Queen Bee (Lowcountry Tales #12) - Dorothea Benton Frank Page 0,38

afternoon. Leslie drove her there, and because Sharon did not know Leslie or Momma from Adam’s housecat, she wouldn’t have recognized either one of them. I was coming home from work just about the same time they were returning from the city.

“I’m going to make us a pitcher of iced tea,” Momma said.

“Perfect!” Leslie said. “I’ll cut us a slice of cake.”

“I’m starving,” the queen said.

“Espionage is completely exhausting,” I said, thinking I was pretty clever for once. “How did it go?”

The changes in Momma were remarkable. Since Leslie’s return, Momma had not fallen out of bed once. Even more remarkable, she was out of bed and dressed appropriately. Now she was making tea. Her life force had begun to flow in her veins again. She was in exceptional humor. Well, I knew why, of course. Since Leslie married and left home, Momma had been in mourning for Leslie, her clone. She had been depressed. Here’s the weird part. I didn’t mind Momma’s turnaround one iota. I’d much rather have her this way than how she had been in Leslie’s absence. God, we were such a peculiar family. Now we were engaged in sabotage like the Snoop Sisters. But hey, every family needs a project.

I cut a lemon into wedges and took glasses from the cabinet. Within a few minutes we were recapping the afternoon.

“So what did you think of her?” I asked them.

“She’s an imperious so-and-so and I didn’t like her one bit,” Momma said. “She wanted to put veneers on all my teeth and give me a Hollywood smile. When I told her I didn’t need a Hollywood smile, she said, then, I should at least bleach my teeth, and I said what for?”

“She’s not telling you the best nugget,” Leslie said. “She asked her if she had children and Sharon said, ‘That’s one pain in my neck I’ll never have.’ Nice, right?”

“Oh, God, she doesn’t want children?” I said. “Don’t you think Archie needs to know that?”

“Absolutely,” Leslie said. “But how are you going to tell him something like that?”

“Leslie’s right,” Momma said. “But surely, he’s going to ask her how she feels about the boys at some point, don’t you think?”

“You would think so,” I said. “You would think so. But I don’t know what to think anymore.”

“It’s true,” Leslie said. “The whole world seems like it’s gone mad.”

“Are you talking about Charlie or Archie?” Momma said.

“Momma,” Leslie said, “Charlie isn’t mad, he’s just too odd for me. People should be free to do what they want.”

“I know that, but he promised to love, honor, and cherish you in front of every last person I know on this island,” Momma said. “He should’ve told you.”

“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,

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