by Penny Reid
Disgusted, I’d left right then.
“Well, Drew beat the shit out of Jethro when he caught him trying to steal his 1971 Aermacchi Harley-Davidson Turismo Veloce.”
My mouth fell open, partly because an image of Drew straddling a classic Harley flashed through my mind and partly because the story was downright shocking.
I stared at Roscoe. “Did Drew press charges?”
“Nah. He told Jethro that he would pull some strings and get him a job as a park ranger if he promised to stop with the illegal bullshit.”
“And he did?”
“Yep. Well, mostly. Jethro never was in very deep with the Iron Order, so he was able to extract himself pretty quickly.”
The Iron Order was the biker club that controlled Green Valley and the surrounding counties. The Dragon Biker Bar was their hangout. At one point, I remembered Momma being afraid that Jethro would become one of them, but he never was much of a joiner.
Roscoe paused for a minute as he navigated a series of impressive switchbacks on the mountain road. In order to reach Knoxville, we needed to go up one of the mountains then down the other side.
When the turns were behind us, he picked up the story. “Jethro had to start at the bottom of the ladder and work up to the job he has now. He got his GED then went and got his AS degree, and finally, last year he got the job as a ranger. Now he and Drew work together all the time.”
He then spent the next several minutes waxing poetic about Drew and Jethro. From the way Roscoe described it, they were preventing forest fires and protecting the endangered animals, and working toward every other kind of altruistic endeavor.
I detected a hint of envy in Roscoe’s voice. It seemed that Drew had a number-one fan, and that fan was Roscoe Winston.
“That’s great,” I said in all sincerity. “That’s really great.” It was great. It was super great. And it probably meant the world to my mother. I couldn’t believe she’d never said anything about it.
“Drew is…he’s the man. He’s really quiet. I think it’s because he doesn’t want to show other people up or make them feel like they’re less than him. Did you know his father is a senator in Texas? He doesn’t talk about it much, but he comes from money.”
I thought about this information for a bit, marinated in it. Drew didn’t seem all that quiet to me. In fact, he seemed downright chatty. Rather than contradict Roscoe’s assertion regarding Drew’s propensity toward reticence, I decided to keep my observations to myself.
“Roscoe, our grandparents had money too, but that doesn’t make one person better than another.” Our grandfather on our mother’s side had been a politician and a very wealthy man.
“I know, but Drew has made all the difference. He helped Duane, Beauford, and Cletus with the paperwork for their auto shop, and he even helped them buy the place. He’s part owner, but he doesn’t see fit to interfere.”
“Did you say their auto shop? They own the shop?”
Roscoe nodded and gave me a big grin, his blue eyes flickering to mine then back to the road, “Hell, yeah, it’s theirs: Winston Brothers Auto Shop. Momma helps them with the books. It’s doing real good. They have a hook-up on old, busted classic cars. They fix them then sell them in Nashville for big bucks to people in the music biz.”
This revelation was surprising, but also freaking fantastic. I felt a surge of pride for the twins and my sweet brother Cletus. Good for them.
Annoyingly, I also felt a good deal of gratitude toward Drew. I decided to push those feelings to the side. If the shop was doing well, then Drew was well compensated for his investment.
“What about Billy? He was in a suit this morning. What’s that about?”
“Oh, Billy’s doing his thing at the mill. He’s doing real good too, now that he no longer has to clean up messes.”
“Clean up messes?”
“Well, you know he was always bailing Jethro out of jail and trying to keep the rest of us out of trouble—not that he needed to worry about me.”
I thought back to my childhood recollections of Billy. Of my brothers, he was the most absent and withdrawn. Most men started working at the mill as soon as they reached seventeen. Billy started working there at sixteen. I was surprised he was still at home since he seemed to wish for escape even more than I did.
