Sweet Tea Tuesdays

by Ashley Farley

  “This may come as a surprise, but I don’t care if men look at me or not.” She turned on her heel and headed out the front door. Men had been ogling Midge all her life. She didn’t want them to look at her. She wanted them to see her, to open the cover and read her thoughts. While she had an innate sense for the real estate market, her success had not happened overnight. A shy girl from a small hick town with no more than a high school education, she lacked the social skills to charm her clients. To overcome her shortcomings, she educated herself by studying the habits of men and women she admired and reading everything she could get her hands on—from biographies of famous Southerners to accounts of historical events to local and national periodicals relating to news, fashion, decorating, and food and wine. She became an expert on everything that had to do with Charleston and the Lowcountry. To her clients she appeared knowledgeable about local goings-on, and she engaged in lively political debates whenever the opportunity arose.

  She slipped into the passenger side and settled into the leather seats of Bennett’s sports car. “So . . . where is this waterfront condo?”

  “On Concord, near the pineapple fountain in Waterfront Park.” He put the car in gear and zoomed down the street, too fast for Midge’s comfort. “Rumor has it, they hired a New York designer for the redo. I understand a unit might be coming available soon. It would be perfect for us.”

  She gripped the handle on the roof. “What do you mean, for us? I assumed you would move in with me.” The tiny carriage house Bennett rented on Council Street had nice features, but it was way too small for the two of them.

  He flipped on his blinker and made a left turn onto East Bay. “Tradd Street is so pedestrian. We need to find something better suited to our lifestyle. Something swanky and sophisticated.”

  Midge wasn’t sure she wanted swanky and sophisticated. She was content with cozy and predictable.

  They found a parking place on the street and walked two blocks along the waterfront to the address. As they entered the small lobby, Midge felt butterflies in her belly. Her social skills, refined as they were, had yet to be proven in Bennett’s world.

  The elevator deposited them in the penthouse foyer, where Grace Leland greeted guests as they entered. The combination of her white sundress that hugged her slim figure along with her white-blonde hair pulled back at the nape of her neck presented an image of elegance as she gave warm smiles to new arrivals. But when she saw Midge and Bennett, her blue eyes turned cold. She all but cringed when Bennett kissed her cheek. “How nice of you to come,” Grace said through tight lips. Midge offered her hand, but Grace ignored it, turning her attention to the couple behind them.

  Midge found their hostess’s behavior odd, borderline rude. She understood why a little while later when she overheard Grace whispering with a man Midge assumed was her husband. “What is Bennett Calhoun doing here?” the husband asked. “Did you invite him?”

  Bennett had struck up a conversation over the buffet table with an elderly gentleman about fishing, and Midge had wandered off to explore the Lelands’ sophisticated and swanky penthouse pad. When her self-guided tour ended, she stopped by the bar for a refill on her Chardonnay and planted herself near the fireplace. The elegant couple didn’t realize she was standing behind them, in close enough proximity to overhear their conversation.

  Grace’s face registered surprise. “Why would I invite him? I barely even know him, Tyler. I thought you invited him.”

  “I’ve never spoken to the man in my life. That’s what you get for sending the invitations by e-mail. His contact information must have somehow gotten mixed in with the others.”

  Grace placed her long fingers on her bony hip. “Why would I have his contact information? We went to preschool together. I’ve only seen him a few times since then.” She touched her fingertips to her lips in feigned horror. “You don’t think he’s casing out our home, planning to rob us, do you?”

  Tyler rolled his eyes. “He’s a realtor, Gracie. I’m sure he just wanted to see what we’ve done with the place.”

  Midge inched away before Grace noticed her. She made a beeline to Bennett, who was still conversing with the same elderly gentleman about the same blue marlin he’d caught in a fishing tournament in May. She tugged on his jacket sleeve. “Can we go, please? I don’t feel well all of a sudden. It must be something I ate.”

  His face tightened. “Already? We just got here.”

  She flashed the elderly gentleman a smile. “It may seem that way, darling, because you’ve been talking this poor gentleman’s ear off about your marlin. But we’ve actually been here for quite some time. And I have an early meeting in the morning.”

