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spin cycle, and it was
making me dizzy. So I sat on my bed and stared into the
mirror.
    I had bags under my eyes.
In the morning, I would have to go hunting for hemorrhoid cream. Or
I could just not care. I decided not to care.
    I heard a knock followed
by my door creaking open.
    “ Are you decent?” Jethro’s
voice sounded from the hallway.
    “ Yes. Come in.”
    He pushed his way into my
room using his elbows because his hands were full. He held a plate
in one hand with a grilled cheese and tomato sandwich on it, and a
cup of tea in the other that smelled like lemon, peppermint, and
bourbon.
    “ Food,” he said, placing
everything on the nightstand.
    I glanced at the sandwich
and tea, but made no response.
    “ Come on now, you need to
eat.” Jethro picked up the plate and sat next to me. “Doctor’s
orders.”
    My eyes flickered to my brother then to the
perfectly grilled cheese sandwich. I took it. Took a bite. Chewed.
Swallowed.
    He passed me the tea. “Now drink.”
    I squinted at him. “This has bourbon in
it.”
    “ Yes, it does. Good,
Tennessee bourbon, guaranteed to make the pain go away. Drink
it.”
    Making the pain go away sounded pretty good,
so I took a sip. It was warm, not hot, and tasted like bourbon and
honey. I took a larger gulp then followed it with another bite of
my sandwich.
    “ Thank you,” I said; the
warmth of the alcohol spread down my throat to my chest.
    “ Don’t thank me. Thank
Drew. He made all this.”
    I studied Jethro for
another moment, took a bite of my sandwich. I debated whether I
wanted to have this conversation at all, let alone now. In the end,
I gave in to both curiosity and avoidance of heavier
subjects.
    “ So…Drew. Who is this
guy?”
    “ He’s my boss.”
    “ What does he
do?”
    “ He’s the federal game
warden for this stretch of the park.”
    I frowned, not sure what a
game warden was, so I asked. “What’s that? Like a park ranger?” I
followed this question with another large gulp of my tea-laced
bourbon.
    “ Uh, no. He’s not a park
ranger. Game wardens are law enforcement officers. Most are
employed by the state they work in. Drew is federal law
enforcement. He was appointed to the Great Smokies by some big-wigs
in Washington.”
    I watched Jethro as I bit,
chewed, swallowed, repeat; I thought about this information. At
least I tried to think about this information. The bourbon plus no
sleep plus no food all day plus news of my mother’s terminal
diagnosis were all battling for dominance, Mad Max style, in my
brain cage.
    “ Federal law enforcement.”
I shook my head hoping to clear it. “What does that mean in terms
of a national park? And why was he appointed? And how come he’s
here? And how does he know Momma?”
    Jethro nodded toward my
tea and waited until I drank before responding. “Well, him being a
game warden and a federal officer…what that means is that he’s some
kind of big shot, PhD guy sent down from Washington to keep the
park safe. And I think he was appointed because he’s an expert in
endangered wildlife. He’s here tonight because I asked him to stay
just in case you had news when you got home from the hospital. And
he met Momma at the library when he was appointed to his position
at the park. They’re friends.”
    I had trouble believing a
few of his assertions. First, Drew “Mountain-of-a-Man” Runous did
not strike me as a Dr. Runous unless his PhD was in lumberjacking
or plundering or beard growing or headlining in sexy daydreams and
dirty fantasies. Secondly, Dr. Runous’s posture of entitlement this
morning and odd possum behavior tonight made me question what kind
of friends he was with Momma.
    My eyes weren’t
cooperating; I couldn’t keep them both open, so I peered at Jethro
through my left eye. “What kind of friends ?”
    Even through one eye, I
could see that Jethro was scowling at me. “Nothing like that, Ash.
Get your mind out of the gutter. He’s one of us. He’s like a son to
her and a