I also thought about his chilly reception of me earlier in the day and his comment about my being gone for eight years. I hadn’t expected all my brothers to welcome me back with open arms. I was just a little surprised that Billy—who’d never seemed all that interested in me when we were kids—appeared to be the only one vexed by my long absence.
“What’s Billy doing down there that he has to wear a suit?”
“He’s got some fancy title, regional director of mill operations or something like that. He’s been there forever, and you know how smart he is. He could have done anything; maybe even become a proper engineer if he’d wanted to.”
Regional director of mill operations sounded very important. I wasn’t exactly sure what that encompassed, but apparently, it meant that he needed to wear a suit to work every day. Which, on my father’s side of the family, was like becoming the president of the United States.
I managed to get Roscoe to tell me about himself with some prodding. He tried to shrug off his accomplishments like they were no big deal. They were a big deal.
Roscoe was finishing his last year at the University of Tennessee, majoring in biology. I knew he was attending community college two years ago, as it was one of the few pieces of information my mother had shared about my brothers. However, I didn’t know that he’d transferred to the state university sometime during the last eighteen months.
“That’s so great, Roscoe. I’m….” I swallowed because I was going to say I’m really proud of you, but then stopped myself. I didn’t feel like I had the right to say those words since I’d left him and the rest of my family nearly a decade ago. Instead, I finished the thought with, “I’m really happy for you. I’m happy for all of you. You’re all doing so great.”
“Yeah….” Roscoe nodded, glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, his tone teasing. “Now that you see we’re not a bunch of skunks, maybe you’ll come visit more often.”
I blushed, embarrassed and ashamed of the years I’d been gone. Even though he was poking fun, his words hit a nerve.
I sighed, looked out the window. “Sure—if ya’ll want me to.”
“Of course we want you to. Don’t be stupid.”
“You could come visit me in Chicago. It’s a pretty great city.”
“Isn’t it cold all the time? Sleet and snow and forty below zero wind chill and all that mess?”
“No, not all the time.” I glanced at him and pressed my lips together to keep from smirking. “Just nine months out of the year.”
Roscoe laughed and shook his head. “How do you stand it? Don’t you miss four solid seasons? And the mountains, I can’t wait to finish college and move back here. I don’t think there’s a more beautiful place on earth.”
As if on cue, we passed a lookout turnoff with a particularly breathtaking view of the Smoky Mountains. They were ensconced in their typical blue mist and descended fold upon fold to a green tree-lined valley. I had to admit, it was beautiful country.
Instead of vocalizing this, I said, “Well, you haven’t been many places on earth. You might change your mind once you go out there and check out what it has to offer.”
“Nah.” He shook his head and shocked the crud out of me by saying, “I spent a summer hiking all over Europe. Old buildings don’t do much for me, but I can see why other people think they’re pretty. I took a semester off school and did a road trip from New York to Los Angeles. We went the long way and saw the Redwood Forest, which is probably the second most beautiful place on earth. Then I flew to New Zealand. That’s where the third most beautiful place on earth is, Doubtful Sound.”
He paused for a minute because we’d come to a fork in the road and
a stop sign.
I couldn’t help my blurted question. “How did you afford all that?”
He looked at me, his mouth quirking to the side. “It wasn’t all that expensive because I went with Drew, and he had to go for work. He had the option of going by car or flying to each location, so he picked the road trip and took me with him. He thought it would be good for me to see the country, see what’s out there. He said I could go anywhere and be anything. I don’t think I believed him until we went on that trip.”
Roscoe and I stared at each other for a long moment until I blurted another question. “Why would he do that? Why would he do any of this—helping Jethro, the twins, Duane, you—what’s in it for him?”
My brother narrowed his eyes at me, but a smile tugged at his lips. “Family, I think.” Then his eyes lost focus and he frowned. “It’s not really my place to say.”
“What does that mean?”
He shrugged, looked left and right for oncoming cars, and took the road to Green Valley. “It means just that. Drew’s got his reasons, and I don’t tell other people’s stories.”
