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This was why I loved her. She gave no shits and did her own thing. Since becoming friends, I’d tried to absorb some of her attitude. Too much of my life I’d spent trying to be who I was supposed to be and had become unrecognizable in the process.
“I know what you need,” I said.
“A dark room and a cup of coffee?” Bea deadpanned.
“No. You can have that when you go back to your lair. You need a honey stick. The honey guy has been pining over my sister-in-law for years.”
“Have you seen her? I’m pining over her, and I’m pretty much straight,” Bea said.
I laughed. “I know, which is why I feel terribly sorry for him and throw money at his business as often as I can to ease his aching heart.”
We wandered over to the honey stall, and as soon as its owner caught sight of me, he stiffened. I’d been here with Saoirse often enough for him to know who I was. I really did feel bad for him. She’d been married for three years. He’d had ample opportunity to make something happen before that and never took it. Living with that sort of regret must have been terrible.
I greeted him with a big smile. “Hi, Joe. I promised my grumpy friend honey sticks.”
For a moment, he was flustered, looking anywhere but me. Then Bea waved, drawing his attention.
“I’m the grumpy friend.” Bea slid her sunglasses off and shot him a lazy grin. “What do you have to cure me?”
Joe’s mouth fell open, and his cheeks blazed. “I-I-I…I’m not sure. Let me think.”
He was a big, bearded farmer who handled bees for a living, but in the face of Bea, he’d turned into a blushing, stammering boy. I hadn’t even seen him react this way around Saoirse.
“Oh no,” Shira murmured.
“Now she’s done it,” I whispered.
Unlike Saoirse, who was classically beautiful and had men tripping over their feet, Bea had something about her that drove certain men out of their minds. For a year, Bea had had random yet continuous run-ins with a man she’d described as a mysterious billionaire. Since they’d never actually spoken, she didn’t know his true identity, and while most people might’ve called it stalking, she was used to things like that happening and had shrugged it off as an annoyance.
By the time we left the stall, Bea had a bag filled with sticks and jars of honey she’d been given for free.
The four of us found a picnic table in the shade to sit down for a minute and suck on our honey sticks. I handed a strawberry-flavored stick to Nellie, dubious whether it was a good idea.
“Let Mommy hold your doll so she doesn’t get sticky.”
Nellie held it out toward Shira. “Shira holds it. ’Kay?”
Gently taking the doll, Shira cradled it in the crook of her arm. “Thank you. I’ll take good care of her for you.”
Nellie’s eyes were on her honey, but she managed to answer. “I know that.”
I laughed. “She believes in you, Shir.”
Shira rocked the doll back and forth. “Thank goodness I think I can handle this. I’d hate to let her down.”
“Did either of you ever have to carry around a baby in high school sociology?” I asked.
“Yes.” Bea had replaced her sunglasses, but I sensed her eye roll. “My teacher strapped a five-pound bag of flour to a stuffed animal and made us lug that thing around for two weeks.”
“How’d you do on that assignment?”
She twirled her honey stick between her fingers. “I turned in an empty flour bag.”
Shira gasped. “Your baby bled out?”
“It was a slow leak,” Bea quipped.
My hand flew to my mouth to hold back my giggles. “I’m picturing a trail of flour following you all over your high school.”
