Queen Bee (Lowcountry Tales #12)(33)

“He’s still perfectly willing to do those things,” Leslie said. “As long as I’m cool with calling him Charlene and watching him pretend to be Cher or Liza or God only knows who.”

There was a pregnant pause in the conversation.

“You did the right thing, Leslie,” Momma said.

I said, “Why Archie wants her is inexplicable to me. Carin must be turning over in her grave.”

Everyone agreed. What to do? What to do?

“So, Plan A was a bust. And what we learned in Plan B is too hot to handle,” Leslie said. “What’s Plan C?”

“Plan C is to think about it and tomorrow we’ll come up with something,” Momma said.

There was a lazy supper of whatever we could put together from last night’s dinner with a salad of tomatoes, greens, and red onions. Momma went to bed, Leslie and I cleaned up the kitchen, then we took a glass of wine to the porch.

We sat in our usual rockers, toasted each other, and took a sip.

“At some point in our unremarkable lives, one of us needs to take a course about how to avoid buying bad wine,” Leslie said.

“Good idea. I just put a lot of ice in it and then it doesn’t taste so terrible.”

“That was one thing Charlie knew. Wine, I mean,” Leslie said, and paused for a moment. “You know, I don’t think Charlie is really so, so odd. I mean, way down deep in his soul. I think he’s afraid of life passing him by or something. He wants a thrill. A big thrill. Do you know what I mean? There’s something about getting married, buying a house, and moving to the burbs of Cleveland, or anywhere like that, that can feel suffocating.”

“I was all set to be suffocated, and nada. Ain’t happening.”

“Domestic life just doesn’t ring his bells. Like, he thinks his life’s over. There are no more big choices at our age. You’ve made them. Now you have to wait for a promotion to do just what you’re doing, except more of it, for some stupid incremental raise. It’s a big fat snore.”

“You think he really doesn’t mean to be a full-time female impersonator?”

“I think he’s trying to be outrageous.”

“Job well done,” I said.

Leslie raised her glass to Charlie, in the darkness.

“That’s what I’m thinking.”

“Maybe. Are you going to hire a lawyer?”

It was getting dark.

“Not tonight. I’m going to take a walk over to Middle Street and do a pub crawl. Care to join me?”

“Me? Oh, Leslie. No. No, thanks. Maybe some other time.”

“I know. But no guts, no glory. Listen, I’m losing my mind staying home every night.”

“I’m used to it. Anyway, you go have fun. I’ll see you later.”

“Don’t wait up for me, babe.”

Leslie went inside and came out a few minutes later. I could smell perfume, and even in the low light, I could see that she had applied a lot of makeup. And she had changed clothes. It didn’t seem right for her to go to the bars alone. I hoped she’d run into an old friend and have a good time remembering the things they did when they were kids or when they went on dates or whatever. She was lonely. I knew what loneliness tasted like. It was bitter, and you wanted to hide it because complaining about it made you look weak and pathetic. But I was used to it. I just called it leading a solitary life. I guessed that the shock of Charlie and the rejection of Archie were the springboards to a good case of forgetting about propriety and all the barriers of the world women endured, although Sullivan’s Island was more relaxed about those kinds of societal rules. Good for her! Good for her to get out of this house and out of her box and see what fun there was to be had on this old island, even if she had to go it alone.

But I strongly disagreed with one thing she said. All the big choices about my life had yet to be made. There was a future out there that had yet to be lived, and it was waiting for me to find it.

I checked on the queen and she was lost in the arms of Morpheus, snoring softly like a bear.

After I washed my face and brushed my teeth, I climbed into bed. Maybe I should paint my bedroom walls a new color. I liked that really pale shade of celery green. Maybe even trim it with something besides cream. Like pale yellow? Or maybe I should think about wallpaper. I needed a change. My old mahogany bed needed new life. I didn’t even know where it came from. Some long-dead relative, I guessed. Maybe I should paint it, too? And I still had my desk from high school and the same old chair. Maybe I should try to get some money together for a new rug. Suddenly, my bedroom, which had always been my favorite spot in the house, seemed worn. I was feeling so restless that night, my mind still running a mile a minute. When was Archie going to pop the question to Sharon? When was he going to ask her how she felt about his sons? When was he going to tell the boys? How would they react? That was what I worried about the most. I knew they already had serious doubts about Sharon’s affection for them.

I must have drifted off to sleep, but around five o’clock, just as the sun was beginning to light the eastern horizon on fire, I woke suddenly and decided to use the bathroom. The house was quiet, as the air-conditioning hadn’t kicked into its day cycle yet. The floors were drafty. I thought to myself, Someday, if I ever have any money, I’m going to insulate this place the right way, whatever that meant. Most of the original island cottages had no insulation at all.