We made it back to the house after 2:00 p.m. and immediately set to work rearranging the furniture in the den. We moved out a big wooden desk that had belonged to my maternal grandfather as well as several tables, the vintage sofa and matching chair, an old freestanding globe, and other various antique pieces. The majority of the items had been inherited by my mother from her parents, and she’d kept them all in pristine condition.
My momma came from money. She was an only child. The house we grew up in and all the land surrounding it had belonged to her parents. My grandfather died before I was born, but my grandmother died when I was ten—quite suddenly, from a stroke—and left the house and all her wealth to my mother.
This all happened two years after my parents separated. My grandmother also left trusts for each of us, which have been controlled by Momma, and which we can’t access until our thirtieth birthdays. I didn’t know how much money was in the trust, as I’d never given it much thought, but I did know that the money was why my father was always trying to re-insert himself into our lives.
We left two recliners in the room, all the bookshelves, and a side table. I was determined that one of us would be with her at all times, and the leather recliners were big and comfortable.
Once we were certain that the room would now accommodate her hospital bed, equipment, and the sleeping cot, we took a short break to have some lemonade and a sandwich. Well, I had lemonade. Roscoe had a beer.
Our timing was close to perfect; the transport arrived just after 4:30 p.m. Momma had slept through the entire trip. I knew she was likely on an impressive regimen of painkillers and sleeping aids. They were usually called quality of life meds, which really meant end of life meds.
Momma woke up just briefly when she was wheeled into the den. Her eyes were foggy and unfocused as she glanced around the room.
She asked, “Where are Mother’s things? Daddy’s desk?”
I leaned over her bed and held her hand. “We moved them out so we could keep you on the first floor but also give you some privacy.”
She nodded then stared at me. “Ashley, I have to tell you something, and it’s really important.”
I squeezed her hand and braced myself. “I’m listening, Momma.”
“The only thing that helps a baby through teething pain is bourbon on the gums.” She then closed her eyes and was asleep again within seconds.
I stared at her for a long moment, replaying the words of wisdom in my head, and came to the conclusion that she must’ve been half-dreaming.
“Hi, I’m Marissa.”
Still a little bewildered, I turned and blinked at the very pretty, twenty-something woman holding her hand out to me. She was in scrubs and comfy shoes, and was obviously a nurse. She wore her dark brown hair in long, small braids down her back, and her dark brown eyes were warm and compassionate.
I took her hand. “Hi. I’m Ashley, the daughter.”
“Nice to meet you, Ashley. I’ll be your mother’s day nurse Monday through Thursday. I’ll stop in during the day. George comes on Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays. Tina and Joe will split the night shift.”
I nodded. “Okay. Just so you know, I’m a nurse in Chicago—pediatric intensive care.”
Her eyebrows lifted in surprised delight. “I’m from Chicago! I grew up on the south side. I just moved to Knoxville two months ago.”
Roscoe cleared his throat from the place at my side where he’d suddenly appeared, drawing our attention to him.
“Hi. I’m Roscoe Winston. Pleasure to meet you, Marissa.”
I lifted an eyebrow at the way he said her name and the way he held her eyes and the way he leaned forward with just a little too much swagger and southern charm.
She smiled at him like he was a cute puppy and accepted his hand for a shake. “Nice to meet you, Roscoe.” She turned her attention back to me. “I’m going to get your mother settled and check her vitals.”
“Sure. They should have taken her to the den. It’s at the end of the hall.”
Marissa gave me a warm smile then left to find the room where Momma would be staying.
Roscoe turned his head and watched her walk away. More precisely, he watched her bottom—in baggy scrubs no less—as she walked away.
“She’s new in town. I wonder if I could show her around.”
I elbowed him in the side and gave him my best disapproving scowl.
“Ow! What did I do?”
My voice was a harsh whisper. “You’re flirting? With Momma’s nurse?”
He didn’t look at all repentant. “Yeah, sure. Why not?”
