Beard In Mind: (Winston Brothers, #4)
Page 42
Gone.
I’m not fine.
I stared at the spot where they’d disappeared, part of me hoping they’d change their mind, another part of me knowing they wouldn’t.
It was time.
Our paths had diverged.
He was gone.
And I was left.
I’m not fine . . . I took a deep breath. But I will be fine.
“Where are you parked?” Shelly directed this question to Claire, rousing me from my contemplations. “We’ll walk you to your car.”
“You mean Jessica’s car.” Claire slid her arm around my waist and gave it a squeeze.
Life was moving on, people were talking. I forced myself to pay attention.
Ashley caught my eye and she crossed to us, shaking her head and wearing a teasing smile. “I see I’ve been replaced.”
After Duane and I told Claire about our maternity, and explained that within our family only Billy knew the truth, she gave us the go-ahead to tell everyone else. Unsurprisingly, none of our siblings—or our sibling-in-law—seemed to care two stitches that Christine St. Claire was our biological mother. But they all expressed happiness at the prospect of Claire coming into the Winston fold.
Well, everyone except Billy. He remained quiet on the matter until Duane had asked him point-blank what he thought about me asking Claire to Thanksgiving and Christmas.
To which Billy responded, “If she comes to Christmas, I’ll be the first to hang the mistletoe.”
We took that as approval.
But one thing was for certain: even if our momma hadn’t been on a pedestal in our minds before, she’d now been elevated to the rank of saint.
“You haven’t been replaced.” I reached for Ashley as Shelly and Claire moved to one side, giving us some space. I pulled my sister into a hug, and teased her back. “You’ve been supplemented.”
“Fine. I see how it is.” She laughed, leaning away, her hand sliding to mine. “I love you, Beau.”
“I love you too, Ash.”
She stared at me for a moment. “Are you okay?”
“I will be.” Just not quite yet.
Ash’s attention moved to where Shelly and Claire stood a short distance away, their heads together. “I was thinking about our conversation, back in October, about how things change. It seems to me things are changing so fast, every time I blink, something crucial is different.”
“And some things never change.” I squeezed her fingers. “Like how if you’re not happy, then no one gets to be happy.” I shifted my eyes meaningfully to Drew.
My sister laughed, the joyful sound raising my spirits as she followed my line of sight. “Oh, I’m happy. Probably more happy than I deserve to be.”
I disagreed. My sister—my sisters—deserved every happiness, and I wasn’t above meddling to make sure it happened.
We all moseyed toward the parking garage after that. None of us seemed to be in any hurry to leave or get on with the business of our day.
Claire, Shelly, and Ashley were trying to find a mutually agreeable date to make soap. Apparently, Jennifer Sylvester—who was currently in New York—had offered to teach Shelly. Mrs. James chimed in that she’d like to learn as well. Sienna and Jethro then asked if they could tag along.
The Sheriff, Roscoe, and Billy were talking about politics—local, not national—and I caught them saying something about the Paytons. At intervals, I also noticed Billy’s eyes stray toward Claire. She was walking next to me, so at first I thought it was me he was watching.
But, no. It wasn’t me. It was my sister.
Hmm . . .
Drew and Cletus were discussing Cletus’s recent boar hunting trip. He’d just returned the previous night. Duane and I had used the small window of time to fill him in on our meeting with Christine. Cletus had told us to let him handle Darrell and not worry about it. He’d also told us to keep the news to ourselves about Darrell being up for parole soon.
I trusted Cletus, but I couldn’t help worrying about it.
As we strolled past the check-in counters, I wasn’t so lost to my thoughts that the flash of a familiar face escaped my notice. I did a double take, and then I stiffened, my steps faltering, as the face came fully into view.
Repo, one of the highest-ranking members of the Iron Wraiths, was leaning against the wall just past the corner of the check-in, his eyes lowered to the floor. He was standing conspicuously close once I caught sight of him, but inconspicuously far away until I had.
Maneuvering next to Cletus and Drew, I whispered, “Hey. Why’s Repo here?”
“What? Where?” Cletus cast his eyes about.
“Stop it. Don’t look. He’s over there, to the left, by the Delta line.”
Drew was much better at acting natural than Cletus. The big guy turned slowly, like he was checking his pocket for something, then glanced up.
“Yep. That’s him.”
“Do you think this is about Christine?”
“No.” Cletus shook his head, following Drew’s line of sight and lowering his voice. “Repo being here has to do with Jess. It’s not about you, or Duane, or . . . that other matter.”
“Jess?” I looked from Drew—who also seemed confused—to Cletus. “What does Repo have to do with Jess?”
Cletus placed his hand on my shoulder and began in an instructional air, “You see, my dear boy, Duane and Jess have a lot in common.”
“Meaning?”
“I suspect Repo is her daddy.”
“What?” I jerked back, but managed to keep my voice quiet. “What the hell?”
Clearly there was more to understand about the Wraiths than I wanted to know.
Meanwhile, Drew sighed. “I’m going to need a chart to keep up with y’all. I can’t remember who is related to who these days.”
