“Thanks so much!” he said. His normal chipper mood was back. “Can’t you join us?”
“I ate. But thanks.” I turned to go.
“You haven’t told me,” he said. “How’s your new job?”
“Chicken was on sale,” I said, apropos of nothing except a weak attempt to salvage my pride. “My job is ridiculous, endless entertainment. We’ve got like six people who rotate between the deli and the bakery. Today one of the younger guys in the bakery went to decorate a birthday cake and the instructions said, ‘Just say something nice for Joan.’ So he put that on the cake.”
“Literally?” He arched an eyebrow.
“Yes. Literally. The cake read ‘Just say something nice for Joan.’ I’m pretty sure he was stoned. I mean, who wouldn’t love this job? It’s so creative, it’s like the next best thing to restoring the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.”
I said this over my shoulder as I was leaving and inside of a minute I was back on my porch, taking another UPS package inside, leaving Archie to scratch his head, surely wondering what the world was coming to.
I dropped off the package in Momma’s room.
“Thanks,” she said.
I nearly fainted.
“You’re welcome,” I said.
“I’m trying to be nice,” she said.
Nice? What’s next? Would she take up knitting and make me a sweater? Who are we kidding here?
I made myself a cup of hot tea with a big dollop of my honey. Since I’d added a teaspoon to my daily diet in one way or another, my allergies seemed improved. It was just another advantage of beekeeping. I started keeping bees because I loved the idea of other universes. Much like gardening, when you tend beehives, hours can pass without you realizing it. My gardens nourished my bees and my bees propagated my gardens and they both fed me in some spiritual way. I hadn’t yet figured out the process of fermenting honey to make mead, but at that moment I wished I had. A big mug of mead might have been just the thing I needed. Mead, by the way, is the oldest known alcoholic drink we know of.
I stared out the window over the sink and thought about Archie. It was upsetting. The offer of money made my intentions feel cheap. I really did need to get my head out of the clouds and accept the fact that Archie did not have romantic feelings for me. I knew he meant well. And it wasn’t like I was rolling in money, either. Surely, he realized that and that was why he offered to pay me. If I was going to continue to cook for them, I’d need a calculator to figure out their portion of the food cost. Or I’d just charge him something that seemed fair. By the time I’d finished my tea, I made myself understand why he’d said what he said, but Lord, he had been so abrupt. Men could be like that. Maybe I’d be better off with the UPS man. A gentler and kinder soul, to be sure, but he had thought I was weird because I warned him about getting a flat tire. What was I supposed to do? Not tell him? But the butcher at Publix was pretty cute. I’d have to check his hand for a wedding ring.
The next day was my day to volunteer at the library. I always looked forward to that. For some reason, I’d been asked to do crafts with the children, which of course suited me just fine. Since we were approaching spring, even though half the time it felt like summer, I was thinking about having the children make flowers out of felt by wrapping precut petals and leaves around the ends of pencils and gluing them in place. It was a simple craft that even young children could do, and the pencils would make a nice Easter gift for their mothers or just for them to keep.
I pulled the plastic bin of felt strips out of my sister’s bedroom closet and brought it to the kitchen table. When she got married, I decided her closets were going to waste, so I gave the clothes she left to Goodwill and used the space for storage for my craft materials. To be honest, my books filled her shelves, too. As I started sorting what felt I had by color, I thought about all the things that had happened at our kitchen table and silently thanked God the table couldn’t talk. I wondered if it remembered the arguments our dysfunctional little brood had pitched back and forth across its old mahogany top. Every disappointment of my childhood was certainly ingrained in it somewhere, along with hundreds of Daddy’s fist prints.
For years there had been a sugar bowl in the center that Leslie bought for Momma for some occasion. It was beige crockery, octagonal in shape, and decorated with stamped gold filigree. Not exactly a fine heirloom. But oh, my word! To hear Momma carry on about it, you would have thought it was made by Fabergé, encrusted in real gold and decorated with jewels.