  The gentleman’s eyes twinkled as he clapped Bennett on the shoulder. “Why are you still standing here? You heard the pretty lady. She wants you to take her home.”

  Midge started toward the elevator. “Shouldn’t we thank our hosts?” Bennett asked, and she responded in a clipped tone, “I already did.”

  Bennett talked all the way home about the Lelands as though they were his best friends. Midge didn’t have the heart to tell him what she’d overheard. She convinced herself that Tyler was right about the mix-up with the invitation. Bennett would never go to a party uninvited.

  When they reached her house and he begged to come inside, Midge said, “I’m sorry. I enjoyed the evening, but I have a full day tomorrow and need to get some sleep.”

  She went straight upstairs to her room. She washed her face, brushed her teeth, and changed into her nightgown. She then turned back the bedspread and crawled between the cool, crisp sheets. After retrieving her computer and the stack of mail from the bedside table where she’d left them earlier, she thumbed through the mail and was surprised to see her statement from Wells Fargo had been opened. That’s odd. Opening her laptop, she was even more surprised to find her Internet browser connected to her bank’s website. Back off! she told the nagging feeling in her gut. I’m sure it’s just a coincidence. Bennett banks with Wells Fargo as well.

  Returning the computer and mail to the bedside table, she removed her bottle of sleeping pills from the top drawer. She usually took only half a pill, but tonight she swallowed one whole.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Lula

  Lula was waiting on her front porch early on Wednesday afternoon when Lizbet’s little red Honda came speeding down the street. She parked at an angle to the curb, hopped out of the car, and rushed up the sidewalk. “What’s wrong, Mom? Are you okay? Did you fall? Are you hurt?”

  “Of course not. I’m fine.” With a flick of her wrist, Lula dismissed her daughter’s concern. “But I have big news I wanted to share with you. Your sister is coming home for a visit. She’ll be here over the Fourth. You and I have a party to plan.”

  Lizbet’s pale-gray eyes narrowed, and her lips drew thin. “Wait a minute. You texted me to get over here as fast as I could to tell me Brooke is coming home for a visit?”

  Her daughter’s angry tone caused Lula to take a step back. “I thought you’d be excited to hear the news.”

  “I have a full-time job now, Mother. I can’t come running over here every time you need me to help you with your iPad or to carry a basket of laundry upstairs when your back is bothering you.”

  Lula couldn’t remember the last time Lizbet had called her Mother, if ever. “But we always plan the Fourth of July party together. There’s so little time and so much to do. We need to send out invitations and hire a band. Would your boss consider catering the party? Nothing fancy, just burgers and dogs.”

  Lizbet leaned back against the porch column. “Heidi doesn’t do burgers and dogs. I assume you’re planning to have this party at the beach house. Why don’t you get Home Team Barbecue to cater it?”

  Lula turned up her nose. “Barbecue is so common.”

  Lizbet rolled her eyes. “What do you call hamburgers and hot dogs?”

  Lula folded her arms over her chest. “Then you tell me. What kind of food would Heidi
suggest for a party like this?”

  “I have no idea. I don’t plan the menus. I help prepare the food and serve the guests. She would probably suggest you have a Southern summer supper—light fare like cold salads and deviled eggs.”

  Lula tapped her chin as she considered the idea. “I like the sound of that. The invitation could read A Southern Summer Supper to Celebrate the Fourth.”

  “I wouldn’t get your hopes up. It’s so last minute, I doubt Heidi can accommodate you. And don’t count on me coming to the party. I’m sure I’ll be working.”

  Lula blinked hard. “What do you mean? Of course you’re coming to your sister’s welcome home party. You’ll have to tell this Heidi person you have a family commitment.”

  “I hate to break it to you, Mom, but the real world doesn’t work that way.” A group of youngsters skateboarding down the center of the road caught Lizbet’s attention, and she watched them for a minute before turning back to her. “We haven’t had our Fourth of July party in years. Is all this trouble for Brooke?”

  “She’ll be the honored guest, of course. I think it’d be nice for her to see some of her old friends.”

  “Whatever.” Lizbet fanned herself. “God, it’s hot out here. I’m going to get a bottled water.” She brushed past Lula and entered the house.

