Beard In Mind: (Winston Brothers, #4)

by Penny Reid

  Belly, smelly . . . jelly.

  Oh good Lord.

  Setting the pen down, I went to bed. Woke up. Showered. Shaved. Dressed.

  Which brought me to now, sitting across from Hank on a Saturday morning, trying my best not to dwell on the constant pressure behind my eyes, the knot in my throat, and the random spikes of pain in my chest.

  Maybe I’m having a heart attack.

  “Three pieces of pie?” I mumbled.

  “One more for me, two for you.”

  “And my coffee?”

  “Also on the way. Anything else you’d like? A massage perhaps?”

  It had been on the tip of my tongue to say, My feet do hurt. But I caught myself, resisting the urge to fall into our old habits. I wasn’t mad at my friend, not anymore. With everything else going on, now I was just irritated.

  “What do you want, Hank?”

  “To explain what happened and to apologize.”

  I hadn’t been expecting such a grown-up response, so it took me ’til Beverly brought our pie and my coffee to find my voice.

  “Fine. What happened?”

  “Drill knows I got a thing for Patty.”

  “Everybody knows you got a thing for Patty except Patty.”

  “Yeah, well. He said he saw you two out.”

  I lifted my eyebrows expectantly, waiting for him to continue. When he didn’t, I prompted, “And?”

  “And I believed him.”

  “So you thought you’d get me back by ambushing me?”

  “No. These are two separate things.”

  I took a taste of coffee and picked up my fork. “I’m not following.”

  “Drill told me about you and Patty—”

  “Didn’t happen.”

  “—on a Monday. Then he asked if he could come fishing with us that Wednesday, said he was bringing Isaac and maybe one other guy. Distracted, I said fine. Then he shows up with Razor’s old lady instead. I went to text you, to give you a heads-up, so I walked back to the house to get better reception and you were already there.”

  “Oh.” I nodded, thinking through his side of the story. “Then why are you apologizing?”

  “Because I believed him about Patty.”

  “Ah.”

  “And when you showed up, I asked you about that instead of giving you a heads-up about Christine St. Claire being there.”

  I’m sure I looked confused. “Why would he make shit up about me and Patty?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he did think he saw y’all together.”

  Chewing this over with a bite of pie, I wondered out loud, “I bet he saw Jess and Duane. Since Patty dyed her hair, they look alike.”

  He scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t know. He’s an idiot. Point is, he’s not going fishing with us anymore. And also, I’m sorry.”

  “Apology accepted.” I picked at my pie and then pushed it away, opting for the coffee instead.

  Hank looked between me and my plate. “What’s wrong with the pie?”

  “It’s good. I’m just not hungry.” I hadn’t been hungry since leaving the shop the previous evening. Along with my good sense, heart, balls, and man card, Shelly Sullivan had stolen my appetite.

  “What’s going on with you? What did Razor’s old lady want?”

  I shook my head, looking beyond Hank to stare unseeingly at the diner beyond. “It’s not even worth talking about.”

  “Something nefarious?” He wagged his eyebrows.

  “Something inconvenient.” I pushed the plate of pie farther away and leaned back in the booth, frowning at my coffee.

  Duane was leaving in a little over a week. If I didn’t tell him soon, I was going to lose my window. I couldn’t see myself telling him when he came back next. He’d be pissed that I’d waited so long. It was now or never.

  But concentrating on Christine, what her angle was, whether to tell Duane, and where I fit in was near impossible after my exchange with Shelly last night. I couldn’t focus on much except how much I missed everything about her, and it had only been fourteen hours.

  “I guess this brings us to the last order of business.” My friend’s statement had me refocusing on him.

  “Pardon?”

  “Know what I always liked best about you, Beau?”

  “Tell me, Hank,” I responded indulgently.

