Читать книгу If Not For A Bee - Carol Ross - Страница 10

CHAPTER ONE

“HOLD STILL. I’LL kill it.”

“Wait...”

“Don’t move.”

“Mom, Mom, Mo-o-om...” Gareth stared with wide-eyed terror at the box he held clutched in his hands. Janie could tell he was on the verge of losing it and she knew the precious cargo inside was the only thing keeping him from succumbing to the panic.

“Honey, please relax. I will get it.” Janie reached into her bag for some kind of weapon. “Do you want me to take the box?”

“No, Mom, I’ve got the box. Just get it...hurry.”

“Gareth, please don’t drop the box.”

“I’m trying not to,” he squeaked.

“I know, honey. And I’ll get it.” She began rolling the newspaper she’d retrieved from her bag.

The door to the bakery jingled as Lilah stepped out. “Janie, is everything okay?”

The monster crawled closer toward Gareth’s hand. He let out a whimper and Janie felt her own pulse of fear.

“We’re fine, Lilah. Or we will be soon—a bee landed on the cake box but I’m going to take care of it.”

“Take care of it?” a deep voice said from somewhere over her left shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she said, “that Mr. Bee is about to go to the great honeypot in the sky.”

“But that’s a bumblebee.”

“Yes, and this is a newspaper.” Janie raised the makeshift swatter a little higher. Her hand came down in a lightning-fast swipe, but something nudged her elbow at the last instant.

She missed.

The bee flew up toward Gareth’s face. He let out a scream. The box went flying. Lilah grabbed for the container—almost had it—but the waxy cardboard slipped from her hands. Janie winced as the box crashed to the ground.

“Oh, no!” Lilah exclaimed.

“Mom,” Gareth cried. “I’m so sorry.” Janie looked down at her thirteen-year-old son crouched on the ground, his eyes glued to the box now oozing yellow mush from its seams. Tears glittered on his thick black lashes.

“Sweetie, it’s okay.”

She turned and glared at the perpetrator, who had caused this unmitigated disaster. “What is the matter with you? Why did you do that?”

“Oops,” the man said. His crooked grin matched his feeble explanation. Sun-streaked blond hair curled around his ears—he looked like a surfer who’d spent too much time chilling on the beach. And he was wearing shorts? It was spring, yes. But springtime in Alaska didn’t exactly call for shorts. The temperature was a not-exactly balmy fifty-one degrees.

“I’ll buy you another one.”

“That would be perfect,” Janie said coldly, letting plenty of sarcasm seep into her tone. “Why don’t you go do that right now?”

“Okay, great,” he said enthusiastically. He looked at Lilah. “You work here, right?”

“Yes, but I’m afraid that’s not possible.” Lilah twisted her fingers together nervously, her eyes darting from Janie to the doofus surfer and back again.

“Janie, I’m so sorry,” she said.

“It’s not your fault, Lilah.” Janie looked back down at Gareth, her chest squeezing so tightly she could barely breathe. His eyes were still trained on the mess of cake and pudding and chocolate. She could only imagine what he was thinking. His eyes met hers and it was all she could do not to cry at the stricken expression on his face.

“Mom, I’m so sorry. I ruined it. I ruin everything.”

“Gareth—”

“Hey, I think we might be overreacting here, huh?” Beach Bum pulled his wallet out of one of the numerous pockets decorating his cargo shorts. “Is it your birthday, sport? I’ll buy you any kind of cake you want.”

Sport? Who calls a thirteen-year-old sport? Janie looked at him again—really looked this time—and noticed a pair of laughter-filled gray-blue eyes set in a tanned face, a perfect match to his boy-band hair. Tourists, she thought with disgust, were a blessing and a curse. She loved her brother, Bering, and sister-in-law, Emily, for enticing them here, but sometimes she wished out-of-towners would stay away. Today, obviously, was one of those days.

She wanted to tell him to go away and let her clean up the mess he’d made, although she had no idea how she was going to do that... Poor Gareth. And Reagan would be disappointed, too.

“I’d really like to replace the cake. But that bee didn’t deserve—”

“Thanks, but no, I’ve got this.”

“No, really I can—”

Janie felt her scalp begin to tingle with anger. She needed him gone, but apparently he needed some encouragement in that direction. She lifted a hand and interrupted. “No, thank you. You have done more than enough—really.”

But he still didn’t move. Just stood there, watching, as if he wasn’t sure what to say.

She wasn’t normally one to lose her temper, but he’d completely ruined their day—this day. This already difficult, excruciatingly painful day... What were they going to do now? How would they get through it without Boston cream pie?

“Why is it impossible to get another cake?” he asked Lilah.

“Oh, um, because it’s a special-order dessert.”

“Can’t you special-make another one?”

“No,” Lilah said with a sad shake of her head.

“Why not?” He asked with that same lighthearted tone.

