Queen Bee (Lowcountry Tales #12)(45)

“Of course! I think they’re going to need a lot of attention for the foreseeable future,” Momma said. “I’m sure Sharon is going to try and establish authority over them. From everything I’ve seen and heard, she’s a tough cookie.”

“She is,” I said and wondered what was going on with me that I was agreeing with Momma right and left. “And thanks. I’m gonna go over there now because I know Archie and his bride are taking off soon. I want to be sure the boys get a good breakfast.”

“I know where to find you,” she said.

I was just putting some things together to take next door—a book I was reading, my toothbrush, and a pair of pajamas—when the phone rang. Leslie must’ve picked it up, and a few minutes later she came into the kitchen.

“Is there any coffee left?”

“Good morning!” Momma said. “Decent people have been up for hours, you know.”

“It’s the weekend, Momma. Decent people also sleep later on the weekends.”

“Don’t sass me,” Momma said. “I can still turn you over my knee.”

Leslie rolled her eyes and I poured her a mug of coffee and handed it to her, shaking my head. I thought, Well, that was an ironic thing to say for someone who had spent most of her life in bed until Leslie returned. But when I looked back at Momma there was a tiny smile creeping across her face. She was having fun.

“I’m having breakfast with Charlie this morning,” Leslie said.

“Why?” Momma said.

“Because I have to get some things straight between us,” Leslie said.

“Good luck with that,” I said. “But let me know how it works out. I’ll be next door.”

I rinsed out my mug and blew them a little kiss.

It was a beautiful day and there was no humidity to speak of. Spring had officially returned to Sullivan’s Island. More and more flowers were blooming, and all the bushes had new growth. The azaleas had reached their peak and the magnolias were about to pop open. Confederate jasmine and fig ivy were on the crawl again, climbing and winding around anything in their path. And all those dahlias I planted earlier in the month were coming soon. I was more excited about them than anything else I’d ever planted.

Last spring, just by chance, I’d gone to the Citadel Mall and saw an exhibition put on by the Charleston Garden Club. That was the first time in my life I’d ever seen a dahlia, and I fell in love with them right away. They were so intricate, they almost looked like origami flowers made of tissue paper. And they bloomed in a riot of colors, too many to remember. I decided right then and there that I was going to grow dahlias, even though they weren’t fond of our zone or of the coast. So, I worked hard to create the perfect environment for them by mulching leaves and some other organic matter into the soil. I knew they hated hot weather, so I bought a bunch of cheap beach umbrellas to give them shade when it grew too hot, which happened every single year of my life. And I planted the dahlias in a location where they would get afternoon shade. If they didn’t bloom, it wouldn’t be because I had not tried my best. But if they all bloomed as planned, this summer’s garden would stop traffic.

Anyway, my focus for the next seven days was not dahlias but little boys, little boys who needed a truckload of love, and I was ready to deliver. I rang the doorbell and inside of a minute, Tyler opened the door.

“Good morning, best man! How are . . . what’s wrong, baby?”

Tyler burst into tears and fell into my arms.

“Tyler! Tell me what’s happened?”

“She made us . . . she took all . . . the pictures of our mom and put them away. Now I can’t even see a picture of my mom without asking her first.”

Then he began to wail. My heart sank. I thought, Oh my God, that’s the meanest thing I’ve ever heard of! But in the next minute, I could sort of see Sharon’s point. Only sort of. She was Archie’s new wife, and no matter who he married, that woman wouldn’t be happy to see pictures of the deceased wife who had been canonized by the entire population who knew her. Still, it was no way to start things off. I thought for another minute and hoped I had a solution.

“Hold on there, sweet pea, I think I have a way to work this out. Where’s your daddy?” I pulled a tissue from my bag and gave it to him. “Blow.”

He blew his nose and wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his pajamas.

“Upstairs in the bedroom with her. They locked the door.”

Well, I knew what that meant, but I quickly changed the subject. But all Tyler knew was that today, and maybe for a long time, he wasn’t welcome in their bedroom. There would be no more morning snuggles or tickle fests or pillow fights.

“Did you and your brother have breakfast?”

“We just had some leftover cake.”

“Okay, where’s Hunter?”

“Watching cartoons,” he said.

“Well, why don’t we see if we can’t rustle up some grub for you two cowboys? Silver dollar pancakes?”

“Yeah!” he said with a big smile.

“Okay! Now! That’s the face I like to see! Go get your brother and meet me in the kitchen.”

When I got to the kitchen my heart sank again. The cake they had demolished was the top layer of Archie and Sharon’s wedding cake, traditionally saved for the happy couple’s first anniversary. It had been carefully packed by the caterer. The boys had literally destroyed the box and eaten most of it. I decided to close the box and hide it in the back of the freezer. Sharon was not going to like that at all. If she found out. Which she wouldn’t until a year from now. Better yet, I was going to throw it out as soon as they left.