  “You never asked me for anything.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Growing up,” he leaned forward, pushing his second empty plate out of the way, “I was the richest kid in this town, maybe in all of Tennessee. Remember my tenth birthday party? The King brothers were nice to me for three months beforehand, hoping they’d get an invitation.”

  “Those guys are assholes.”

  “But you’re not. People, they’re nice to you ’cause they like you. You’re easy to like. People are nice to me because they want something. Except you. You don’t want anything.”

  “Thank you.”

  “That’s not a compliment, Beau.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yeah. Really. ’Cause after a while, being friends with someone who never asks for anything makes you feel like shit.”

  I jerked back, frowning at my friend and his declaration. “I make you feel like shit?”

  “Yep. You got no need of me. Take last Wednesday for instance. I made a mistake. I made a big one. And you walked away, not giving me even two minutes to explain.”

  “Oh gee, I’m sorry Hank. You’re right. I should’ve been thinking about your feelings. Where was my head?”

  “Stop being an asshole. Of course I didn’t mean right after it happened. But Thursday, Friday, a weekend goes by. We’ve been best friends since we were five years old, and you don’t give me a chance to explain. Know why?”

  “Of course not. I don’t know anything.”

  “Because you don’t need me. You have your big family and the admiration of every person in this town. Hell, you even got a body double, an exact replica of yourself.”

  I couldn’t quite read him, whether he was joshing me or if he was being serious. Deciding the safest course of action was to wait and see, I watched him silently, sipping my coffee at intervals.

  “But guess what? It’s your unlucky day, because I can’t afford to lose friends. That means you’re stuck with me.”

  “Meaning you’re gonna keep messaging me cat pictures until I stop ignoring you?”

  “If that’s what it takes, then yes. And God bless the Internet, because if there’s anything it has in infinite supply—other than ill-formed opinions—it’s cat pictures. And if that doesn’t work, then I’ll buy you a second house.”

  “Hate to break it to you, but you can’t force a person to be your friend. Nor can you buy friendship.”

  “Then what can I do?” His tone hardened, grew serious, as did his glare. “Because I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have listened to Drill. I should have given you a heads-up. I’m incredibly sorry, and I swear on my father’s crypt, I will never let you down again.”

  I leaned forward, lowering my voice in an attempt to defuse his mood. “Hank, you already apologized. We’re fine. All is well. Besides, you hated your father.”

  “Yeah, but I really love that crypt. You’ve seen it. It has the gargoyles.” He made a claw with his hand

  I smiled at his weirdness. It was very Hank-like.

  “Like I said, all is forgiven.”

  “It’s not that easy. I’m going to need you to accept something as a token of my remorse and friendship.”

  Oh no.

  “I don’t want anything.” I glanced around the diner, half expecting Hank to give Beverly a sign and then for the waitress to strip off her uniform.

  “Well, too bad. I want to give you something, and I want you to think about how awesome I am every time you look at it. I want you to think, ‘That Hank, he sure is a good friend. What would I do without him?’ Because the next time I fuck up—and mark my words, there will be a next
time—I need to know you’re not going to ignore my calls for ten days.”

  “Even if you give me something, I’m still going to ignore your calls for ten days.”

  “Fine. But pick up the phone on day eleven.”

  “You’re such a dummy.”

  “So . . . we good?”

  “Yes,” I said emphatically. “Like I’ve been saying twenty times now, we’re good. Put it out of your mind.”

  He hit the top of the table with his palm. “Excellent.” Then he opened the satchel sitting next to him and pulled out an envelope. “This is for you.”

  Hank slid it across the table and I picked it up, opened it, and scanned the contents of the letter I found within. Then I glared at my friend.

  “You’re giving me your house on Bandit Lake?”

  “Yep.”

  “Nope.” I slid the envelope and letter back to him. “No, thank you. I do not accept. And don’t buy me another fifty thousand dollar watch either. One is enough.”

  “Too late. It’s all done.”

  “You can’t give me a house without me accepting it.”