“I don’t have any more—”

Janie turned toward him. “Look, I don’t want to be rude but I feel like you’re kind of forcing me to be, so will you please just go away? You can’t fix this.”

“But I want to and I think—”

“I think you missed your turn a few thousand miles ago—the beach you’re looking for is south of here. Take a right at Canada and keep driving until you see a sign that says California. Now go... Skedaddle.” She shooed him with a hand and then stooped to put her arm around Gareth.

“Skedaddle?” His eyes widened as he raised his hands in a defensive gesture. But his lips were twitching like they were all taking part in some big funny practical joke. “Maybe we all need to chill out a little, huh? I was only trying to save the bumblebee.”

“What?” she snapped. He did not just tell her to chill out...

“The bee,” he repeated.

Something dawned on Janie. Bees... Shhh-oot, she thought. Today was Thursday... She squeezed her eyes shut for a few seconds. Could this day possibly get any worse? She stood, nudging Gareth to his feet along with her.

She studied the man now and wished with all of her might that this wasn’t happening. She didn’t know why she still made wishes because she knew very well they didn’t come true. But why couldn’t she have recognized him sooner?

She sighed and decided to get this over with. “Aidan, right? Dr. Aidan Hollings?”

“Uh, yeah,” he said, his brows scooting upward with surprise. His eyes narrowed as they traveled over her. “Do I know you?”

“Sort of.” She attempted a smile. She imagined it looked more like a grimace and really didn’t care. “We’ve met. About two years ago. Your sister is married to my brother. I’m Janie Everett—Bering James’s sister?”

* * *

BERING’S SISTER? AIDAN HOLLINGS stared at the woman and absolutely for the life of him could not reconcile his memory of the hausfrau he’d met two years ago with this attractive yet prickly, helicopter mom standing in front of him. This wasn’t Janie. Janie was plain and boring and...quiet. He wanted to laugh out loud, and probably would have if he wasn’t so shocked. The hair color seemed right, though—that shade of deep red was rather unforgettable...and maybe the only characteristic about her that he could clearly recall.

“Hey,” he said, getting his brain back on track. “Janie, how have you been?”

“Better,” she answered tightly.

“What?”

“I’ve been better.” Her tone was dismissive as she flicked her eyes away.

She addressed the baker. “Lilah, I’m so sorry about the mess.”

Lilah smiled sadly. “Don’t worry about it, Janie. I’ll have Isaac clean it up. That’s what we hired him for.”

Janie checked the watch on her wrist. “We need to go. Thanks so much, Lilah. The cake was beautiful.”

Gareth looked at Lilah. “I’m sorry about the cake, too.”

Lilah reached out a hand and squeezed his shoulder. “It’s okay, hon. I’m sorry, too, for you.”

Janie glanced in Aidan’s general direction but didn’t even try for eye contact. “Bye, I’m sure we’ll see you around, Aidan.”

Aidan thought these people were getting awfully worked up over a dessert. He watched Janie and her forlorn son trudge down the street like they were headed to a funeral...

Odd.

Lilah turned and grasped the door handle.

“Hey, um, Lilah, right?”

She spun back around and scowled at him. “Yes.”

“Why can’t you make another dessert?” he asked again.

“Because Reagan is lactose intolerant so I made that one with soy milk. Besides, it’s too late. I could never have another one done in time.” She looked near tears as she turned away and ducked back inside the bakery.

Aidan shivered lightly as a cool breeze swirled around his legs. He stood on the street wishing he would have packed some pants in his carry-on bag and wondering if he’d somehow landed on another planet instead of the remote little town of Rankins, Alaska.

* * *

JANIE DID HER best to salvage the evening. She and Gareth swung by the grocery store and picked up a package of festively decorated, dairy-free cupcakes. At least her two-year-old twins would be happy. Gabe had this adorable habit of carefully picking off sprinkles with his tiny fingers one at a time. She mentioned this to Gareth and joked about the mess they would make with the frosting. Her attempts to cheer her oldest son fell disappointingly flat.

Janie let the silence fill the car as she drove them home. She knew she should say something—offer words of wisdom and comfort. She was a mother—weren’t these things supposed to come to her effortlessly? In natural, normal-type moments they seemed to, but she felt completely inept when it came to this... Probably because there wasn’t anything natural about your husband and the father of your two boys getting killed in the prime of his life while you were pregnant with two more.

A snap of the fingers and she’d gone from a happily married mother of two with twins on the way to a devastated, grief-stricken widow and single mother of four. And then, as if Cal’s death hadn’t stolen virtually every bit of her joy, a difficult pregnancy had leeched away what little remained. She’d ended up bedridden with preeclampsia, the twins had been born premature, and she’d immediately sunk into that cruel pit of despair known as postpartum depression. She could barely think about that nightmarish time without being overwhelmed with guilt or growing cold with the fear that those feelings might somehow return...

