Queen Bee (Lowcountry Tales #12)(39)

He thought about that for a moment and decided that a visit from the fire department probably wasn’t his ticket to Bermuda, so he crawled back inside.

The kitchen door slammed and suddenly Archie was in the yard.

“I heard something fall,” he said.

“Yeah, it was a screen. It’s over there.” I pointed to the bushes.

“Now how in the world did that happen?” he said.

“I wouldn’t have the first clue,” I said and thought, Wow, Hunter could have broken his neck.

The next day when I saw Hunter coming home from school, I took him aside and explained the concept of Lent to him, that this was a period of time when Catholics all over the world spent some time thinking about their souls and asked themselves if they were living a life that would please the Lord.

“What does that have to do with me?” he asked.

“It means stay off the roof, Hunter,” I said. “The good Lord would not be pleased.”

“Oh,” he said. “You might be right about that.”

“I’m actually certain,” I added. “So, what are y’all doing for Easter?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay. I’ll ask your dad,” I said.

Hunter ran inside to have an after-school treat with Tyler. Momma was making slice-and-bake cookies again. This time they were blond sugar cookies with the silhouette of a pink rabbit inside and sugar sprinkled all over them. Pink was all they had at Publix. They were out of green and blue.

Soon, Archie’s car pulled into the driveway, so I stood to greet him.

“Hi!” I said, popping up from behind the boxwoods like a jack-in-the-box. “The boys are inside with the queen. How was your day?”

“It was a good one. Yours?”

“Another day in paradise,” I said and crossed the road to greet him. “Archie, can I ask you something?”

“Sure!” he said. “Anything.”

“Do y’all observe Easter?”

“Most years, yes. But since Carin’s been gone, I don’t think we’ve been to church at all.”

“Well, this Sunday’s Palm Sunday, and down at Stella Maris they have an egg hunt for the kids on Saturday. I’d be glad to take the boys, if you’d like me to.”

“Oh, that would be so nice of you. Gosh, I’m glad you reminded me about Easter. I’ve been so focused on the wedding, I forgot all about it. I’d better get Easter baskets for the boys, too.”

“We have great ones at Publix. If you want, I can bring home two nice ones and hide them at my house until Easter morning.”

“Would you do that? Oh, that would be great! Thanks!”

“Sure! Somehow the holidays seem to have a way of sneaking up on us, don’t they?”

“Yes, they do. And this wedding’s sneaking up on me, too.”

“It’s okay to get cold feet, Archie.”

“I couldn’t do that! Sharon would kill me.”

We stared at each other for a minute. I could see I had confused him then. Was I telling him once again that he shouldn’t do this? He had told Leslie and me in no uncertain terms that he intended to marry Sharon. Well, then, if Sharon was the right girl for him and his boys, why hadn’t she offered to fix Easter baskets for the boys and for all of them to go to church together?

I knew I was an old-fashioned girl who still did things like go to church and plan for holidays. And I wasn’t reminding him about it because I thought I was a better Christian. All I cared about was the boys being overlooked and their not being included in a holiday that most of their friends and their families celebrated.

“Well, we’re making a traditional Easter dinner for after church. You know, ham, string beans, deviled eggs, potato salad, red rice—all that stuff. Biscuits. Anyway, we’d love for y’all to join us.”

Y’all did not include Sharon unless it had to.

“Well, that’s awfully nice. I’ll have to check with Sharon. You understand, don’t you?”

“Of course! Just let me know.”

Well, when the jury came in, the verdict read as follows: It would be a great help if I would be in charge of baskets and it would be great if I could sneak them over before the boys woke up. If I wanted to take them to the Easter egg hunt, that was fine. Church on Palm Sunday might work, he’d let us know, but for Easter Sunday, they were going to a gospel brunch at Halls Chophouse.

I outdid myself. I took them to the egg hunt and they had a ball. I let Mass on Palm Sunday slide, because they weren’t Catholics anyway. But when the sun rose on Easter Sunday, I had on a rabbit suit, complete with ears and a puffy ball tail. As soon as I saw a light go on at their house, I left their baskets by the front door and sneaked all around the house, tapping on the windows and dropping chocolate-covered eggs on the grass. The boys saw me, of course, and were hysterical laughing. They quickly came outside and chased me, and I threw little foil-wrapped chocolate marshmallow eggs at them, saying things like, No! You’re not supposed to catch the Easter Bunny! It’s very bad luck! Run away! Run away!

I had not counted on Sharon being at their house. Somehow, I had missed seeing her car. She opened the back door, standing there in some Victoria’s Secret peignoir set and stirring a mug of coffee.