Queen V.'s Arc

Chapter 2 of 13

The glass garden house took shape faster than Paul expected. By Wednesday, the frame was up. By Thursday, the panels were in. Queen V. stood outside it that evening, checking the angle of the peaked roof, when her phone buzzed with a text from someone she'd been waiting to hear from all week. It was from the woman who had watched three consecutive May 24th weekends unravel. The one who never said anything directly but whose eyebrows did all the talking when the wind shifted or the caterer ran late. The text was brief: "Coming this year. Bringing my sister. She's visiting from Alberta. Hope that's fine." Queen V. read it twice. She had not invited a sister. She had not approved a plus-one. The guest list was calculated down to the chair count, the wine bottles, the placement at the weathered picnic table she'd positioned directly in front of the garden house doors. She could text back and say no. She could cite capacity. But that would look like weakness, like she couldn't handle one more person. It would confirm what this woman already suspected: that Queen V.'s events existed on the edge of collapse. She walked to the picnic table and sat on the bench. From here, she could see straight through the glass walls to where the rosé table would sit. The sister would be a test she hadn't planned for. An uninvited variable with opinions and a suitcase full of expectations. Queen V. typed back: "Looking forward to meeting her." Then she walked to the small guest house at the edge of the property and unlocked it. She pulled out two garbage bags worth of old linens and cleaning supplies she'd been meaning to sort, and hauled them to the curb. The guest house had been storage. Now it would be occupied. The sister could stay there, tucked away but visible. Close enough that Queen V. could watch her watch everything. She locked the door and pocketed the key. The woman who doubted her would bring a witness. Fine. Queen V. would give them both front-row seats.