Beauty and the Mustache by Penny Reid Read Free Book Online Page B

voice even,
sincere, and free of sarcasm when I said pointedly to Jethro, “Is
it possible for us to have a conversation without your boss being
present?”
    Jethro rubbed the back of
his neck and sighed. “The thing is, Ash, we’ve all been talking
this morning, and it turns out…Momma appointed Drew here as her
power of attorney.”
    “ What?” My eyes bounced
back and forth between them.
    I was sure that I’d heard
incorrectly. Maybe Jethro had said MOMMA
painted dew-hair as their flower of anatomy. Honestly, that would have made more sense to me than the
possibility that Drew held my mother’s power of
attorney.
    “ Ash, let me
explain-”
    “ What did you
say?”
    Jethro swallowed thickly,
met my stare, and repeated his pronouncement in a level tone.
“Momma appointed Drew as her power of attorney.”
    Drew nodded once. He had
the decency to stay silent and keep his face devoid of
expression.
    I sputtered for a minute.
Then I consulted the ceiling. It was silent on the matter and,
strangely, didn’t seem to share my outrage.
    At last I managed to
speak. “Medical or financial?”
    “ Both.” Jethro’s mouth
twisted to the side in a half smile, sheepish and bracing. “He
holds her medical power of attorney, her financial power of
attorney, and he’s the executor of her will.”
    My mouth opened, but
nothing emerged for seven seconds.
    Then I laughed.
    I laughed and laughed.
    I laughed because I was frustrated and angry
and sad and overwhelmed. I held my stomach and doubled over, my
eyes blurring with tears of hilarity and misery and grief. Jethro
guided me to the couch and sat next to me, his hand on my upper
back.
    Somewhere outside, the roosters crowed. I
hated those damn roosters, always crowing, always making a fuss for
no reason.
    Drew opted to remain
standing, his expression patient and sober.
    “ Ashley.” Jethro’s voice
was tight and concerned.
    “ Just a minute,” I managed
to say when I’d caught my breath. I wiped my eyes and added, “I
just need a minute.”
    It took several minutes.
Maybe ten minutes during which I swung back and forth between the
urge to erupt in absurd laughter and unleash a tide of mind-blowing
anger.
    After the initial red haze
of fury began to recede, I tried to see past my frustration and
hurt to the real issue. My mother was sick. She was dying, and
likely would be gone in six weeks…or so. Things needed to happen.
Arrangements needed to be made, and we needed to
prepare.
    This, none of this, was
about me. It was about her, providing care and comfort to my momma
in her final days with as much selflessness as she’d given me all
my life. I rejected my instinct to take her decision to trust Dr.
Nobody with her medical and financial wellbeing as an indication
that she had no faith in me, her daughter.
    I refused to be petty. I
would waste no time on anger, and at the very least, I would do my
best not to take this personally. She’d raised me better than
that.
    When I was quite finished, and at a complete
loss as to what to say or how to proceed, I gathered a breath and
released it on a big sigh.
    “ When did this happen?” I
asked the room, not caring who answered.
    “ Three months ago,” Drew
responded, and he cleared his throat, his eyes flickering to
Jethro’s then back to mine.
    I glanced between them. “Did you know she
was sick?”
    “ No.” Drew shook his head,
his shoulders slumping. He appeared to be frustrated, and I
believed him. “She didn’t tell me she was sick. She just said she
didn’t want any of you to be burdened with making decisions down
the road.”
    “ Well….” I said, finding
myself dangerously close to actual tears. I sucked in another
calming breath and endeavored to keep my tone open-minded and free
of derision, though I wanted to slap the beard right off his
face.
    “ It
would seem,” I began, and then I stopped. I pressed my lips
together, cleared my throat, and swallowed, taking a moment to
steady my voice. “It