She pulled into the driveway of their home—the home she and Cal had so lovingly built the year after they were married. They’d been so excited to purchase the property a mere half mile from her mom’s. They’d poured countless hours into constructing the modest Arts-and-Crafts-style house, doing most of the work themselves—with help from family and friends—all the while making plans to fill it with the family they wanted to have. Well, they’d managed to get a good start on the family part before Cal had died. Now it was a struggle to keep up with the care and maintenance the three-bedroom home and the five acres of ground required. She wouldn’t be able to do it at all if it wasn’t for the help of her family.

She turned toward Gareth to say...something—she knew she needed to say something. But he was already climbing out of the car. Her mom met them at the door. Janie didn’t know how she’d survive without her mother—how any of them would survive. Grandma Claire had watched the younger boys while she and Gareth went to town to run a few errands, which included picking up the now-trashed dessert for the birthday celebration her oldest son insisted they have for his deceased father.

Janie wanted to cry.

“Hey,” Claire said. “Where’s the birthday cake?”

“It’s ruined,” Gareth said. “I ruined it. I dropped it, Grandma.”

“Gareth, you didn’t ruin it.” No, the bee patrol ruined it, she wanted to say, as she allowed her anger over the incident to overrule the despair. “It was an accident.” She looked at her mom. “There was a bee—”

Claire’s face turned white as her eyes darted from Janie to her grandson. “You didn’t get stung, did you?” She smiled—or tried to. “Of course you didn’t—you wouldn’t be here if you’d been stung. You’d be at the hospital.”

Reagan walked into the kitchen, where they were now gathered. “Hey, where’s the cake?” he asked.

“We didn’t get it,” Gareth said.

“What? Why?”

Janie answered, “There was an accident.”

“What kind of accident? A car accident? Are you guys okay?”

“No, Reagan, honey—an accident where the cake got ruined.”

“Oh.” His face fell, displaying his disappointment. “How are we going to celebrate now?”

“I think under the circumstances your dad would understand. We picked up some cupcakes. We’ll use those. Come on—let’s go sit at the table.”

Claire offered, “I’ll bring in the cupcakes if you want to round up the little guys.”

Finn toddled into the kitchen and let out a happy squeal at the sight of his mother. Janie scooped him up and kissed his velvety soft cheek. The thought flitted through her brain that at least the twins had been spared having to grieve for their father. They’d never known him. She immediately felt guilty—her signature emotion these days, it seemed. Of course it was better that Gareth and Reagan had known Cal for at least those precious early years. He’d been an excellent father, but it had just been so incredibly difficult to watch them suffer after his death—to watch them suffer still.

She secured the twins in their high chairs and took a seat. Claire walked into the room with the cupcakes neatly arranged on a platter. Brightly colored candles poked out of the frosting-covered peak of each cupcake. At least they looked pretty, which was something because Janie was certain the prepackaged, dairy-free treats would taste like cardboard slathered with sugar-infused shortening.

Claire handed Gareth some matches. He began lighting the candles.

Gabe pointed and chirped, “Cup-cup.”

Finn slapped his high-chair tray and laughed with delight as if his brother had told a hilarious joke. At two years of age, they already shared some kind of secret twin language.

“Mom, how many birthdays did you and Dad celebrate with Boston cream pie?” Reagan asked.

“Twelve,” Janie said and heard her voice crack. She tried to cover the sound with a cough. “I made your dad his first one while we were still in high school.”

Gareth turned his head and glanced out the window.

Her mom began singing the birthday song and she, Gareth and Reagan joined in. The twins shouted out their own joyous version of gibberish.

Reagan and Gareth blew out the candles as the twins blew raspberries and clapped with happy, reckless abandon. Gareth placed the cupcakes on small dessert plates and Claire added a generous dollop of “rice cream” next to Reagan’s and then dished up ice cream for the rest of them. Janie set a plate before each of the twins.

Janie and Gareth shared a smile as Finn immediately picked off a single sprinkle and examined it before delicately placing the candy bit on his tongue.

Janie swallowed her tears. She needed to be strong—she had to be strong for the boys. Three years had passed since Cal had been killed and she felt like she’d recovered as much as she possibly could, but the boys...

At times she thought they were doing well, for the most part—except maybe Gareth. He had these rituals—this birthday party for his father being one. He’d devised a ritual of some sort for virtually every holiday. The counselor had told her repeatedly that sometimes the grieving process could take a while. “You can’t rush it,” she said. “Don’t try too hard,” she advised. Gareth needed to somehow reach that elusive step of acceptance on his own. Janie wished there was some way of gauging how close he was because sometimes she had the feeling he might be sliding backward...