Remembering the moment I dropped it still made my stomach hurt, even all these years later. We were drying dishes after supper. I was wiping off the table, so I picked the sugar bowl up to catch any crumbs with my damp paper towel. My hands were wet. It slipped out of my hand and hit the table. One of the handles popped off in a clean break, and naturally the screaming started. Talk about drama! Daddy walked out. And he didn’t come home until very late. And when he walked out for good? That was my fault, too, because Momma had to spend half her life yelling at me. She spent the other half yelling at him, but somehow that was beneath her notice.
I glued the handle back on with Super Glue, but that wasn’t enough to restore harmony. Even now, every time she asked me to pass it to her, she’d suck her teeth and warn me to pass it carefully. Then she’d shake her head as though I was hopeless. Leslie was her favorite. I knew it. Leslie knew it. The whole island knew it.
I was just a kid. It was an accident, but Momma didn’t believe in accidents. Neither Leslie nor Momma were very nice to me for the longest time. I’m not exaggerating one little bit. That’s how it was.
For me it was a defining moment. As of the sugar bowl break, I began to withdraw from the family bosom. I began to read like a maniac, history and biographies especially. I learned that many of my heroes had challenging beginnings, which gave me hope for my future. I babysat for the island’s children and taught myself to do counted cross stitch when I could afford the floss and how to draw with charcoal on a pad of newsprint. I learned to cook and bake by reading Southern Living magazine. Slowly, I redeemed myself because there was always a cake available for slicing or a new ornament for our Christmas tree or a new cross-stitched hand towel for the powder room. But by then I didn’t care as much. I’d grown into a citizen of the world, or so I thought, and saw that both Momma and Leslie were always setting me up for a game of Gotcha! To this very day, Momma still gave me suspicious looks, cutting her cold eyes at me, freezing my heart. All of this started over a cheap, stupid sugar bowl.
But the real truth? Leslie looked like a clone of Momma when Momma was a striking young woman. That was the underlying reason for all of their vitriol. I looked like the man who left her high and dry and gave her back the beach house on Sullivan’s Island that had belonged to her family for generations anyway. In retrospect, it didn’t seem like she got such a sweet deal.
I finally separated enough felt and packed it in a canvas tote bag with my glue gun.
The phone rang. It was probably Leslie, because no one else ever called. It was.
“Hello?”
“Hi. Is Mom awake?”
She sounded terrible, as though she’d been crying.
“Are you all right?”
“Just put Momma on the phone, okay?”
“Hang on,” I said. Sure, sweetheart, anything you want, princess . . .
I put the phone on the counter and went down the hall to peek in our mother’s room. Before I got there, I heard the snoring. Great God in heaven, that woman could snore like every hog in hell was singing the “Hallelujah” chorus from Handel’s Messiah. I went back to the kitchen and picked up the receiver.
“She’s sawing logs,” I said.
“It’s not even ten o’clock,” she said in a very whiny voice.
“What do you want from me? What’s going on, Leslie? You sound awful.”
“You know that trip to Atlantic City I took with Charlie last week?”
“Let me guess. You won a
million dollars?”
“No. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, and anyway, I can’t talk about it. Every time I . . .”
Then she broke down into tears, sobbing like a baby. Now, we all know my sister was difficult, but I didn’t like to hear her cry like this. In fact, I couldn’t remember ever hearing her cry like this.
“Leslie, come on now. Talk to me.”
“I can’t. I’m coming home.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, clean my room. I’ll be there tomorrow night.”
Oh, yes, princess, I’m already running for the vacuum.
“How long are you staying?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is Charlie coming?”
“No. Charlie is not coming. He’s going . . .”
“Where?”
“To Las Vegas.”
“For what?”
“Oh, hell, you’re going to find out anyway. To audition to be in a show. Dressed as a woman.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t think I heard you correctly.”
“You heard me correctly. Charlie is a female impersonator.”
“Just get yourself home. We’ll get this all sorted out.”
