Page 11 of Devil's Queen

“I’m just trying to finish my math homework,” he mumbles, not bothering to look up. “I’ve been staring at this problem forever and can’t figure it out. I tried to call Uncle Beau on Mimi’s phone, but he didn’t pick up.”

My heart warms at how close Beaux’s grown to my stepbrother. While Beau and I didn’t share a drop of blood between us, he’d been in my life as long as I could remember. My mama didn’t hesitate a second when his dad, my mama’s first husband, passed away, and he needed a place to stay. Though Dad hated the idea, he eventually warmed up to it when he saw how much Beau loved motorcycles. Had Dad not died, I think he would have been a Zulu King instead of a Heaven’s Reject if he’d gotten his way.

“What kind of math? Maybe I can help.”

“It’s story problems.” He sighs.

“Story problems, huh?” I chuckle, pushing away from him to give him some space. I sit beside him, pushing away his calculator and taking the paper from him. “Let’s start with this one.” I smile, pointing at the first problem.

We spend the next half hour going over his homework before we finally finish it all.

“Thanks, Mom.” Beaux sighs, pulling me into a tight hug.

“No problem, buddy,” I say, my voice catching in my throat at the unexpected show of affection.

“Let’s go downstairs before Mimi yells at us,” he says, pulling away and heading for the door.

I chuckle and follow him down the stairs. As we reach the landing, the familiar aroma of Mama’s cooking fills my nose. It’s a comforting smell of southern spices, one that has always soothed me. I take a deep breath and make my way into the kitchen.

“Mm, that smells amazing, Mama,” I say, reaching for a piece of buttered French bread sitting on the plate in the middle of the table. Mama smacks my hand with the wooden spoon in her hand. “Did you wash your hands?” she chastises me.

“No, ma’am.” I step to the sink as Beaux moves to his seat at the small wooden table in the middle of the room. Once done, I join him as Mama brings steaming bowls of rice and gumbo to the table and sits next to me. The savory aroma makes my mouth water, and I take a spoonful eagerly.

She reaches for both of our hands and mutters a quick grace before spooning over some of the gumbo on Beaux’s plate.

He shovels it in faster than she can replace it. “Dis is good, Mimi,” he mutters with his mouth full. She glances over at him and shakes her head at him for talking with his mouth full.

“Sorry, Mimi.”

“It’s fine, baby, but chew before you choke.”

“Who taught you how to cook, Mimi?”

“My mama and my grandmama, baby.”

“Did you try to teach Mom?”

“I did.”

“Huh.” He smiles. “Guess she needs a refresher.”

“Hey, you little punk,” I scoff. “I can cook.”

“You burn toast, Mom.”

“Fair point,” I admit. “But if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.”

“Not everyone can cook like me, baby, but I’ll teach you when you’re old enough. Someone needs to keep the family recipes going. Take this one for example,” she declares, spooning another pile of rice on his plate. “I’ve been perfecting this recipe for years,” Mama says with a smile. “Your granddad used to love it. He said I could bake a mule’s behind and make it taste like sweet ambrosia.”

A pang of sadness hits me at the mention of Dad. It’s been years since he passed away, but the pain still lingers.

“What was he like?” Beaux says, interrupting my thoughts. I blink a few times, trying to register his question. Beaux had never known my dad. He’d died before he was born, and until this moment, had never once asked about him. I glance at Mama.

“Why do you ask, baby?” Mama says, her voice soft.

“I just… I want to know,” Beaux says, his voice quiet.

Mama takes his hand and squeezes it gently. “I could tell you how much of a wonderful man your granddad was, baby, but I taught you never to lie, and I’m not about to start doing that to you.” She sighs before she continues, “Your granddad was a hard man who lived a hard life.”

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