“Why not?” I couldn’t believe him. “Why not?! Aren’t you upset about Momma?”
Roscoe flinched and appeared to be a little hurt by my words, but he held his ground. “Of course I’m upset. Don’t be stupid. But that right there is an exceptionally fine looking woman, and Momma being sick doesn’t mean that I’m blind.”
“Ugh! Men!” I shook my head and turned to leave.
Roscoe caught me by the arm and pulled me into the kitchen. “Now, hold your horses. Just you listen for a sec.”
I pulled my elbow from his grip and crossed my arms over my chest, glaring at him.
He didn’t appear to be affected by my disapproving glower. “Who is it going to hurt, me flirting with a pretty girl? Is Momma going to die faster?” I flinched, but he pressed on. “Is it going to increase her pain? Don’t give me that look, Ashley Austen Winston. You would have us all dress in black and ring bells every fifteen minutes. I’m not going to feel bad for admiring someone pretty. You were always too serious for your own good.”
What he really meant was that I was always too sensitive for my own good, and he was right. But I’d toughened up over the last eight years. I’d fallen in love twice, bludgeoned into it with all the bad sense of a girl with a user for a father, and come out the other side determined to learn from my mistakes.
I couldn’t flirt and have it mean nothing, not like Roscoe could do. It was a defect in my personality.
My neck became hot and scratchy, and I felt tears gather behind my eyes.
He seemed to see or sense that I was close to crying because he pulled me forward and wrapped me in a hug. “Don’t cry. I always hated it when you cried.”
I sniffled and squeezed my eyes shut. “You did?”
“Yes. Who do you think left you bunches of wildflowers outside your door when Jethro or the twins pissed you off?”
My arms came around his torso and I rested my head against his shoulder. “That was you? I always thought that was Momma.”
“No, dummy, that was me.”
I sucked in an unsteady breath and hugged him tighter. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He kissed my hair then pushed me back a foot so he could look into my eyes. “If you want to be miserable, there’s nothing I can do to stop you. I’m miserable about losing her to
o, but I’m not going to spend the next few weeks wringing my hands. I’m going to enjoy the time she has left and live life like she always wanted us to do, and that includes getting my flirt on with the scoop of chocolate ice cream that just walked in the door.”
I choked out a laugh and hit his shoulder. “Watch out, or I’ll tell Marissa you just called her a scoop of chocolate ice cream.”
He shrugged. “That’s fine with me. While you’re at it, find out what she thinks of vanilla.”
I knew Sandra and Elizabeth had arrived because I was awakened from my nap by a sound, and it wasn’t one of those damn roosters for once. It was a very specific kind of sound. It was the sound of a man crying. And the sound woke me up.
I’d been dozing, curled up on the recliner in the den next to my momma’s hospital bed. Judging by the light outside, it looked to be close to sunset. The day’s events had left me all the various kinds of tired: physically, mentally, emotionally, and knitterly.
Knitterly tired is when you’re too tired to knit. It’s a depressing and desperate place to be.
I stretched, blinked the tired haze from my eyes, and glanced around the room. A male nurse—who I guessed was Joe —was sitting in the other recliner. It had been pushed back a distance from the bed. He seemed to be reading a newspaper in the dwindling light of the window. He was older, maybe in his fifties, and looked more like an orderly than a nurse. His head was bald, his neck was thick, his shoulders were wide, and he had a tattoo of a dragon on his forearm.
Then, to my astonishment, when I turned my head the other way, I found Drew sitting in a wooden chair pulled up next to mine.
I frowned at him.
He wasn’t looking at me. He was looking at the book in his hands, which he was reading aloud. I wondered for a split second that his voice hadn’t woken me, but then I realized why. As much as I wanted everything about him to be repugnant, his voice—especially while he read—was nice. It was soothing, yet as I listened, I discovered it was also well inflected. He enriched the text as he read.
