The Last of the Moon Girls

wanted and what was expected of me. I hadn’t your spirit back then, though I sometimes wish I had.
Had she imagined the tinge of regret? A wistfulness for something lost or left undone? It was hard to imagine Althea wanting anything more than the life she had. She always seemed to be right where she belonged, in love with her work and the bright, sprawling fields of Moon Girl Farm. And yet her reference to falling in line seemed to hint at a disappointment of some kind. And there was the mention of a bitter heart, though that was easier to explain. If being branded a murderer and losing everything you held precious wasn’t cause for a bitter heart, Lizzy didn’t know what was.
The book sat on the nightstand. Lizzy laid a hand on the cover, wondering what else Althea had to say. The temptation to keep reading last night had been almost overpowering, but she had been urged to absorb the words a little at a time, and hold them close. And because it was the last request her grandmother would ever make of her, she would honor it.
She went to the door and peered out into the hall. There was no sign of Evvie, but she did find a folded pair of soft green corduroys, a white cotton blouse, and a pair of battered lace-up boots. She smiled as she ran a hand over the scuffed boots, strangely glad to see them, like old friends she’d left behind but not quite forgotten. She had to admit, it would feel good to lose the heels and office attire for a few days.
After a quick shower, she made her way downstairs. Evvie was seated at the table, scanning the morning’s copy of the Chronicle through a pair of bright-blue drugstore readers. She twitched the corner of her paper down as Lizzy entered the kitchen, giving her outfit a quick once-over.
“Better,” she said flatly. “Like you belong here.”
“Thanks. Is there coffee, by any chance?”
“Just tea,” Evvie said, retreating behind her paper. “And a plate of eggs in the oven.”
Lizzy didn’t have the heart to tell Evvie she usually skipped breakfast. Or that she didn’t function particularly well without her morning coffee. She pulled the plate from the oven, eyeing the mound of scrambled eggs and home fries with dismay. It was more food than she was used to eating in a day, let alone for breakfast.
Evvie eyed her with raised brows. “You don’t eat eggs?”
“No, I do. I just don’t usually eat breakfast. And this is a lot of breakfast.”
“Hmmm.” Evvie looked her up and down again. “Could do with a bit of meat on your bones, if you ask me. Don’t they feed you in New York?”
Lizzy let the remark pass, opting to change the subject as she sat down with her plate. “Tell me your story, Evvie. How you met my grandmother and ended up living here.”
Evvie plucked the readers from the end of her nose and laid them on the table. “My bees.”
“Bees?”
“Look out the window.”
Lizzy craned her neck to peer out the back window. It took a few seconds, but eventually she spotted a trio of pastel-hued boxes to the left of Althea’s greenhouse. Apiaries, she believed they were called. “You raise bees?”
“Don’t raise ’em. Just look after ’em. I make jewelry too. Bracelets mostly.”
Lizzy nodded, trying to imagine what taking care of bees might entail, then realized Evvie hadn’t actually answered the question. “What have bees got to do with my grandmother?”
Evvie pushed back from the table, crossed to the stove, and put the kettle on. “My sister,” she said, pulling a mug from the cupboard. “Can’t remember why now, but she was up here a few years back and stumbled onto your gran’s shop. When she came home, it was all she could talk about, the kinds of things she made and how special it all was—how special she was. So I wrote to her about putting some of my honey in her shop, and she said yes. After that, we wrote back and forth.” She paused, smiling wistfully. “That woman loved a good letter.”
Lizzy smiled too. “Yes, she did.”
Evvie reached for the kettle as it began to whistle. When she had finished brewing the tea, she carried two mugs back to the table and produced a small jar of honey from her apron pocket. “Moon Girl Farm Honey,” she said proudly. “From right out back.”
Lizzy accepted the jar, stirring a spoonful into her mug as Evvie settled back into her chair. “You were telling me how you got to the farm.”
“Two years ago, she invited me for a visit.” She paused, shrugging as she spooned a hefty dollop of honey into her own mug. “I never went back.”
“Back where?”
“Baton Rouge.”
“But the accent—it’s not just Southern. There’s something else.”
“Kréyol la lwizyàn,” Evvie pronounced over the rim of her mug. “Creole. My mama’s people came from the West Indies.”
“Do you still have family there? In Baton Rouge, I mean.”
Evvie shook her head. “Not anymore. My sister remarried. Moved to Texas, of all places. Then my husband passed. Wasn’t much reason to stay after that.” Her face darkened briefly, and she looked away. “So here I am with my bees and my beads, getting on with what time I have left. And you—why are you here? The real reason. Last night you said there were some personal things you wanted to take care of, but I expect there’s more to it than that.”
Lizzy looked at her barely touched breakfast. She’d been hoping to keep her plans to herself awhile longer, until she had a firmer grip on the logistics, but under the circumstances that didn’t seem fair. Evvie deserved to know what was coming, so she could make plans.
“I’m here to put the farm on the market,” she said quietly. “I’m going to sell it.”
“I figured as much.”
“It isn’t about the money, Evvie. There’s just no reason for me to hold on to it. I know what