  “Yes. I can. Remember, all those houses up there can’t be sold. They can’t even be transferred.”

  “Then you can’t give it to me.”

  “But I can leave it to you in my will.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Fine. When you die, we’ll talk about it then.”

  “You’re the executor of my estate, and now you have power of attorney over the property. I’ve irrevocably signed it over to you, and you’ll inherit it in full on the day of my death—or your kids will, or whoever your shit is going to.”

  “I’m not taking it.”

  “Fine. Don’t. It can just sit up there and rot. And then your kids will inherit a nice piece of property with a house falling down in disrepair.” He started to chuckle, like he couldn’t hold it in. “And I know for a fact the auto mechanic in you ain’t going to let that happen.”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out two keys, giving me a shit-eating grin as he slid them across the table. “I took the liberty of changing all the locks. These are the only two keys that work, so don’t lose them.”

  “Hank,” I lowered my voice to a harsh whisper, “I’m not kidding. I’m not taking the house.”

  “It’s out of my hands.” He shrugged.

  “You’re such a go—” I stopped myself, biting back the words.

  “Oh, watch out! The choir boy almost took the Lord’s name in vain.”

  “That house is worth over a million dollars.” This was a classic case of Hank being Hank, of his penchant for being ridiculously excessive. He needed to stop doing this kind of stuff. We were best friends. Shit happened. You just get back up and face a new day. I might’ve needed space for ten days, but giving me a house is a complete overreaction.”

  “Technically, it’s worth nothing. You can’t sell it. I mean, I guess you could rent it out, like Mr. Tanner does with his crappy fishing shack. If you want to.”

  I wiped a hand over my face, gritting my teeth. This was the last thing I needed. I had enough shit to deal with, and now I had to convince this crazy ass to take his mansion back.

  One of his mansions, I reminded myself. He had two other houses in Tennessee and a host of places all over the world.

  “I hate you so much right now.”

  “It’s a thin line between love and hate, my friend.” Hank skootched to the end of the booth and stood, bringing the strap of his satchel to his shoulder. “I suggest you let the love flow through you. Otherwise, I’ll just keep sending you cat memes until you do, and you know I will.”

  “You’re a shitty friend.” I glared at him.

  “I am.” He nodded, putting on his sunglasses. “Speaking of which, you don’t mind paying for breakfast, do you? I forgot my wallet.”

  29

  “The brain appears to possess a special area which we might call poetic memory and which records everything that charms or touches us, that makes our lives beautiful.”

  ― Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being

  * * *

  *Beau*

  My hands needed washing. They were covered in grease and dirt, and I hadn’t taken the time to give them a scrub all day.

  I was in a hurry.

  Sunday after church, Reverend Seymour mentioned that their bus wasn’t working. They’d acquired an old school bus a few months ago, an easy way to transport folks around the state to various events. It had broken down in the church lot and wouldn’t turn over.

  Cletus and I had taken a look and he’d decided I was more qualified to work on the engine than him. I suspected he was just trying to get out of the time commitment required. It was a big job and the bus couldn’t easily be moved.

  Sunday afternoon, we loaded up all the tools I might need and I set to work. Good progress was made until the sun disappeared over the mountains. Starting early again the next morning, I finally finished, doing as much as I could do by late afternoon Monday.

  Now I had a list of parts that needed to be ordered and dirty hands. But at least I’d make it back to the garage before closing.

  I wanted to see her.

  I’d been stuck under a big yellow hood for almost twenty-four hours and I’d done a lot of thinking. About Shelly, Hank, the nature of needing people, compassion and pity, friendship, family, poetry that doesn’t rhyme, lost chances, and homeownership.

  I had a lot of thoughts about a lot of things. Which meant I needed to see Shelly and try to put my thoughts into words.

  Luck was on my side. Her car was still in the lot when I pulled in and the sight had me parking haphazardly, taking up two spaces in a rush to make it inside and see her.

