of ways, she reminds me of Christine: soft hearted and sensitive, but also with a talent for sass.”
I chuckled and rested my chin on his chest. “She does have a talent for sass.”
“Sass has a genetic component. It’s passed down from mother to daughter.”
I rolled my eyes, “Whatever, Nietzsche.” Then I recounted one of my least favorite Nietzsche quotes, “‘There are no facts, only interpretations.’”
Drew reached his hand into my hair and began combing his fingers through it as he’d done a few moments ago, and I had an out-of-body experience.
I honestly didn’t know how I’d arrived at this place, this time, this moment. I was a person I didn’t recognize, but I had a faint sense of knowing from a long time ago. I was someone from my past when trust was freely given, and my overly idealistic mind jumped to romanticized conclusions even when faced with realistic expectations, good judgment, and logic.
I was lying in a field of wildflowers…wildflowers. I was half on top of fictionally handsome Drew. His hand was in my hair. We’d just been kissing. I trusted him because he’d proven himself, through his actions, to be trustworthy. And I was giving no thought to real life, sorrow, or the ramifications of willfully surrendering to this mountain of a man.
I had to shake myself out of my trance, because Drew was speaking again, and I wanted to hear.
“…At the library, so I came by the next week again. This time I brought some of my own poetry and, I don’t know why I did it, but I showed it to her. She read it, made some suggestions, then gave me a book of poetry by e. e. cummings.”
“Ah, I love e. e. cummings.” I sighed when I said this, because I really loved e. e. cummings. Whenever I needed a shot of romance or a dose of raw galvanized euphoria, I’d read e. e. cummings. He jumpstarted my heart. He made me feel like I held a light within myself that could scorch and smolder and rage like an inferno—or that showed me I at least had the potential to burn. I just needed someone who knew how to light the match.
Drew smiled at me then kissed my nose.
This should have struck me as strange, these careless intimate touches, but it didn’t. They didn’t. He didn’t.
Obviously, I was insane.
And because I was insane, I snuggled closer to him and asked, “Roscoe said you beat the crap out of Jethro one time.”
Drew nodded as he picked up my hand and laced his fingers through mine, studying my fingertips.
“Yeah. It was after I accepted the job. I’d been here for about two months. Your mother had me over for dinner a few times. Jethro knew who I was, had met me more than once....” He was quiet for a long time as he investigated my fingers, tested how we fit together, compared the sizes of our palms.
I was mesmerized by this little dance of our hands and lost track of what we were discussing. When Drew continued, it took me a few seconds to remember the topic. “I think he did it because it was the only way he knew how to get attention.”
“What? Who?”
He placed my hand over his heart then gave me a quizzical grin. “Jethro. My bike. I think he stole my bike in order to get my attention.”
“Ah, and you beat him up?”
“I didn’t know it was a call for attention at the time. I just thought he was an asshole stealing my bike.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at this. Poor Jethro. He’d had a hard time of it, being the oldest. He knew our father the best out of all of us, and being Darrell Winston’s firstborn wasn’t an enviable position.
“But then you became friends.”
“Yep. We did. Good friends.”
“Like brothers?”
Drew looked at me for a beat then glanced away as though pondering this concept. “I hope so, but I wouldn’t know. I don’t have any brothers.”
“What about other family? Aunts? Uncles? Cousins?”
“My mom was an only child. And my father’s family…they’re all high society, rich oil people in Houston. They don’t much understand me, and I don’t care to understand them.”
“What do you mean? They must be proud of you. You’re a friggin PhD from Baylor for hootenanny’s sake.”
His smile was warm, but it barely met his eyes. “I mean, to them, my sister was an embarrassment because she was mentally ill. When she died, they milked it so that my father would win his election. Then, when he and my fiancée started carrying on, they wanted me to publically endorse their relationship, because my father was slipping in the polls.”
As he spoke his eyes hardened; obviously, the memory was distant but the feelings were fresh.
“My sister Christine was an embarrassment because she’d been born differently and needed help. My father marries my fiancée, and I’m a disappointment because I won’t publically endorse their marriage. The hypocrisy of society, what is considered appropriate behavior, is completely baffling to me.”
I twisted my mouth to the side and contemplated the man that was Drew. He recited the details of his broken past with a detachment that was heartbreaking because it didn’t sound at all forced. And he’d just thrown it all out there, all his baggage filled with dirty laundry. He didn’t ask me to wash it, or pick it up, or like it, or smell it.
He simply said, Here. Look at this shitty mess. This is me.
But he wasn’t a mess. His family was a mess. Drew was beautiful and poetic and raw and real.
I thought about reciprocating. I thought about telling him about my father, how he’d been drifting in and out of our lives, conning us all. About how he used to hit Momma, how she put up with it. I thought about telling him the story of the day she finally threw him out, when she came home and found twelve-year-old Billy black and blue, and called the cops. Roscoe was two at the time.
Instead, I was quiet, like a coward. I wasn’t ready to open up my baggage and share my dirty laundry.
“What are you thinking about?”