  Lula followed her daughter to the kitchen. “I stopped buying bottled water. I got tired of throwing away the half empties. We have a Brita dispenser now.”

  “I’m sure the environment thanks you.” Lizbet filled a tumbler with ice and water from the Brita pitcher. “It’s so out of the blue. Did Brooke say why she decided to come home?”

  “She hasn’t been to Charleston since she graduated from college. I think it’s time, don’t you?”

  “I think it’s past time,” Lizbet said, and took a gulp of water. “But I get it. She lives in California. She has a high-pressure job with very little time off. Is she bringing anyone with her? I wonder if she has a boyfriend.”

  “As far as I know she’s coming alone,” Lula said, dropping down to the nearest chair at the kitchen table. “I’m not privy to the details of her love life. Has she mentioned anything to you about a special someone?”

  “I haven’t talked to Brooke since Christmas. In the posts I see of her on Facebook and Instagram, she’s always with her girlfriends.” Lizbet sat down opposite her and studied her face. “You look pale, Mom. Are you feeling all right?”

  Lula was glad her daughter had softened her tone. She found her hostility unbecoming. “It’s the heat,” she said, slumping back in her chair like a wilted flower. “For some reason it’s getting to me more than usual this year.”

  “Spending a month at the beach will do you good. You can go for your morning walks on the beach and read away the afternoon. Why don’t you move out to Sullivan’s early? There’s nothing keeping you here.”

  “Haven’t you been listening to me, Lizbet? I have a party to plan. And since you won’t help me, I’ll have to do it all myself.” Reaching for her pen and notepad, she flipped to a clean sheet and scrawled To Do on the top of the page. “I need to get the invitations in the mail yesterday. I wonder if that stationery place on Broad is still open.”

  “The Fourth is only a month away. You don’t have enough time to have an invitation printed and mailed out. You should send an e-vite.”

  E-vite. Bug bite. All is not right in a world where the postman doesn’t deliver party invitations. Lula shook her head as if to clear it. There was that strange voice again.

  “You’ll bury me at Magnolia Cemetery before I’ll send an e-vite to a party I’m hosting,” she said. “I wouldn’t begin to know how to send one, anyway.”

  “E-mail invitations are acceptable, even expected, these days.” Lizbet planted her palms on the table. “Tell you what. I have Sunday free until three o’clock. I can come over and help you in the morning.”

  Lula looked up from her list. “Oh, honey, would you do that for me? We can go to church together and then get right to work.”

  Lizbet tugged at her ponytail. “But—”

  “Please, sweetheart. I’d be ever so grateful.”

  Her daughter’s lips parted in a smile, revealing the pearly-white teeth Lula had paid the orthodontist thousands of dollars to make straight. “Can we have those omelets I love, the ones with the spinach, goat cheese, and mushrooms?” She snapped her fingers. “And mimosas. We’ve gotta have mimosas. It won’t take long to create your e-vite. Be sure to have your list of names and e-mail addresses ready.”

  Lula pointed her pen at Lizbet. “I’ll get to work on it right away.” She watched her daughter tug her ponytail free of the elastic band and smooth out her hair before tying it back again. Brooke was the stunning beauty that turned all the heads in the room while Lizbet was more of a china doll with petite features, plump, rosy lips, and wide-set gray eyes.

  “I should probably get back to work,” Lizbet said, pushing back from the table. “We’re swamped at the store. I can hardly wait for Georgia to start tomorrow. We really need her help.”

  “Humph. I can’t imagine what your lady boss hired Georgia to do. She’s certainly not a gourmet cook. And she’s too old to be serving food to people at parties.”

  “Mooom! That’s mean.” Lizbet snickered. “But I guess it’s true. At least the part about her not being a good cook. But don’t tell her I said so. She has plenty of other qualifications and impeccable taste. Heidi, my lady boss, has hired her to manage the showroom.”

  The more she thought about it, the more Lula liked the idea of being a shopkeeper at a specialty food boutique. “Do you think Heidi would give me a job? I could use a new challenge. I’m tired of sitting around here doing nothing. Fixing your father’s dinner is the highlight of my day.”

  Lizbet laughed. “Right, like when was the last time you sat around doing nothing?” She shook her head. “You don’t want to work, Mom. Be thankful you don’t have to.”