* * *
“Socks, underwear, jeans, boots, and an extra coat.” She ticked the items off a printed list.
“Leave them there.”
“What?”
“Your underwear.”
“Where?”
“In Chicago.”
Shelly tilted her head to the side, her gaze flickering over me. “Why would I leave my underwear in Chicago?”
I was lying in the bed on my side, watching her. My pillow was folded behind my head, hers was clutched to my chest. “All they do is get in the way.”
She threw three pairs of underwear at me.
I laughed, pulling them away from my face. She had good aim.
Shelly was packing for Chicago. She’d promised to spend Thanksgiving with Janie, Quinn, and Desmond, and so she was keeping her word. She’d only be gone five days, but I was going to miss her.
“T-shirts, extra T-shirts, sweaters, extra sweaters. Floss, toothbrush, toothpaste, night guard—”
“Night guard?”
“It’s the thing I wear to keep from grinding my teeth.”
“Oh. Right.” I twirled a pair of her panties around my index finger. It was blue and lacy. Just looking at it turned me on. I stopped twirling it.
“Moisturizer, cotton balls, Q-tips, shampoo, conditioner, brush. Yarn for Janie, whiskey for Quinn, thankful journal, two pens, graphite pencils, sketchbook, book for flight.”
“What’s that?” I sat up, inspecting her suitcase.
“What?”
“Thankful journal? What’s that?”
Shelly reached into her grey bag on the floor, pulled out a composition notebook, and tossed it to me. “This.”
“You have a diary?” I didn’t open it.
“No. Dr. West said a diary wouldn’t be a productive use of my time. That’s just a book of lists.”
“Oh.” I glanced at the cover; she’d written Thankful Journal in black sharpie, all caps. “What do you mean, lists?”
“Things I’m thankful for.” She scratched her forehead distractedly. “I’m going to bring LUNA Bars, in case I get hungry on the plane.”
“It’s your brother’s private plane. He’ll pro
bably have food for you. And by lists, do you mean a running list? You keep a running list of things you like?”
“No. Every day, a list of—just look at it. You’ll see what I mean.” She grabbed her checklist from the dresser and strolled out of the room.
I watched her walk down the hall, and then turn right, into the kitchen. She was probably grabbing those LUNA Bars.
Smirking at her stubbornness, I flipped open the journal and scanned the first page. It started spring last year and it was just what she’d said, a list of three things under each date.
April 6
1. Pepper
2. Awls
3. Stoneware mugs
* * *
April 7
1. Sunshine
2. Rain
3. Mud
* * *
April 8
1. Ivan
2. Laika
3. Oliver
* * *
Flipping ahead, I skimmed pages until something caught my eye toward the middle of the book.
* * *
September 22
1. Auto lifts
2. Air compressors
3. Beau Winston
* * *
I looked down the hall again, heard a kitchen cabinet open and then close. Then I glanced back to the book, flipping another page, then another, automatically scanning it for my name.
* * *
October 8
1. Silver forks
2. Switchbacks
3. Beau Winston
* * *
October 18
1. Classic cars
2. Beau Winston
3. Kissing
* * *
October 19
1. Beau Winston
2. The basin sink at the shop
3. My brother
PS I am not thankful for corn chips
* * *
A short, disbelieving laugh burst from my lungs. I shook my head, sitting up completely in the bed as I read page after page, seeing my name more and more each day.
* * *
October 28
1. Beau
2. Dr. West
3. Pajamas
* * *
October 29
1. Beau
2. Long walks
3. Autumn
* * *
October 30
1. Beau
2. Cotton sheets
3. Hot tea
* * *
October 31
1. My TIG Welder
2. Beau
3. Books
* * *
November 1
1. Beau
2. Sex—especially oral sex
3. Teacups
* * *
“See? Lists.” Shelly said, breezing back into the room.
I looked up, finding her carrying two boxes of LUNA Bars and shoving them into her suitcase.
It was too much.
The journal was too much.
She was too much.
Placing the book reverently on the nightstand, I reached for her arm as she straightened and pulled her to the bed, bringing her on top of me. Her hair fell like a curtain around us, her eyes wide as they moved between mine.
“What?” she asked, soft and curious.
“I love you.”
“I know that.” She grinned, soft and open.
“And I’m grateful for you.”
“Good.” Her grin grew, her lovely gaze dropping to my mouth. “What date did you read last?”
“November 1. It was my favorite. I might read it again.”
She laughed, resting her elbow on my chest and placing her chin in her palm. “You stopped just when it was getting good.”
Holding her gaze, I lifted my head. I kissed her.
And I stopped, just as it was getting good.
I stopped my mind.
I also asked time to stand still.
Because I’d been wrong.
In life, there are three periods of time: before, after, and now. I’d always thought of now as a limbo. Sometimes, rarely, it was limbo.
But in the scheme of things, if I took the time to stop and open my eyes; if I paid attention, and counted my blessings, now wasn’t limbo.