Drew’s softly spoken question pulled me from my thoughts. He was watching me closely, and I briefly wondered if I’d verbalized any of my internal musings. We were face to face now, one of my legs was thrown over his stomach, chest to chest, and I was leaning over him on my elbow.
I shrugged and gathered a deep breath. “I guess I was thinking that you’re pretty brave, just throwing everything out there about yourself, about your family and your past.”
“I don’t have anything to hide.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Then what were you fixin’ to say earlier? You started to say something: I wish we could….”
Drew’s eyes seemed to burn brighter—intense and hot—at my mention of his unfinished statement.
At length he shook his head subtly and said, “I don’t want to say things you’re not ready to hear.”
“Can you give me a hint?”
His mouth hooked to the side, but his eyes were melancholy. “No, Sugar. I can’t. Please don’t ask, because I can’t think of anything more difficult than saying no to you.”
Of course this made me smile and feel warm from my chest to my toes. “Why do you suddenly like me so much, Drew?”
Drew touched his nose to mine and gifted me with a soft kiss before responding. “There’s nothing sudden about it.”
CHAPTER 19
“Don’t cry because it’s over; smile because it happened.”
― Dr. Seuss
“Will you make pie?”
“Pie?”
“Yeah,
pie. I think I could get Momma to eat your pie. She hasn’t been eating much.”
We’d resumed our earlier position; Drew’s arm was on my shoulders, mine around his torso. This time we were taking the direct path back to the house.
We hadn’t stayed long in our field of flowers because I felt anxious about getting back to check on Momma, and it was time to get dinner started.
“What kind of pie? Does she have a preference?”
“You’ve never made my momma pie before?” For some reason this surprised me. Drew made fantastic pie. It was pie that should be shared.
“No. I guess I haven’t. But she made me her lemon meringue pie a few times. I guess if I’d had to choose between any of my pies and hers, I would have picked hers.” He scratched the back of his neck then his beard. “Maybe I’ll try to make her lemon meringue.”
“Hey, that would be great.” I smiled up at him. “I think she’d really like that.”
“Well, don’t you two look cozy?” Beau called from a few feet away. Neither of us had noticed his approach, and we stumbled to a stop.
My brother smiled, glancing between Drew and me. “Mind if I join you?”
Without waiting for a response, Beau slipped his arm around my waist and encouraged me to do likewise with him. He then propelled the three of us toward the house, walking as a unit.
“I need to clean out the barn; it’s getting too messy to pull the cars in.” Beau spoke over my head at Drew then shook his head. “By the way, it’s nice to see you two getting along so well. I was a little worried at first after I heard about the titty-twister episode. Real big of you, Drew, to let all that go.”
“Hey! He was the one who woke me up at six in the morning.”
“Settle your mettle, woman. I’m just saying it’s nice to see you guys behaving like brother and sister is all.”
I felt Drew stiffen beside me, his hand on my shoulder flexed. I stole a glance at him and found his handsome face marred with a pensive frown. We walked several more paces in strained silence before Drew cleared his throat and slowed our steps.
“Beau,” Drew said, and his tone brought the three of us to a stop. “It’s not what you think.”
My eyes widened and I faced Drew, gave him my very best what-the-hell-are-you-doing face. He ignored me.
Beau gave both of us a perplexed grin and stepped away, holding his hands up. “No, Drew. Man, I wasn’t thinking that at all. I would never think that. Like I said, brother and sister.”
“Beau, it’s not like that.” Drew said this slowly, his arm on my shoulders tightening.
“Oh God,” I said on a quick exhale then closed my eyes.
“Drew, man, I know.”
“No. Beau, listen to me. I have feelings for your sister that are not brotherly.” He paused, his hand dropped to my waist, and he pressed me against his side.
My blood pressure spiked. I couldn’t open my eyes. The silence was just too awkward, too awful. Furthermore, I didn’t understand why he’d done it. He could have just walked along saying nothing, agreeing to nothing, contradicting nothing.
“Wait…wait, wait, wait….” I heard Beau huff. “Are you saying that you and Ash, that you two are….”
“Yes,” Drew said. “That’s right. And I respect you and Ashley too much to mislead you.”
Beau huffed again, and I opened one of my eyes to peek at my brother. Beau was looking at me with incredulous worry.
“Ash….” He took a step closer to me, his tone solemn. “I like Drew and all, he’s done a lot for us, but are you sure about this? No offense, Drew.” He shot a look at Drew then back at me. “What do you have to say?”
I glanced at Drew, found him watching me with his quicksilver eyes, his expression open, unguarded, and trusting. I couldn’t help but smile at him.
“Yes,” I said to Drew then faced my brother. “Yes, Beau. The answer is yes. Yes, I have no sisterly feelings for Drew. Yes, we’re getting along just fine, better than fine, way better than fine. But thank you.” I stepped away from Drew and reached for my brother’s shoulders, standing on my tiptoes to give his cheek a kiss. “Thank you for caring what I think.”