  Lula tossed her pen onto the table. “You’re just being nice. What you really mean to say is that I’m not qualified to work. I have zero job experience, volunteer or otherwise, and no skills to speak of. I’ve never been anything but a housewife and stay-at-home mom.”

  “Puh-lease. You would make a great salesperson. You could charm the customers into buying moldy cheese and stale bread. Although I think conducting electronic transactions might frustrate you.” Lizbet got up from the table and emptied her tumbler in the sink before placing it in the dishwasher. She crossed the room to the paned door and stared out at Lula’s perennial garden. “Would you be interested in selling some of your flowers through the store? Heidi mentioned the other day that she’d like to have some small bouquets and arrangements on hand for our customers who are hosting impromptu dinner parties. Not the cookie-cutter kind you can buy in the grocery store, but fresh-from-the-garden flowers like yours.”

  Lula left the table and went to stand beside her daughter. “I’ve only done arrangements for my own enjoyment. Do you think others would like them?”

  “I’m sure of it. Why not give it a try? You certainly have plenty of flowers. You could start with a couple of small bouquets.” Lizbet opened the back door. “Get your clippers. I’ll take some flowers to Heidi and see what she thinks.” She held the door open for Pooh and then followed him outside.

  Lula went to her supply closet for a roll of lavender tissue paper and a spool of raffia. She slipped on her green rubber clogs, fastened her tool belt around her waist, and joined her daughter in the garden.

  Lizbet was throwing Pooh’s rubber ball for him to fetch. When she stopped, the little dog raced around her feet begging for more. She scooped him up and tucked him under her arm, and then walked the length of Lula’s perennial bed. “I never knew you had such a wide variety of flowers. They all look so healthy.”

  “I planted a new crop of perennials this spring. They are really doing nicely.” Lula aimed her clippers at Georgia’s live oak. “The Murdaughs’ tree
allows them to get just the right amount of filtered sunlight.”

  They noticed Georgia at her kitchen window and waved. Cupping her hands around her mouth, Lizbet hollered, “See you at work tomorrow.” Georgia offered her a thumbs-up in return.

  Lula clipped a few more stems. “While my garden is bountiful, my supply of blooms is not limitless. I’d hate to deplete my stock.”

  With her free hand, Lizbet fingered the petal of a purple coneflower. “Could you get some filler flowers or greenery from a wholesale florist to mix in?”

  “That’s a good idea. I don’t know any wholesale florists off the top of my head, but I’ll see what I can come up with.”

  Lula carried her bucket inside. Separating her stems into two bunches on the kitchen counter, she wrapped each bouquet in tissue paper and tied them off with a length of raffia. “Here you go.” She scooped up the bouquets and placed them in her daughter’s outstretched arms.

  Lizbet sniffed the flowers. “They smell so sweet. Careful what you wish for, Mom. You may have found yourself a new part-time job.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Lizbet

  Lizbet weaved her way over to the waterfront and parallel parked her car on East Bay Street. Eyeing the flowers on the passenger seat, she surmised that a few minutes in the heat wouldn’t cause them to wilt. She needed to clear her head and gather her thoughts before she returned to work. She got out of the car and climbed the concrete steps to the promenade, where she leaned against the railing and stared out across Charleston Harbor.

  It bothered her that her mother would fake an emergency so as to drag her away from work. So what if her sister was coming home for a visit? Big deal. Wasn’t planning a party in her honor a bit extreme? It’s not like they were announcing Brooke’s engagement. Or were they? Her mother claimed to know nothing about Brooke’s love life, but she wouldn’t put it past Lula to keep a secret like that for the sake of a big surprise announcement at the party. Her mother was beyond herself with excitement over the impending visit. If she missed Brooke so terribly, why had she never flown out to California to visit her? Not even once in the entire seven years her sister had lived on the West Coast. Not on move-in day her freshman year at Stanford. Or for any of the parents’ weekends during the four years she’d been enrolled there. Her parents had even invented a lame excuse not to attend Brooke’s graduation. Lizbet had made every effort to persuade her parents to make a family vacation out of the trip. “We can see the wine country, spend some time in San Francisco, and drive down to Carmel.” But her parents had refused to consider it.