Holy hell, I thought. Holy hell.
“There can only be one queen bee per hive,” I said.
“But what if another one wants to move in?” Hunter said.
“Then there’s gonna be trouble.”
Chapter Six
Bee Truthful
In the morning, I didn’t tell our mother anything except that Leslie had called and was coming for a visit, but not that she was coming alone. I didn’t tell her about Charlie and what she said he was up to. I’d always thought there was something different about him, like he was hiding something. Dang, I was sure sorry to be right about that one. Frankly, I was surprised. I didn’t understand why anyone would want to be a female impersonator in Las Vegas or anywhere. I knew I’d been leading a sheltered life. My mind just didn’t go to things like seeing my name in neon lights. Besides, this was Leslie’s story to tell Momma, not mine.
I told my bees all about Leslie and Charlie, but that was entirely different than telling a person. They began doing their waggle dance, which they generally did when they wanted their sisters to follow them to a new location to slurp up nectar and pollen from a different patch of flowers. I like to think they waggled because the news was upsetting to them. Maybe they were warning me to be careful. Did I really want to live with Leslie again? How long was she staying? Did I have any options? Not really.
I worked at the library that day, and Tyler and Hunter were among the dozen or so children who attended the workshop. I sat with them on the low chairs and helped them choose the colors of their petals as I moved from child to child. I’d put together an example to show them what we were going to make. Hunter asked me for a small oval-shaped piece of brown felt. I watched as he attached it to the tip of a petal with a drop of glue. Then a huge smile crossed his face.
“My flower has a honey bee!” he said proudly.
The next thing I knew I was cutting brown felt for all the others until every last child had a honey bee on their flower. I showed them how to mark the body with a yellow felt-tip pen and we added tiny gold wings. No regulation honey bee would confuse these fabric imitations for sisters, but mine might be flattered to know they were so admired. I would tell them tomorrow.
When the class was over, I walked Hunter and Tyler home. There was a Mercedes-Benz with Ohio license plates in our driveway, so I knew Leslie had arrived. She was safe, so that was good. But there was a U-Haul trailer attached to the back bumper. Not good.
“All right, you two! I’ll see you later.”
“Yes, ma’am!” Tyler said.
“Are you coming for supper?” Hunter asked.
“I don’t think so, sweetheart,” I said. “My sister just arrived from Ohio for a visit, so I’m afraid I’ll be expected to eat with her. I’ll see y’all tomorrow!”
“She drove by herself from Ohio?” Tyler said. “That’s an awfully long drive!”
“Dad has a girlfriend,” Hunter announced. “She has two cats.”
“Excuse me?” I said too loudly as every hair on my body felt like it was standing on end. I was caught completely by surprise. “A girlfriend?”
“Shut up, Hunter!” Tyler said and looked at me, realizing, even at his age, that I was not delighted to hear it. “She’s not a girlfriend, if you know what I mean.”
What did he mean? Did girlfriend have a new definition?
“She’s a dentist,” Hunter said. “They got fixed up.”
“Well, that’s nice. I guess,” I said in a voice so low I could hardly hear myself. “Who stayed with y’all?”
“My teacher, Mrs. Hamilton,” Hunter said.
Hunter was oblivious to my feelings, but Tyler knew I was upset. When my eyes met his, I could see that he wasn’t too happy, either. It was odd for Archie to ask someone other than me to watch the boys while he went somewhere. Maybe he hadn’t wanted me to know he had a date. I regrouped immediately.
“Tyler? You know it’s good for your father to have some female company, don’t you?”
“Why? He doesn’t need anybody else,” he said. “He’s got us. And we’ve got you.”
I could almost feel my heart split in two. This little fellow in front of me had no idea about the needs of men. He was so innocent, but savvy enough to understand that a girlfriend threatened what status quo he had with his Dad and brother and yes, in his sweet mind, even with me. He liked things well enough as they were. A potential stepmother was very likely an enemy.
