Crash sat up all night thinking about what to do next. By dawn he knew that there was only one thing to do. The only problem was, it involved more people than just himself.
He climbed aboard his Harley and set out to his brother’s house.
“You look like hell,” Joe said, holding wide the door. “Come on in.”
Walking into Joe’s house was always like walking into a museum. Everything looked old, well preserved, and cataloged, expensive antiques from France and England, ancient hand woven rugs from Persia, priceless jade statues from China. Even this early in the morning, there was not a piece of furniture, not a knick-knack, not a doodad out of place.
Crash always entered carefully, feeling like the proverbial bull in a china shop.
Today was no different. He leaned against the mantel to keep from having to sit in the chair.
“Does anybody even live here?” he said.
“I’ll ignore that crack.” Joe nodded toward a wing chair. “Have a seat.”
“I don’t want to wrinkle the cushion.”
“For Pete’s sake.” Joe tossed the cushion onto the floor. “Sit down before you fall down. Now, tell me what’s wrong.”
Now that he was there, Crash had cold feet. “Didn’t sleep, that’s all.”
Joe checked his watch. “Let me get this straight. You got me up at six o’clock on Sunday morning to tell me about your insomnia.”
“Yeah, I guess I did.”
“What do I look like? Somebody who rolled off a watermelon truck?”
Joe was a perfect brother, supportive without being pushy, concerned without being dictatorial, unfailingly kind. Not only that, he was Crash’s best friend. Always had been, always would be.
There are times in a man’s life when he has to trust somebody, and that somebody happened to be sitting across the room from Crash, his hair tousled from the night’s sleep, his cheeks covered with beard stubble, and his socks on wrong side out.
“It all started with a woman,” Crash said.
“Aha.” Joe made a steeple of his fingers. “Would it be the woman in red?”
“Who she is doesn’t matter. What happened does.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t quite know myself.”
“Take your time. This is not a court of law.”
“Spoken like a jackass.”
“Finally, the baby brother I know and love.”
Joe went into the kitchen and came back with two cups of coffee and a plate of English muffins. Crash smiled ruefully.
“My brother, the unflappable genius. You’re always prepared, aren’t you, Joe?”
“Eat your muffin, Nat.”
They ate awhile in silence. Over coffee Crash worked up enough courage to get to the point.
“That’s a drastic solution,” Joe said after Crash had finished explaining his plans.
“Drastic situations require drastic solutions.” He strapped on his helmet. “Besides, if you don’t keep moving, you die.”
Joe clapped his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Take care, Nat.”
“Same to you. I’ll be back to dance at your wedding, but I hope it’s not to that mannequin.”
“Nat...”
“Okay, okay.” When he was astride his Harley he gave a salute. “See you around, Joe.”
“Crash, wait.”
Joe hurried over to the motorcycle, concern written all over him.
“Are you sure about all this?”
“How can a man be sure about anything?”
Joe studied the two mockingbirds in the giant magnolia that presided over his flower garden.
He was not one to make hasty judgments or hasty decisions. Ask anybody who knew him, especially his fiancée. She’d been trying for months to pin him down on a wedding date.
“Nat, you know I’d do anything in the world for you. Why don’t you stick around for a while, think things through. I’ll help you out any way I can.”
“Thanks, Joe. A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”
Joe was thoughtful another long while, drumming his fingers against the Harley and studying the fountain nestled among his roses.
“You already told me you don’t want to discuss the woman, and I don’t mean to delve into your personal problems.” Joe cleared his throat. “The trail to the altar is long and fairly arduous, but I’ve made it this far. I don’t deem myself an expert, but I might be of assistance with this matter of the heart.”
“I’m afraid it’s too late for that, Joe. I’ve already messed things up royally. Besides, the lady and I don’t see eye to eye on anything except a dog.” Crash fastened his helmet, then saluted. “See you when I see you, pal.”
His brother hugged him close.
“Maybe I’m not such a hotshot in the love department—it’s a common failure among the Beauregard men. But I do know this. Running away from problems is not the answer.”
Crash thought about his farm and his legal degree and his Harley and the big wide world outside Tupelo. A fire burned in his soul, and all he knew was that he had to confront it and contain it or it would consume him.
“I’m not running away, Joe; I’m running toward.”