Now was heaven.
Epilogue
“Whenever you think or you believe or you know, you're a lot of other people: but the moment you feel, you're nobody-but-yourself.”
― E.E. Cummings
* * *
*Beau*
“Bend over, Darin!”
Shelly grimaced, her gaze lifting to Ashley. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought him.”
“I think he’s great.” Ashley leaned her elbow on the table, her attention affixed to Oliver. “He should come to Christmas Eve dinner every year and we should make his statements into a drinking game. Every time he tells Darin to bend over, we take a drink of Cletus’s moonshine eggnog.”
“Hard pass.” Jethro shook his head adamantly. “Not to the drinking game, but to Cletus’s moonshine eggnog.”
I had to agree with Jethro, the stuff was like drinking paint thinner mixed with eggs. But I wasn’t about to say so out loud, not while Cletus was sitting three chairs down from me and glaring at Jethro with malicious intent.
“Why does he keep telling Darin to bend over?” Jennifer Sylvester wrinkled her nose. She was sitting on Cletus’s lap, an arm draped along his shoulders while she absentmindedly twisted one of his curls around a finger.
Before Shelly could explain, Cletus suggested evenly, “Perhaps his last owner used suppositories.”
Both Shelly and I glanced at Cletus, then at each other. My shoulders shook with silent laughter and she closed her eyes, her full lips pressing together.
Despite Duane and Jess not being there, it had been a great evening and—so far—a great Christmas. Shelly had helped us put up a tree in the family room a few weeks ago and had assisted Jennifer, Ashley, and Sienna with decorations for the place.
Every time Ashley would say something like, “I wish we had some of those frosted glass bulbs,” or, “I wish we had real silver bells,” or, “I wish we had a better wreath holder,” Shelly would show up three days later with the item—custom made and gorgeous—and Ashley would trip all over herself with gratitude, wonder, and awe.
I think, other than me, Ashley had become her biggest fan.
So I wasn’t surprised my sister didn’t mind Oliver. As long as Oliver belonged to Shelly, the bird could do no wrong.
“Are we opening gifts soon?” Sienna yawned. “I’m sorry I’m so sleepy.”
“You’re pregnant, you’re allowed to be sleepy.” Jethro rubbed her back.
Roscoe sent her a cheeky smile. “Yeah. You’re sleeping for two now.”
I hid a yawn behind my hand, glancing at my watch—the Rolex, but now with a leather band—and saw it was getting late. We’d skyped with Duane and Jess earlier, both at Shelly’s place before we’d driven over, and again with the whole family once we’d arrived. They looked happy, like they were having the time of their lives, and Duane tried to impress us with his command of the Italian language.
Basically, he knew how to ask, Where is the toilet? and, How much for that car?
It was good to see him. We’d been emailing back and forth regularly, but it was good to actually see his face.
Shelly stood, taking Oliver with her. “I’ll put him back in his cage.”
The rest of my family also stood, most of us stretching as we did so.
“Let me get the pie out of the oven.” Jenn gave Cletus a kiss on the cheek, then moved quickly into the kitchen; my brother’s gaze followed her as she went.
I would have grinned at his obvious devotion to the woman, poking fun at his recent domestication much like I’d done to Duane last year with Jess. But I couldn’t seem to manage a grin. I was too nervous.
Shelly and I had an early flight in the morning to Chicago. I wasn’t stressing about traveling on Christmas Day, but I
did feel slightly ridiculous about our mode of travel. Quinn was sending his private plane to pick us up.
The nerves had very little to do with tomorrow and everything to do with today. I had something special prepared for Shelly and my whole family was in on the plan.
“Stop fretting, she’ll love it.” Ashley caught me by the arm as we migrated from the dining room to the Christmas tree. “And we’ll wait to give her our gifts until after she opens the book.”
“Okay.” My attention moved from Ashely to Drew; he was standing behind her, his hands on her arms. “And don’t make a show about it. Just give her the boxes like it’s no big deal. She doesn’t like to be the center of attention.”
“Don’t worry. We won’t,” Drew promised, issuing me solemn nod.
“Stop stalling,” Cletus appeared suddenly, put his hands on my shoulders, and steered me toward the living room, “y’all need to get a move on before Sienna passes out and we all have to watch Jethro revive her using mouth-to-mouth.”
I let him push me forward. I even let him guide me to the ottoman in front of the hearth. And when Shelly appeared, he insisted she take the spot next to mine.
Roscoe assumed his usual role of handing out gifts from under the tree, and soon the room was a mess of wrapping paper and opened boxes. Soft chatter was punctuated every so often by an exclamation of surprise and gratitude. A Bluegrass Christmas played softly over the speakers while the fire dying in the hearth crackled and hissed.
I held Shelly’s first gift on my lap, but I was running out of time. Soon my stalling would become obvious.
I didn’t want to do that. I didn’t want to stall. I wanted to be brave. I wanted to be worthy of her bravery.
Thus, I turned to her and shoved the first gift into her hands. “Hey, this is for you.”