I knelt down to face him at his level and said, “And you will always have me, Tyler. No matter what happens, you and Hunter will always have me.”
Tyler threw his skinny arms around my neck and hugged me so hard. There was nothing to compare to a child’s pure affection, but more, this was a little boy who needed love he could rely on, too. He knew what he had with me. So did Hunter. I stood and ruffled Hunter’s hair and he looked at me with big eyes that told me he was pretty worried, too.
I smiled at them and said, “Listen to me, boys. This is not the time to panic. And there may never be a time to panic. If there is, I’ll let you know, okay? Now, y’all run on home.”
I watched them run up their front steps and when I knew they were safely inside, I took a deep breath and climbed my own. So, Archie was dating a dentist. Well, so what. At the moment, I had my own life to deal with. Drama was waiting for me in the kitchen.
My mother, in a bathrobe, of course, sat facing me as I came into the room. She had a very stern look on her face. Leslie’s back was to me, but I could see that she had her face in her hands and a box of tissues in front of her, and many balled-up ones were strewn across the table. Ew, I thought, nasty. If I’d ever desecrated my mother’s table with a used tissue, she would have chased me the whole way to Siberia with a belt.
“Hey, Leslie! Welcome home!” I said in my most chipper voice. “How was your trip?”
“Hey,” she whispered and sniffed. I handed her another tissue. “It sucked.”
“Well, it is a long drive,” I said.
“Why don’t you get your poor sister a glass of water,” Momma said. “She’s been through a terrible ordeal.”
I bit my tongue. Then I took a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water from the tap. In the thirty seconds I’d been in the room, our old family paradigm was resurrected and reinstated. Our mother was the evil queen bee, Leslie was her princess, and I was Cinderella. How stupid, I thought. How stupid.
“Don’t we have anything bottled?” Leslie said.
“No. I’m afraid we’re living on love around here. No frills,” I said. “Just happy faces.”
“Now, Holly, don’t you come in here and start trouble,” Momma said.
“I never should have come home!” Leslie wailed. “Oh, God! What have I done?”
With that,
Leslie took her dramatis personae exit like Joan Crawford in some angry-wronged-woman role of hers and slammed the door to her bedroom so hard, it almost jumped off the hinges.
“Well, I hope you’re happy,” Momma said.
“What are you talking about?” I said.
“This is no time for sarcasm, Holly.”
“Did she tell you the whole story?”
My mother sighed so hard then that the National Weather Service issued small craft warnings.
“I imagine certain things were left out. What she did tell me is mortifying enough. Don’t you think so?”
“I guess so. I mean, if that’s what Charlie wants to do, he should go on and do it. It’s still a free country the last time I checked.”
“And I’d like to know why you didn’t tell me why she called last night. You knew it was important.”
“I probably should’ve left you a detailed note, but you know what you always say about bad news traveling fast. Besides, I thought a story of that magnitude should come from Leslie.”
“Well, I suppose you’re right, but I would’ve liked to have had time to prepare myself for the knife she twisted into my heart.” Momma had the strangest expression on her face. “In all my days, I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“Yeah.” I couldn’t disagree with her. “It’s a whopper, all right.”
She was staring at the table as though it was taking notes.
“Holly?”
“Yes?”
“Can I ask you a peculiar question?”
“Ask me anything.”
“If Charlie wants to be a woman now, but he says he still loves Leslie, does that make him a lesbian? In his head, I mean.”
I spun around on my heel and literally gasped.
“Close your jaw,” she said. “You’ll swallow a bug.”
I closed my mouth for a brief moment.
“Good grief! Momma? I don’t think he thinks he’s a woman. How should I know? I just don’t think so. I think he just likes to dress up. But I don’t know much about that stuff. I mean, I keep bees, I work at Publix icing cakes, and I volunteer at the library. We hardly ever discuss cross-dressing and gender identity. But I’m not judging here. Maybe he’s just having a midlife crisis.”
Queen Bee Page 6
