Beauty and the Mustache (Knitting in the City #4)(27)
Author: Penny Reid

I tried to imagine his expression. If our previous encounters were any indication, his face was likely screwed up in distaste.

“I’ve known you for three years. In all that time you failed to mention that Ash was short for Ashley.” His tone held a mild accusation.

“I didn’t, did I?” Momma sounded pleased with herself. “Does the fact that she’s my daughter and not my son make her any less remarkable? Is she less worthy of your friendship because she is a woman?”

“Hard to miss that’s she’s a woman, now that I’ve seen her.”

At this Momma barked a subdued laugh. “Yes…yes, she is a woman. I’m afraid she’s not much of a girl, though. She’s been a woman more than half her life. Like you, she grew up fast.”

Drew remained silent, and I heard my mom say, “Oh, you can speak freely. If she’s asleep, no amount of us talking is going to wake her up. She’s a solid sleeper, always has been.”

“Not that solid. The first time I had the pleasure of meeting her, I’d just unknowingly woken her up.”

“Ah, yes. Jethro told me about that. She gave you a nipple squeeze?”

Drew grumbled something and Momma laughed. “You’re not starting any engines now, so tell me—what do you think of Ash?”

I felt him falter, then he surprised the voodoo out of me by saying, “She is… remarkable…and beautiful.”

Pretty face, nice piece of ass.

I ground my teeth together.

“Yes. She is. She is tremendously beautiful, like her daddy is beautiful. Billy has it too, and Roscoe to an extent. I know you don’t like it when I talk about Darrell—Ashley hates him the same as you—but she’s got the look of him, whether she wants it or not.”

“If that’s the case, I think I understand a bit better now how Christine could fall for Darrell so hard after knowing him for such a short time.” He said this very softly like he was talking to himself.

What the what?

“Do you now?” Momma asked. I recognized the tone she used. She’d use it on me when she felt I’d discovered something obvious, or when she wanted to encourage me in a particular direction.

“Yes. I do,” Drew said. “And it’s not very convenient either.”

My mother snorted. “Lord, getting stupid for someone never is convenient. Your sister fell for Darrell, same as me, same as the others. You got stupid for that gold digger you told me about. She had the long game and played you for years before making her move. You must’ve been real stupid for her. Nothing makes smart people more stupid than beauty.”

I heard the smile in Drew’s voice when he responded. “Being stupid is not an experience I’d like to repeat.”

Momma was silent for a long moment. “Now, you know better than that. You know you’re not the only person to get burned in the history of humanity. If you don’t want to repeat that experience, then don’t repeat it. This time, get stupid for more than beauty. Get stupid for worth, with someone like my Ash.”

What the WHAT?

Is this how Drew knew my family? Because his sister Christine had been conned by my father? And when had Christine fallen for my father’s line? And where was Christine? And when did Drew meet my mother and my brothers? And who was this gold digger? And why was Momma talking to Drew like he was her most trusted friend?

I had mixed feelings about overhearing this conversation. The angel on my shoulder wanted to put an end to it; the devil on my other shoulder wanted to keep on listening. I knew so little about Drew. Asking my brothers about him was pointless unless I wanted to know how good of a shot he was or what kind of car he drove.

Despite my good intentions, the devil won.

Drew sighed. “Bethany….”

She cut him off. “No, you listen. I’m not proposing anything. I’m just using Ashley as an example. She’s got so much worth. She’s priceless, and she’s beautiful. You said it yourself. Though she does her best to hide it, I think. Some people reject their God-given gifts because society makes them feel ashamed when they shine.”

“Why did you lie to me?” He didn’t sound angry. He sounded curious. “Why pretend like Ash was a man?”

“I didn’t lie…not exactly. I just…didn’t correct your assumptions. I liked talking about her to someone who knew what her courage meant, what it meant for her to escape on her own, to want something better, to work for it and succeed. You admired her when I let you think she was a man; I don’t see why that should change now.”

“It hasn’t.” He said this begrudgingly. Even I could hear the resentment in his voice.

“How inconvenient for you.” She said this on a laugh. “Must be hard for a guy like you to admire a woman for her brains and goodness before you get a chance to disregard her because of her gender and beauty.”

“That’s not true.” His voice had a hard edge to it. “I admire plenty of women. I admire you.”

“And you think of me as a replacement for the mother you never had, and for the sister you lost.” I couldn’t believe how she was speaking to him. I couldn’t believe that he let her. “I know you, Andrew. I know your family treated you despicably. You don’t want to get hurt. I understand that—maybe I understand better than most people do. But not all good-looking women are gold-digging opportunists.”

“I know that.”

“You know what I think? I think you like her.”

Drew made a funny sound: not a rejection of her statement, but not a confirmation either.

She continued, “You do! You like her. You admit she’s lovely. You admit you admire her. Admit you like my Ash.”

“I’m not admitting anything.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re her mother, not my sister.”

“So?”

“So, other than her goodness, sweetness, gracefulness, and wit, what I like about Ashley Winston shouldn’t be discussed with Ashley Winston’s mother.”

If I hadn’t already been as still as I statue, his words, so earnestly spoken, would have stunned me. Did he really see these things in me? Or was he just being kind to my mother?

“Oh, this sounds good. Now I really want to know,” Momma said.

“Trust me, you don’t.”

“Are you falling for my Ashley?” Momma tsked. “What did she do, outsmart you?”

“Something like that.”

It took all my stillness superpowers not to sit up in the bed and yell, WHAT the WHAT? My brain was overflowing with new and confusing information.

“How’d we get on this subject?” He sounded truly mystified and a little annoyed.

“I’m trying to make you see reason before I depart this earth and leave you bereft of motherly wisdom. And I’m trying to do the same for all my chickens….”

“Speaking of which, I want to ask you a question.”

“Go for it.”

“Did you know, when you made me your power of attorney—and everything else—did you know that you were….” He paused, and I assumed it was because he had no intention of saying it out loud, but he surprised me when he asked, “Did you know that you were terminally ill?”

She didn’t hesitate in her response. “Yes. I knew.”

Drew release what sounded like a tortured sigh, and they both sat quiet for several minutes. I thought about stretching, waking up for show, but I didn’t. I had too many new pieces of information swimming around in my brain. I needed a second to catch up.

Momma then said out of nowhere, “She was in the Miss Tennessee competition, you know. She was only eighteen at the time, came in second.”

I hated this fact about myself, hated that I’d done it—not because I was patently opposed to beauty contests per se. I was just so shy and reserved at the time, but I was also desperate for a way out of Tennessee, out of this small town with its one sawmill, one library, one high school.

Momma had money, yes. But she also had seven kids. Her parents were wealthy, but supporting a family without knowing how to invest her savings had eaten away at her nest egg. I didn’t ask her, and she hadn’t offered.

Thinking back, it was the memory of desperation that I hated, not the contest.

“Really?” He drawled. “That explains a lot.”

My mother gave a small chuckle. “No. It really doesn’t. Not at all, really. Can you imagine what it was like for her in a houseful of boys? And not just any boys; Winston boys and their friends.”

“Brothers and sisters don’t always get along; nothing unusual about that.”

“True, but they were all just like their daddy growing up, wild with their own freedom, caring not two licks about anybody but their own selves. Yet Ash…as I’ve told you, she was quiet, curious, sensitive. Like you, she wrote poetry. Lord have mercy, the pranks they used to play on her—they never stopped. They never stopped tormenting, and pushing, and using, not until she left. Then they realized that some hurts can’t be undone, and selfishness drives people away. But it was too late.”

“You never told me what they did.”