Queen Bee (Lowcountry Tales #12) - Dorothea Benton Frank Page 0,56

Capron at one time, a fallout shelter at another, and now kids loved to slide down it on sheets of cardboard. It was the closest thing Sullivan’s Island had to sledding. The playground had been built over time. First there were tennis courts and basketball courts. Later on a gazebo was built, swings and sliding boards were added, and a playhouse, and all sorts of other opportunities for climbing or digging in the sand. There was something there for children of all ages.

Tyler and Hunter were taking advantage of all of it. I had decided it was best not to bring Sharon up in conversation with them unless they were the ones to do so. In fact, I decided to restrict my thoughts about Sharon to conversations with my bees. I sure didn’t want my disappointment in Archie’s marriage to be the talk of the town. Not for one second.

The boys seemed to know quite a few of the kids on the playground, probably from school. It reminded me that no parent knows every single thing about their child’s life and that eventually, they really will have a whole life for themselves, independent of your orbit. I shouldn’t worry about them so much. And then I wondered for a moment if Carin was watching us from somewhere, heaven maybe. How would she feel about Archie and Sharon? For some inexplicable reason I could almost hear her laughing and laughing. And when I had the thought of how she would like me taking care of her kids, I could almost feel her hand on my shoulder in gratitude. It was funny, how connected you felt to the unseen world on this island. But that was the Lowcountry and what it seemed to do to most anyone who would take the time to listen to the muses hidden in the salt air. It occurred to me then that this was another advantage of living here, that edge it gave you, that it made you a deeper thinker. If you wanted to be one, that is.

I loved watching Hunter and Tyler having fun. Someone had a basketball and there was an impromptu game between them all, just shooting hoops, which of course eluded Hunter, who wasn’t tall enough to even hit the rim. This was why I wanted to teach. I wanted to be in a world filled with children as they woke up to something new each day and I could help them see their growing sense of reality more clearly. When Tyler and Hunter were good and sweaty and red faced and out of breath, they stumbled over to me on the bench.

“We could probably stand some ice cream now,” Tyler said.

“Oh, you could, huh?” I said and smiled.

“Yeah,” Hunter said, giggling, “if we had to.”

“Then let’s go see what wondrous treats are in the freezer at the gas station!”

The walk from the playground to the tiny convenience store attached to the Circle K gas station was only minutes, and soon all three of us were standing on the corner of Station Twenty-two and a Half, devouring some terrible unhealthy combination of sugar and chemicals. They sold great coffee, milk, bread, sodas, and emergency supplies, such as batteries, potato chips, doughnuts, and toilet paper. But the freezer filled with the least healthy of iced snacks was our favorite.

“This is delicious,” said Tyler, who was taking down a creamy orange ice cream concoction in a tube.

“Mine’s better,” said Hunter, who was making fast work of a fudge bar on a stick.

“Let’s make a deal,” I said, while luxuriating in the awesomeness of an ice cream sandwich.

“What’s the deal?” Tyler said.

“If y’all take your baths and get ready for bed early, I’ll make spaghetti and meatballs and let y’all stay up and watch 60 Minutes with me. We can eat in front of the television.”

“Do we get garlic bread?” Hunter asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Cool! What’s 60 Minutes?” Tyler said.

“Well, it’s only the most interesting program on television, that’s all.”

“What’s it about?” Hunter said.

“That’s the thing! It’s about new things every single week. Sometimes it’s about mountain climbers or the jungle in the Amazon or a symphony orchestra or kids who are prodigies. It can be about anything and everything, but different every week,” I said. “And it gives you something to talk about that other people might not know about.”

“What’s prodigies?” Hunter asked.

“Really super talented individuals,” I said.

“You mean like National Geographic programs are different every week?”

“Exactly, but National Geographic deals more with the

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