So I blurted, “Can we forget this happened?” I didn’t try to disguise the desperation in my voice. “Can’t we call it a mistake?”

He was quiet for a long time, holding me in a full-body embrace, his hand caressing my cheek and then smoothing its way down my shoulder and arm. His fingers found mine, brought my wrist to his lips, and kissed it, his breath and beard tickling the sensitive skin.

Then he pressed my open palm to his chest.

At last, he said, “No, Sugar. You know I’m no good at pretending.”

I released a shaky breath and gripped the front of his shirt. “I don’t know what we’re doing.”

“Don’t you?”

“I live in Chicago.”

“I know.”

“I have a life there.”

“I know.”

“Your life is here.”

“Yes, Ash, I know.” He bent and kissed my neck, made me shiver.

“When all this is over,” I swallowed the last word, because over really meant when Momma dies, “I’m leaving. I’m leaving and I’m not coming back.”

“Sugar, I know all this.”

“I don’t want either of us to get hurt,” I pleaded, but I wasn’t sure whether I was pleading with Drew or myself.

“Nothing you can do about that.” He nipped my jaw then kissed it. “You underestimate how deeply you cut when your intentions carry no knives.”

***

Drew walked me back to the den, holding my hand as we navigated the dark, then he left me with a quick and impulsive kiss.

I watched his form depart, listened for the sound of him reclaiming his spot on the couch, and waited several minutes more. I don’t know what I was listening for, but soon the only sound was my own breathing and heartbeat.

Finally, I ducked into the den and my cot. But my mother stopped me by calling out my name.

“Ash, is that you?”

I crossed to her bed and reached for her hand. Her eyes were still closed.

“Yes. It’s me.”

“What’s wrong, baby? Can’t you sleep?”

I opened my mouth to say that I was just using the bathroom, but I stopped. I didn’t know how much time she had left, and I didn’t want to spend any of it pacifying her or being polite just for politeness’s sake.

“Momma, how did you meet Drew?”

Momma laughed lightly and gave my hand a feeble squeeze. “So…thoughts of Andrew are keeping you up?”

I swallowed uncomfortably. “Honestly, the rain woke me up. But I think thoughts of Andrew are going to keep me up.”

She opened her eyes and peered at me. “You want to know about Andrew.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes. I want to know. I’m not upset—at least, not anymore, but I was for a little bit—about you giving him your power of attorney. But why would you do that? How well do you know him? How did you meet him?”

“Well…let’s see….” Momma slurred; she sounded drugged but not confused, yet not nearly as aware as she had seemed earlier in the evening.

“I’m sorry, am I pushing you? We don’t have to talk about this.”

“No, baby. It’s fine.” Another weak squeeze as we held hands. “Let’s see…did you know Andrew is a poet?”

“Yes.” I’d found that out several days ago, when he told me that fires leave behind Ash.

“I met him about three years ago. I’d started a poetry-reading group at the library. I think I told you about that when it started. Mostly it was me and Diane Sylvester and a few ladies from the senior center. Anyway, one day, in walks Andrew.” She paused and I saw her mouth curve into a smile.

“I asked him if I could help him find something, thinking—of course—that he’d wandered into our little group on accident. He asked if we were the poetry group, and when I admitted that we were, he took a seat. Well, you should have seen Diane Sylvester’s face; for that matter, you should have seen my face. I think we were both in a state of shock. Never mind those little old ladies from the senior center, except Mrs. Cooper. She was as pleased as salt on crackers. She’s a cougar, not that there’s anything wrong with that, but I think she made Andrew a little uncomfortable when she kept licking her lips at him.”

I grinned at this image. “How old is Mrs. Cooper?”

“Eighty two, but she was seventy nine then, and—I apologize for being impolite—she’s got lots of money.”

In Tennessee, or maybe just in my little corner of it, it’s considered impolite to say the word money. You can talk about gutting a deer and making venison sausages, you can talk about a bar fight, you can talk about your hemorrhoids and all the icky squicky details of childbirth—but if you say the word money, you must apologize for being impolite.

“So, what happened?”

“He didn’t say much during the first meeting, but he was eyeballing me something fierce. I thought I might have offended him. But he came back a second time and read a few of his own works. After that, he asked if I wanted to grab some coffee, so we did.”

“Did you ever think he was…interested in you?”

“Oh, Lord no! He’s younger than Jethro!”

“But….”

“But nothing. I knew it wasn’t like that. Andrew was lost, I could tell from his poetry, and he was looking for a home. He stirred my maternal instincts, not my womanly instincts. Besides, at the time he needed a woman like a cow needs a saddle. What he needed, and what I tried to provide him, was an unconditional ear and support.”

“Why do you trust him so much? I mean, you signed over your medical decisions to him. He’s the executor of your will.”

“Because I know him. I know his history and his heart. He’s….” she sucked in a breath and looked to be searching for the right words to continue. “Ash, he feels like a son to me. And I hope he knows that. I hope he sees me as the mother he never had, at least I hope I’ve filled that role for the three years we’ve known each other.”

“He didn’t have a mother?”

She sighed, “Baby, that’s not my story to tell. But I will tell you this: I trust Andrew Runous more than I trust you right now.”

I flinched.

She tsked. “And that’s not because I love you less. I love you to the stars and beyond, just like always. But you’ve got a sensitive heart, and your momma is dying, and your brain is all catawampus. I remember when my mother died. I made terrible decisions in the months that followed. I almost reconciled with your daddy. It was a mess.”

I understood what she meant. Despite my initial reaction to her admission, I realized that I also trusted Drew more at this moment. He’d broken the kiss. He’d left me at the door to the den. I was thankful that he was there to deal with all the logistics and details so that my brothers and I could spend our time and energy on our mother.

“There is something else that’s been nagging at me,” I persisted. I didn’t want to tire her, but she seemed especially lucid right now, so it seemed like a good time to ask. “Why didn’t you ever tell me about how things had improved around here? The boys are doing so much better than I ever would’ve imagined. Why didn’t you keep me up to date on all that? I know I should have asked more, but I thought….” I paused, searching my mind, then added, “I thought things were unchanged because you never told me otherwise. I thought they were still all rascals.”

Momma was very quiet, and I could tell she was thinking; at last she shook her head, her eyes unfocused, and said, “I don’t know. Your time here, growing up, it was hard in this house full of disorderly, unfeeling boys. Maybe I thought I was protecting you…they were so much like your father back then… but that doesn’t make sense. I just don’t know.”

This answer surprised me, especially since she sounded lost. I couldn’t think of anything to say.

Before I could form a response, she said, “Maybe I was living through you, maybe just a little bit. Maybe I envied the life you had, the one you made for yourself. Maybe I wanted to keep you all to myself. I don’t know, baby. I didn’t talk to them about you either; and you know, they never asked. Sometimes we behave in ways that make no sense, not even to ourselves. It’s a madness; we all got it. And I’m not perfect. But I’m sorry. Will you forgive me?”

“Yes. Of course, yes.” I wanted to hug her but knew that was impossible, so I settled for caressing her cheek.

“Now, Ash, I got a favor to ask of you.” She shifted in her bed and her face grew sober, her eyes serious.

“Sure, Momma, anything.”

“You’re not going to like it. But I need you to listen to me, and I need you to trust me.”

“You know I trust you.”

“Ash, baby, I need you to call your father. I need to see him, but—more importantly—he needs to see all of you before I go.”

I couldn’t speak because I was certain I’d misheard her. She couldn’t possibly be asking me to invite that man into this home. Not now. Not ever.

“Why, Momma? I just don’t understand how you could….”