Queen Bee (Lowcountry Tales #12)(4)

Tyler added, “How do you know they have five thousand prisms? Did you count them?”

I laughed and said, “No, honey, I read it somewhere. But they’re interesting little critters, aren’t they?”

Hunter began running in small circles, looking skyward. I mean, how long did I really expect him to pay attention?

“What else do you know?” Hunter said.

“I know you’re going to throw up if you don’t stop that,” I said.

“No! Tell us something else!” Tyler said.

“Well, I just told your brother that honey bees are the only insects that make food for us!”

“Cool!” they said.

“There are still a lot of mysteries to solve about honey bees.”

Then the screaming started.

“Holly! Help me!” Dramatic pause to gain momentum. “Helllllppppp!”

“Coming! Hang on!” I called back. “Oh, Lord,” I muttered.

“Help!”

“Is that Mith Katherine?” Tyler said.

“Who else would it be? QB! The big queen bee! You boys run along now. She’s okay. I promise!” I said and kind of sauntered back into the house at my own pace, discarding parts of my beekeeper outfit as I went through the back door. The boys turned on their heels and ran home. There was little doubt that they would report the bee facts I’d given them to their father. But I knew that they might or might not relate the story of my mother screaming bloody murder, because she did it all the time. How terrible that it happened so often that everyone took it for granted.

By the time I got to her room, I only had the overalls left to ditch, and there she was in all her glory, crumpled to the floor with her nightgown hiked up around her waist.

“Help me up,” she said.

I pulled her nightgown down to cover her lady parts, but there was no chance on this earth that I could lift her bulky weight. I reached for the phone to call 911.

“Pick me up, Holly!”

“Momma, you know I can’t do that. You’re too heavy.”

“That’s a damn lie. If your sister was here, she’d take care of me one helluva lot better than you do!”

“Well, she’s not here, is she?”

I tapped the numbers into the phone.

“What’s your emergency?”

“Hey, Darlene. It’s Holly Jensen over on the back beach? Momma fell out of bed, and well, you know, I can’t pick her up.”

“Don’t you even try to move her, Miss Holly. I’ll get Anthony over there in two shakes. I’m sure she’s okay, don’t you worry. How’re your bees doing? We sure have been enjoying the honey you gave us.”

“Oh, I’m so glad to know that. My bees are fine, thanks. Remember, there’s plenty more honey where that came from!”

Momma was instantly irked. “I’m lying here on the floor, maybe near death! And, you’re on the phone discussing bees and honey? You’ve got to be kidding me! What if my hip’s broken?”

I thanked Darlene and hung up. She had recently married Mark Tanenbaum, and everyone said she was the most beautiful bride they’d ever seen. He was a handsome devil, too.

“Momma? Your hip’s not broken. You’d be screaming in agony. And even if it is, there’s nothing wrong with being nice once in a while. You ought to try it.”

“Don’t be fresh with me. You’re only talking like that to me because I’m in a compromised position.”

“No, ma’am. I’m talking to you like that because I’m telling you the truth.”

In minutes, there was a knock at the door and the voice of Anthony Stith, the head of the fire department, rang out in a melodious but thunderous boom. Boy, that was quick, I thought.

“Anybody home?” he called.

“Back here!” I answered but rushed out to meet him all the same. I pulled my cardigan around me. “Oh, Anthony! Thank you for coming!”

“Happy to help,” he said pleasantly.

Momma, for once, said nothing. Anthony stepped into the room. Two EMS workers waited in the hallway with a collapsible gurney. They must’ve been close by to arrive here so quickly. But then, nobody was that far away from anybody on our tiny island, which was perhaps four miles long, depending on erosion and accretion.

“How y’all doing, Miss Katherine?” he asked.

“Obviously, not so well,” she answered, as if it were Anthony’s fault she was lying on the floor.

I looked through the window at Archie’s little boys chasing each other around their yard.

“They’re cute little rascals, aren’t they?” Anthony said. “Terrible thing about their momma’s passing, isn’t it?”

“I’d give anything in the world to have kids like them,” I said.

“Oh, please,” Momma said. “Children are so overrated.”

“Thanks a lot, Momma,” I said and rolled my eyes at Anthony.

He just smiled and, undeterred by her notorious bad manners, knelt by her side.

“Do you mind if I poke around a little bit?”

“Just what do you mean by that?”

Anthony smiled again. “I mean, do you have any pain anywhere? Can you move your arms?”