Queen Bee (Lowcountry Tales #12)(21)

“No, I think this is a real thing he’s been hiding for a long time. You do know he wants to stay married to Leslie, don’t you?”

What? Stay married? No way! I tried to remain calm.

“No, she didn’t tell me that, but I can see why it might be problematic.”

“But he wants her to call him Charlene when he’s dressed up. Dear God! What next?”

Holy crap, I thought.

“I’d call a lawyer. But that’s up to Leslie,” I said.

“Thank God they don’t have children.”

“Well, it would be more complicated; that’s for sure. Although, I’d love a niece or a nephew.”

Momma harrumphed loudly and stared at me with squinted eyes.

“Who put the bee in your bonnet?” she said.

“No one. I’m fine.”

She harrumphed again. She knew I wasn’t telling her something.

“What’s for dinner?” she said.

“I took more pork chops out of the freezer this morning.”

“With apples?”

“Of course.” Was she accidentally telling me she liked something I cooked?

“You know, even though it was trouble that brought Leslie home, it’s nice to have my girls under one roof.”

“If you say so,” I said.

“I’m going to go lie down,” she said in the weariest voice I’d ever heard. “This is too much for me. Too much.”

She wasn’t wrong. It was too much. Good Lord, how would we ever sort this one out? Somehow, all the nosy Nellies on this island were going to find out about Charlie and talk about Leslie behind her back. Eventually, Leslie would hear about it and be mortified. I could see the writing on the wall. She was going to have to come up with a story. Maybe she should just tell the truth.

I began peeling the apples into large chunks. I threw some ground sage, cinnamon, and brown sugar on them and browned them a bit in butter in our Dutch oven that was so old I don’t even remember life without it. A few minutes later I heard loud thuds, like things were crashing on the floor. I turned off the stove and went to investigate. It was my lovely sister Leslie, the Princess of Pride, tossing my books and bins from her room to mine.

“What are you doing?” I said.

“I don’t need your shit all over my room. I’ve got a whole trailer to unpack. Did anyone offer to help me? Hell, no! I hate this family!”

I decided to use the voice I used at Publix when it was clear I was dealing with a deranged customer.

“Leslie? You’re angry. You’ve got every right to be.”

“I’m way more than angry!”

“And you’re probably exhausted from your long drive.”

“My shoulders are killing me!”

She leaned against the wall and began to weep all over again. Even though she aggravated me to death, I felt sorry for her. Who else did she have in the world? I threw my arm around her shoulder and gave her a squeeze.

“Why don’t you go take a good long soak in the bathtub? It would do you a world of good. And if you’ll stop throwing my stuff around, I’ll help you unload your trailer in the morning. How’s that?”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. Oh, Holly! My life is one big mess! How could Charlie do this to me?”

“Because you can only hide your true self for so long? I don’t know. You want a glass of wine?”

“A bottle and a straw would be more like it.”

She attempted a smile, and it was so lopsided and her eyes were so puffy, it made me feel awful for her.

“Archie’s got a new flame,” I said. “A dentist.”

She gave me the funniest look and realized that I had feelings for him. And that I was disappointed.

“Men stink,” she said.

“Yeah, but we love the smell,” I said.

“We must!”

“Go start your bath and I’ll bring you a glass of my best cheap wine.”





Tyler said, “Tell us what happens when the queen dies.”

I said, “Well, in one scenario, worker bees will enlarge normal cells to a size that will accommodate a queen, then flood them with royal jelly. If more than one virgin queen emerges, they fight to the death to see who will rule the hive.”

“Cool.”


Chapter Seven



Bermuda Triangle

Over the next few weeks Archie explored the wonders of his dentist and Leslie wormed her way back into my heart. Deeply destabilized by Charlie’s announcement, she began to change, to get nicer, more considerate. For one thing, she stood up for me with our mother.

“Holly’s not your personal chew toy, Momma.”

“Whatever is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you should quit nitpicking everything she does.”

Momma would harrumph, which was still her signature sound of disapproval, and then proceed to ignore us for a while.

She was my sister, after all, so it was nice to see her act like one. And although Charlie made many attempts to patch things up, Leslie insisted she was through with him.

We were sitting on the front porch having a glass of iced tea and talking like sisters do.

“I just can’t go back, you know?” she said.