  Unexpectedly, Jethro was strolling out of the garage as I jogged toward it. Being so focused on seeing Shelly, I hadn’t noticed his truck.

  My oldest brother lifted his chin in greeting as soon as he spotted me. “Hey.”

  “Hey. What’s up?” I slowed my steps, taking a good look at him. He looked aggravated.

  Jethro pulled his fingers through his hair, giving me a tired grin. “This wedding is going to be the death of me.”

  I managed a commiserating smile. “Well, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

  “I’ve always hated that saying.”

  “Me too.” I glanced into the shadows of the shop behind him. “Cletus still here?”

  “Yes,” Jethro grumped, squinting against the setting sun. “Do you know anything about this stripper Cletus has planned for the bachelor party?”

  Holding my palms up, I shook my head. “I swear, I was in charge of the scavenger hunt and that’s been done for almost two months.”

  “I wish someone would talk him out of it.”

  “I can try,” I shoved my hands into my back pockets, anxious to get going, “if you want.”

  “Yes.” Jethro rolled his eyes heavenward and walked around me. “Duane said it was a stripper. I’m hoping he means a stripper as in we’ll be stripping paint off wood.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up, Jethro.” I twisted at the waist and walked backward toward the shop. “Knowing Cletus, this is his revenge for all the shit you did over the course of your life that necessitates revenge.”

  “Then God help us all,” he called to me, not turning around as he dragged himself tiredly to his truck.

  Indeed.

  Stumbling over a few rocks at my feet, I turned back to the shop.

  Neither Shelly nor I were scheduled to close up, which meant we could leave as soon as she was finished with her work.

  Assuming she wanted to see me.

  She wants to see you.

  What if she doesn’t?

  Give her some credit. She’s the most reasonable and compassionate person you know.

  I nodded my head at this assertion, figuring I could help with her workload—if she let me—then we’d have the rest of the afternoon to get things sorted.

  I’d
just crossed the threshold of the garage, when Shelly’s voice carried to me.

  She said, “Now. Why?”

  Followed by Cletus saying, “Oh. Good. That’s good.”

  Spotting them both by the basin sink at the back—Shelly scrubbing her fingers with a brush and soap, Cletus standing there watching her thoughtfully—I hesitated for a split second, then stayed my course.

  But as I drew closer, Shelly said, “Also, I’m taking two days off next week.”

  My feet ceased moving.

  Two days?

  “That should be fine. Duane is leaving a week from Thursday, so if you have any questions for him before you go, make sure you ask before then.”

  Before I could stop myself, I asked, “Why do you need the days off?”

  Both Cletus and Shelly glanced at me, but I only had eyes for her. I stared at her evenly despite the answering ache in my chest. Her eyes didn’t quite settle on mine.

  Rather, she gave me a hasty once-over, then turned her attention to the sink and continued scrubbing her fingers, her tone sounding carefully aloof. “My brother had a baby. He wants me to see it.”

  She’s going to Chicago?

  My stomach dropped.

  She was going to Chicago.

  Are you moving back? I wanted to ask.

  Instead, I asked, “Don’t you want to see the baby?”

  Her shoulders stiffened, but she made no response, giving me her back and silence. I stared at her, waiting . . . for something. Anything. An answer. A sign. A look. An explanation.

  But still she gave me nothing.

  We’re back to the wall of ice. She’s just . . . cut me out. Gone.

  It was like being stuck in all that morose poetry I’d been reading over the weekend. Lord Tennyson was a moron. It wasn’t better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all. I didn’t know what he’d been smokin’, but it must’ve been strong.

  Eventually, the sound of Cletus saying, “Well,” reminded me that he was still here. “I’m sure I’ll see you again between now and your trip, but if I forget to say so, safe travels, Shelly.”

  Cletus turned from us and walked off without preamble. I waited until the sound of his footsteps faded. Then I crossed to where she stood, still scrubbing her hands, taking an eyeful of her profile.