Queen Bee (Lowcountry Tales #12)(37)

“Yes, well, you should go. It’s completely charming. Anyway, we were wondering if . . .”

“I’d be delighted to take care of the boys.” Forever, I thought.

“You would? Oh, that’s just great! Another detail to check off the list as done! Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome. How long will you be gone?”

“Oh, just a week. You know our calendars are insane and well, I really can’t be away for too long. Anyway, this time we want to compensate you. Arch insists.”

“I wish he wouldn’t,” I said.

“Look, we have to spend fifty dollars a day to board my cats. So it only seems fair to give you at least the same for the boys.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. I knew I was hypersensitive when it came to the boys and this wedding and Sharon and all of it, but to put the boys in a similar category as her cats? Should I have asked if that was fifty dollars per cat?

“I’d be happy to take care of them. Let’s just leave it at that. Do y’all have a date yet?”

“Yep.”

She gave me the date and I wrote it down. We made a bit of insincere chitchat and a little blah blah blah and finally I managed to get her to hang up. Once she got started talking about herself, it was like a freight train gathering speed. There was just no stopping the thing.

“Who was that?” Momma yelled from the other room.

“The soon-to-be Mrs. Arch!” I yelled back.

There was silence for a moment. Then she said, “She calls him ‘Arch’ now? What kind of a stupid nickname is that?”

I could hardly believe the unprecedented words that were on the tip of my tongue, but here they came.

“I agree with you,” I said.

I decided to look in her room to be sure she hadn’t fainted. She had not.

“So, what’s the latest in Peyton Place?” she asked.

“I told her we’d keep the boys while they go on their honeymoon to Bermuda,” I said, and I was sure I sounded glum.

Then I told her about the kennel fees and she said, “You know, normally, I’d tell you that you were too sensitive for your own good.”

“And that I’m an idiot about men,” I said, just throwing it out there to add insult to my own injury.

This brought a small harrumph from the QB.

“I think you and Leslie are right. Arch is making a mistake. But you know what? It’s his mistake to make. We can’t do anything except keep our arms around the little boys and let them know they’re loved by us. Archie will regain his senses after he’s lived with her for a while.”

“I wish I had your faith,” I said.

Later on, when I was in the kitchen making dinner, Leslie sauntered in.

“Whatcha making?” she said.

“Something to match my mood,” I said.

“Ragout?”

“Very funny. No, I’m making a Portuguese seafood stew.”

“So you’re stewing over what? Archie?”

“Yeah, it’s like my favorite thing these days. Would you believe Sharon called me this morning? I nearly fainted when I heard her nasty voice on the other end of the phone. God, she is so self-absorbed.”

“Lemme guess. She wants you to be her maid of honor?”

“You’re hilarious,” I said, and whispered, “No. You’re not.”

“Yes, I am,” she whispered back.

“She wants us to keep the kids while they go off on their romantic honeymoon to Bermuda.”

“Of course, we’ll take care of them. We can only pray she dies from sunstroke. Or runs off with a pool boy.”

Leslie always took things to extremes.

“Isn’t it a sin to pray for something bad to happen to other people?” I said.

“Here, give me the carrots. I’ll peel them. Why don’t you ever ask for help?” she said, and I handed her a peeler.

“Sometimes it’s just easier to do it myself.”

“Well, it is not a sin to pray for the bad guys to get it. Go read the Book of Psalms in the Bible. There’s one where David asks God to pray his enemies home or something like that. People been praying for their enemies to die since forever!”

“If you say so.”

“Charlie called me this morning. Again,” she said.

“To talk about what?” I said.

“Nothing in particular,” Leslie said. “And that’s what’s so weird. He thinks everything between us is going to be fine. I told him he’s as crazy as hell.”

“Hmmm,” I said. “How could he think everything is fine?”

“Well, because we still love each other.”

My jaw dropped.

“How is that even possible?” I said. Boy, I really didn’t understand love at all. Not a bit.

“I don’t know, but it is.” She was peeling those carrots with a vengeance, long strands falling into the trash. Then she stopped and looked at me funny. “When’s the last time you had a professional haircut?”

“I trimmed it last year.”

“You cut your own hair?”

“What’s the matter with that?”

“I don’t know a single soul who cuts her own hair. Are you suffering with some kind of depression or something?”