Vonette went on. "Did I hear you talking to Fritz about Iran over there? Honey, Fritz doesn't care about foreign policy." A swig. "He didn't even vote for Bush last time." Another swig. "Hell, he's still mad about Nixon going to China."

"What?" said Pomeroy.

"Why?" I asked.

"Oh, you know how mad he gets," she said with a roll of her eyes, "and those Red Chinese, I mean in addition to being Commies" - another swig - "have this forced abortion policy."

Pomeroy shook his head, stood up, and walked away. "I'm still out of honey," I called after him. He turned. I handed Vonette her coffee and walked over.

Pomeroy was and always had been an enigma to me. Apparently he also gave that impression to the other women in town, who had given him the moniker Ice Man. He had none of the flirtatious mock shyness that John Richard used to such advantage with women.

Arch, on the other hand, adored Pomeroy. Something about his aura of quiet, his life in a remote cabin, his way with the bees, had magnetized my son. Through a whole year of teaching Sunday school I had only rare clues that Arch was absorbing any of the study-of-saints curriculum. Nevertheless, after his spring project working out at the hives, Arch had said Pomeroy was like Saint Francis. He loves all the animals, Arch had said; he understands nature.

So I was interested in Pomeroy in a way that was more than curiosity. I had been unwilling to discuss my interest with Alicia, as I didn't know what kind of chance I had with an icy-tempered beekeeper.

"You walked away from that conversation awful fast," I said to him.

He shook his head. "I don't have to listen to her when she's like that, or when she's talking about that... subject. No one has to."

"Oh, well. Besides Vonette, how're you doing?" I asked with a bright smile.

He said, "Why do you care?"

So much for social interchange. I said, "I don't know," and walked back to my ex- mother-in-law.

"How's your coffee, Vonette?" I asked. It was on the table, and it looked untouched. Under the table was the purse that held the flask.

"Think I need it?" she asked, her voice still full of self-pity. Her head of wild red hair shook slightly. I waved my hand at the dessert and beverage 'tables, where Arch and Patty Sue were now feverishly trying to keep up with the flow of people finished with the main portion of the meal.

"No," I said, "but everyone's lining up for shortcake now, and they'll be wanting coffee, too. I brought you some so you wouldn't have to get up." But of course she needed it. This day was upsetting enough without another trip to detox.

Arch was looking frantic by the coffee machine; I joined him.

"Mom," he said, "I need more lemons. I don't know why everyone wants lemonade all of a sudden."