Queen Bee (Lowcountry Tales #12)(14)

I gave him a little wave and turned to go. In the background I could hear Tyler yelling at Hunter for eating the last Oreo. And then I heard Archie telling them to cut it out. All normalcy had not been lost for them. They were coping with their grief because they had each other to pull themselves through each day. But they still bickered, which in an odd way was a good sign.

As I climbed the front steps my legs felt like they weighed a thousand pounds apiece. I realized then that I was exhausted. Of course, there was another package from UPS sitting on the rocking chair on the porch. I went inside, dropped my bag and the package on the dining room table, and took the groceries to the kitchen. I stood at the sink while I absentmindedly filled the kettle with water. Hot tea seemed like a good idea. Hot tea with honey. I wondered then if I should try to find our father and tell him about Momma. But in my guts, I knew he wouldn’t care. He wouldn’t.

Dad wasn’t consciously cruel, but he was cruel nonetheless. He’d remarried and brought three more children into the world. He’d resurfaced long enough to get Leslie up the aisle six years ago. He sure did object wildly and loudly to contributing to Leslie’s wedding bills. Eventually he gave in but complained the whole time that Momma should’ve been saving for Leslie’s wedding expenses from the alimony and child support he’d given her all these years, as though he’d given her millions. I wondered then, if I ever married, would he assume he was doing the same for me? Probably not, if it entailed any financial responsibility. I wondered if his new children ever had to eat cereal for supper, as we had, or if they wore hand-me-downs, or if their mother cut their hair. Probably not.

I had long considered myself to be fatherless due to lack of paternal interest. The more I thought about him, the more upset I became. If I ever did find someone to marry, I sure wouldn’t let that jerk overshadow my day as he had Leslie’s. I’d never forget the gossiping at her wedding. All those old biddies down at Stella Maris saying things like, Oh, isn’t he so good to come back to do this? I always said he was a good man. Well, you know, it was never easy for him living with her. Who could blame him for walking away from her?

Not that they were wrong, but it sure shifted the tone of my sister’s wedding day, putting him in the spotlight. Leslie didn’t care. She was marrying the Wallet and she was immune to all else. About six months before the wedding Momma went on a crash diet, determined to look good for the big day. She’d be so drop-dead gorgeous, Daddy would be sorry he left, she said about a thousand times while she choked down dozens of hard-boiled eggs and chomped on celery sticks. When the day arrived, she looked the best that she had in ages, but a magician she wasn’t. And don’t you know Dad just had to bring his new wife with him? Would you believe Lola was her name? She looked like a young Jackie Kennedy. Momma took one look at her and wanted to just lay down and die. That was the other time I felt truly sorry for her. Getting kicked to the curb in front of Sullivan’s Island society is the worst. But being undone at your daughter’s wedding by the presence of the stunning woman who stole your husband is horrific. Momma wasn’t stupid; she knew he was catting around when she found condoms hidden in the air conditioner when she was changing the filter.

As in many small towns across the country, everyone on this island has something to say about everybody’s business. I mean, most of the time I didn’t like Momma very much, but I didn’t like Dad at all. These were not easy people to like or love. But I didn’t want to see my mother publicly humiliated.

It didn’t seem to bother Dad or Leslie. Not one bit. I remember I took Momma aside and said, “Screw Dad. Lola’s nothing but trash.” She burst into tears and I took her to the ladies’ room. She washed her face and said, “I think I’d like to eat some cake.” That was the end of Skinny Katherine. Pretty soon, Big Mean Momma was back. And maybe that’s another reason I didn’t leave her. By the time her divorce from Dad was final, she’d had enough rejection to last ten lifetimes. And while we’re on the subject of weight? Momma could weigh a thousand pounds if she wanted to, but I had always worried for her health. Nowhere in any medical journal did the experts say that being overweight was a good idea. It was just as dangerous as being too skinny. And now here we were. Momma’s health was officially in jeopardy. Of course, while I couldn’t swear her weight had a thing to do with it, it couldn’t have helped.

The whistle of the kettle snapped me back into reality. I swirled a dollop of honey into the bottom of a mug, dropped a Constant Comment tea bag in, and covered it all with boiling hot water. I decided to call Leslie first and cook supper later. It was still early.

She answered on the third ring. Of course.

“Hey,” I said. “You busy?”

“Hey, Holly. No,” she said. “What’s going on?”

“Well, here’s the bad news. Momma’s got some itty-bitty tumors in her liver and her pancreas.”

“What? Oh, no!”

“Wait, hang on. Don’t get upset. The doctors think that whatever she’s got is benign, but they want to monitor her. So she’s still in the hospital because they want to do some more tests.”

“Good grief! How’d she handle the news? Is she hysterical?”

“There was a moment of rebellion.”

“Meaning?”

“She decided she was leaving and ripped the IV out of her hand.”