Queen Bee (Lowcountry Tales #12)(15)

“Sweet Mary, Mother of God. What happened?”

“They bribed her to stay with chocolate pudding. Trust me, you don’t want the details. It was too stupid.”

“I’m sure. So, what do you think? Do you think she’s dying?”

“Not a chance. I think the situation is serious but not dire. I mean, the doctors talked about some new treatment but said it was for down the road and only if necessary.”

“Well, that makes me feel slightly better. I don’t have to panic and run home?”

“Definitely not. There will be plenty of time to panic. But it’s not now.”

“I didn’t order flowers yet. Should I wait?”

“Up to you. She’ll probably come home tomorrow.”

“Maybe I’ll just send her a card.”

“Totally your call.”

We chatted about Momma for a few more minutes and hung up. I promised to call her if anything changed. As always, she didn’t ask about my life. I didn’t tell her I got a job because she would’ve said icing cakes at Publix was déclassé (which it was not) as though we grew up in the White House. But she came to be self-absorbed honestly, taking after our mother in so many ways. By tomorrow that card would become a phone call. I knew her. She didn’t go out of her way for anyone, not even her own mother.

I drained my cup of tea and began digging around in the drawer for a corkscrew, thinking I’d have a glass of wine while I cooked like they did on fancy television programs like Julia Child’s. Of course, there was no corkscrew to be found. Then it dawned on me that Archie probably had one. I’d just go next door and borrow it. He wouldn’t mind.

I went straight to the front door and had my hand on the doorknob when I realized this was an opportunity to impress him. I wasn’t unattractive, but my appearance was improved with grooming. So I brushed my hair and put on a little lip gloss.

“Better,” I said to the mirror.

A few minutes later, I rang his doorbell. He answered and seemed pleasantly surprised to see me there with a bottle of wine in my hands.

“Well! What’s this? Are we having a party?” he said. “A bottle of mead?”

Oh! He knew about mead!

“No, sadly, it’s just wine. I can’t find our corkscrew. Do you have one I might borrow?”

“Of course! Come in.” He held the door open and I stepped inside.

“Thanks,” I said. “I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this, but I really love your floors.”

Maybe saying love was overstating it.

“You do?”

“Yes. They’re so pretty and they really shine. But not like they’ve got some fake finish. Do you know what I mean? They have a lustrous quality, like pearls have a luster.”

Was I really using a word with lust in it? Twice? Did he read into that? His eyebrows were sort of scrunched together. Not good.

“I have kind of a thing for flooring,” Archie said. “All these boards are reclaimed from an old house in Walterboro that was being torn down. They’re hand-hewed and pegged. You don’t see that anymore. They get waxed by hand twice a year. You know, for some guys it’s sports cars, although I wouldn’t mind a Lamborghini. For me? It’s flooring, which is also attainable.” He stopped and looked at me. “You might be the only person who ever noticed the patina.”

“Really?” I didn’t tell him about the car fund.

“Yeah. Come on. Let’s pull that cork.”

I followed him to the kitchen thinking I was really glad my remark didn’t win me a Dork of the Year trophy, because the minute the words left my mouth, I realized they sounded awkward. But that was another reason I liked Archie so well. He never made me feel like I was weird or something.

At first glance, his kitchen was way too sterile. I don’t mean too clean, I mean it didn’t have a soul. Hunter and Tyler were seated at the kitchen table doing homework. The only small appliances on the counter were a coffeemaker and a toaster. Other than those two things, the counters were bare. And there was no meal preparation in evidence. Were they having pizza again?

“Hey, Mith Holly!” Tyler said.

“Hey!” Hunter said, looking up. “You coming for supper?”

“No, no. Just stopping by for a moment,” I said.

“Here it is,” Archie said. “Shall I open it for you?”

“Gosh, thanks. Sure.”

I was glad he was opening the bottle instead of me. I’d never had a lot of luck with corks. But then, I’d never had many bottles. Wine was sort of new for me. I didn’t know much about it except that a glass took the edge off my annoyance when I was annoyed. Therefore, wine was a good thing. There was a popping sound and my visit was about to end.

“Would you like to share a glass with me?” I said.

I don’t even know where I found the nerve to ask him. The words just popped out of my mouth.

“Oh! That’s so nice of you to ask. But I’ve got to feed these rascals. It’s getting late for their supper.”

“Oh! Of course! What are y’all having? For dinner, I mean.”

“Well, I was going to, you know, go get a pizza.”

“Pizza,” I said and just looked at him as if to say, come on, bubba, can’t you do better than that?