Beau stiffened and he crossed his arms. “What does that mean?”
“It means, eventually, I’ll see to her. She and I are suited.”
His eyes dropped to where I was fastening the dark gray buttons over my black undershirt and he was quiet while I finished up.
I walked around him to my shoes and sat on the bed to pull them on.
“You think you two are suited?” he finally asked.
“Yep.”
“How long have you, uh, felt this way?”
“Since I met her and determined ours would be an ideally placid union. Why?” I lifted an eyebrow at his reflection; he hadn’t moved, nor had his eyes moved. He was staring unseeingly at the mirror.
“Because I . . .” he hesitated, tugging a hand through his hair and turning away from the mirror to face me, “I would have made an effort to be nicer, if I’d known you were interested.”
“Beau, you should be nicer regardless of my feelings on the subject. You’re nice to everybody else. You know what momma used to say: if you don't want someone to get your goat, don't let them know where it's tied.”
His lips formed a flat line and he nodded once. I inspected my brother. He was unhappy, and unhappy was not a normal state of being for Beau.
“Is there something going on with you?” I asked, giving him ample opportunity to share his troubles.
His eyes lifted to mine and he twisted his lips to the side. He stared at me, carefully masking his thoughts and saying nothing for a time. Then he shook his head.
“Nope. Nothing is going on with me.” Beau’s tone was deliberately devoid of telling emotion.
I scrutinized him further.
“Stop it, Cletus.”
“Stop what?”
“Stop trying to peer into my mind.” He cracked a half smile, shoving his hands into his pockets.
“I would never do that, Beau. Your mind is a depraved and dissolute place. I would fear for my eternal soul should I manage a glimpse inside.”
He grinned at my teasing and I was pleased to see it. “That’s right.” He turned to the door and called over his shoulder as he left. “And don’t you forget it.”
***
Kevin Arthur liked cutting hair. I reckoned his desire was a good one, considering he was a barber. However, Kevin always wanted to cut more inches off my hair than requested. We argued every time I came into his shop.
I told him my hair needed weight, otherwise it stood straight up and out, and my head—which was larger than average already, likely to accommodate my massive brain—resembled a cantaloupe on a toothpick, with cantaloupes being the least esteemed of all fruit.
He maintained I needed a short cut, with the sides clipped close, and the top longer and thinned. He said the thickness of my hair was responsible for its propensity to misbehave. He said the cut would bring all the girls to my yard.
This was doubtful. First of all, I didn’t want girls in my yard. I didn’t want anyone in my yard. My yard was fine just as it was: self-maintained.
Secondly, I’d never been popular with the women folk. Women, or at least the women I knew, didn’t much enjoy my lack of willingness to deal with bullshit. For that matter, most men I knew didn’t enjoy this about me either.
Bullshit was the adult version of Santa Claus. For reasons I’ll never comprehend, the general population seemed to enjoy wallowing, spouting, and believing in bullshit.
But back to my barber
I left Kevin and two inches of my hair at his shop in Knoxville. We’d argued about the length. He finally acquiesced and quit his badgering. Then he moped. So, against my better judgment, I let him trim and shape my beard. I came to regret this decision. He’d cut it too short and it now had a distinctly manicured appearance.
I was ridiculous. I gave myself five minutes of feeling ridiculous, and then moved on. I had muffins on my mind and it was already past 10:30 AM.
Donner’s Bakery was on the far side of Green Valley and definitely not on my way home. The bakery was attached to the Sky Lake lodge, the only property still in the possession of Don Donner’s family, Jennifer’s great grandfather. Diane Donner-Sylvester had inherited the lodge in a state of disrepair, her father having squandered the family fortune and whittled the Donner hotel empire down to almost nothing.
I had to park some distance from the bakery entrance. Surprisingly, the lot was nearly full. I tried to recall the last time I’d been to the bakery other than late at night, two Mondays ago, and realized it had been several years.
The property looked significantly different since my last daylight visit. What had been run-down and shabby was now as well manicured as my recently trimmed beard.