He smiled down at me like I was crazy. “Ashley, of course I care what you think. You’re my sister. If you’re not happy, then I’ll make sure….” His eyes slid over to Drew’s. “I’ll make sure no one is happy.”
***
Momma hadn’t woken up since I’d left to go butcher the roosters, which meant she also hadn’t eaten anything.
We still hadn’t heard from my father.
Drew went to work on the pie as soon as we arrived home, but I couldn’t sit still. My neck itched and I felt like I had bees behind my eyes all through dinner. The food, Jethro’s meatloaf, which was usually exceptionally tasty, was like sawdust in my mouth.
I insisted on doing the dishes, mostly because I needed to be moving around, I needed to be doing something. I finished in record time then set my mind to reorganizing the spice drawer.
When Joe, the night nurse, arrived, I followed him into the den. Cletus was there, sitting on my cot in his pajamas and reading what appeared to be a scientific journal.
Drew was also present. He was reading to Momma from the book The Neverending Story. I managed to give him a small smile, and the smile he tossed back did a good bit to both increase and settle my nerves.
“She still hasn’t eaten?” Joe asked this to the room, his voice quiet and concerned.
“No, she hasn’t,” I said, and my eyes met Joe’s. “Is it time for a tube?” I already knew the answer to this question.
Before Joe could respond, Drew said, “She doesn’t want that. It’s in her living will. She said she doesn’t want a feeding tube.”
My gaze darted to his. His eyes held an apology, but the set of his jaw told me it wasn’t negotiable.
“On Monday she was laughing and joking around.” Cletus said this from the cot. “Why is she so quiet? It’s only been five days.”
“Maybe she’s just tired,” I said, but it sounded completely lame.
I looked her over. A small sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead and upper lip. I laid my hand from temple to temple to check her temperature. She was cool.
“She doesn’t have a temperature,” Joe said. I could feel his eyes on me.
I nodded then addressed my next words to Cletus. “What do you think you’re doing? You’re in my spot.”
Cletus shook his head. “Nah. This is my spot tonight. You’ve been hogging it, and I want it.”
“Cletus….”
“Don’t look at me that way, baby sister. I’ll tell you what, if you can lift me up and carry me to my bed, then you can have this one. As it is, I’m tired and ready to sleep.” As though to punctuate his words he yawned and waved us toward the door. “Now get out of here. I already beat Joe at chess sixty times this week.”
“It was twelve times.”
“Yeah, might as well have been sixty.” He yawned again. “Go on, get.”
Joe chuckled as he left. Drew stood, placed his book on the wooden chair, and crossed to me. I wasn’t watching him. I was focused on and thinking about the perspiration covering my mother’s upper lip. It didn’t make any sense. The room was cool, but not cold. She felt cool, not clammy. I didn’t get it.
Drew fit his hand in mine and tugged on it, leading me out of the room. Once the door closed behind us, he pulled me down the hall, to the stairs, and up to my room. I followed him, still thinking about Momma’s lip and forehead, thumbing through my brain and all the possible causes for her sudden sleepiness and lack of interest in food.
I wondered if I should wake her up to eat the pie. I was pretty sure she’d be interested in pie.
“Hey…where you going?” Jethro called after us, rousing me from my thoughts.
“I’m taking Ashley to bed,” Drew responded without turning to look at my brother or stopping our ascent up the stairs.
“Oh.” I saw Jethro nod, his gaze
watching us. Abruptly his eyes narrowed and he planted his hands on his hips, but he said nothing else.
Drew led me into my room and closed the door behind us. I was tired. I was also distracted. So when Drew turned and kissed me—a soft, lingering closed-mouth kiss that made me forget what I’d been thinking about and where I was—my hands twisted around his neck and I kissed him back, pressing my body to his.
We did this for a while. He kissed me. I kissed him back. He seemed to be holding himself on a tight leash, because he was controlling the intensity level by withdrawing every so often and placing feathery kisses on my neck and collarbone. His hands stroked and massaged my back, yet never felt anything but frustratingly comforting.
However, when the back of my knees hit the bed and I fell backward, and he climbed onto it and loomed above me, the room—and everything else—came into focus.
“Wait a minute, wait a minute….” I pressed my hands to his chest as he hovered over me, bending to bite my neck. “What are we doing?”
“Kissing, he whispered in my ear then licked my earlobe.
I shivered, swallowed, and squeezed my eyes shut. “I don’t think we should be doing this.”
“Why?” He continued to kiss, lick, bite—repeat.
“Because I….” I breathed out a ragged sigh. “Because I’m worried about Momma.”
He stopped his sweet ministrations and lifted his head, his eyes moving over my face. He seemed to be considering me as well as what I’d just said.
After several long moments, he lay on his side next to me and threaded his fingers through the long locks.
“I know, Sugar. I was just trying to distract you.”
I turned on my side and faced him. “You were doing a good job.”
His lips twisted to the side and he watched me, his hands moving in my hair, then he surprised me by saying, “I’d like to sleep here with you tonight.”
I opened my mouth, but didn’t know how to respond because I wasn’t sure what he was asking.