* * *

AFTER THE BAKERY FIASCO, Aidan strolled down the street trying to get a feel for the town that, as of today, he would be calling his home base for a while. His baggage had been left in Anchorage, but was supposed to be arriving on a small charter flight in a of couple hours and he didn’t see the sense in calling his sister, Emily, to pick him up until the luggage arrived.

Aidan’s purpose in accepting this position as head of the state of Alaska’s native-bee-population study was multifaceted. He’d earned his doctorate in botany and had spent the bulk of his career traveling the world studying endangered plant species. As such, he had a particular interest in bees and other pollinators.

He’d spent most of his adult life living in tropical locations and enjoyed the adventures, but lately he’d begun to crave a break from the heat. So when the opportunity to spend the spring and summer in Alaska arose, the change of climate had been enticing.

Aidan worked for various environmental foundations, nature preservation organizations and sometimes corporations or even governments of foreign nations. And for the last several years he and his colleague Blake Tryce had spent every spare moment on a film project highlighting the plight of endangered plant species. After attempting and failing to secure funding, he and Blake had financed the project and persevered. Seeds was finally finished. And while their goal in making the film was to inform and educate, Seeds had recently become the talk of the scientific community—and beyond.

Blake was ecstatic, Aidan not so much. He was grateful, on one hand, to be successful in spreading their message, but he’d never been thrilled with what came along with his pseudo fame. As a successful, renowned scientist he was continually turning down event invitations, public-speaking engagements and interviews as it was. The few he accepted, he chose very carefully. The added interest from Seeds had increased this kind of attention exponentially.

One particularly bad experience a couple years ago had left him especially wary and...beleaguered. He was in no hurry to make the same mistake twice. He needed a break and Alaska felt like the place to take it.

Not only did Emily now call Rankins home, but three months ago she and her husband, Bering, had also welcomed the first addition to their family—a baby girl they’d named Violet. Aidan couldn’t wait to meet his new niece.

Hmm, he thought, he and Janie shared a niece. This family connection could conceivably be a little uncomfortable, especially when he already knew from Emily how close the James family was—the entire extended family. Unfortunate, running into each other under those circumstances...

Aidan kept walking partially to keep warm but also because the quaint town intrigued him. Rankins was small, but not too small. Comparatively, his field work as a botanist meant camping in the rain forest for weeks on end with nothing but a couple of tents and maybe another scientist or two for hundreds of miles in any one direction. Those conditions had a way of changing one’s view of “civilization.” To Aidan, Rankins seemed to have the right amount of everything, including a decided lack of one thing he tried to avoid—people.

Food seemed plentiful, too, he realized happily as his nose alerted him to the fact that someone was serving up a hot meal. He hadn’t eaten since very early that morning, when he’d changed planes at LAX.

Ah...the idea of being able to get food whenever he wanted—and not something freeze-dried that became edible only when doused with water. Living in remote locations like he normally did, he couldn’t always be choosy about meals, but it sure made him appreciate a good one.

He opened the door to the Cozy Caribou and stood for a few seconds enjoying the delicious aromas assaulting his senses—bacon? Yes. And the yeasty smell of fresh baked bread...

Emily had told him about this place, had mentioned that she thought he would like it. She was right; he hadn’t even sat down yet and he liked the cozy feel of the restaurant already—the smells, the sounds, the friendly faces. All of the faces in Rankins had been friendly so far. Well, except for Janie’s, and her son’s, and Lilah the forlorn baker’s.

Aidan found an empty booth and decided it was a good omen that he’d already seen his first bee, even if he’d angered his...? What was she? His sister-in-law? No, but she was Emily’s sister-in-law. He thought about the episode again for a moment. He couldn’t think of a better way that he could have handled the situation. He hadn’t had time to talk her out of it—she’d already made up her mind to go for the kill, but he couldn’t very well let her run around town murdering the very creatures he was committed to saving.

* * *

LATE THAT SAME evening Gareth stared into the darkness, waiting for the sound of his little brother’s sleep. Reagan didn’t know it, but he snored—softly. Not enough to keep Gareth awake but enough for him to know when Reagan was asleep and when he was faking.

So annoying that he had to share a room with his little brother at all. His friend Abe didn’t have to share with anyone and he had a room easily three times the size of Gareth and Reagan’s. Abe had a TV, too, and three different game systems.

Abe also had a dad. Gareth would trade all of that and more to have his dad again...

There it was—the snore. Gareth waited a few more minutes to be sure and then slipped out of bed. That was one nice thing about sharing with Reagan—once he was out, he was out.

He retrieved the flashlight he kept under his bed, directly below the secret stash spot that he’d made in the box springs. It was the perfect hiding place because even when his mom went on one of her cleaning rampages she couldn’t see the spot. And when Reagan looked for one of his stupid darts or a Lego guy he couldn’t see it, either. Gareth was proud of how well hidden it was.

He crept to the doorway, and paused to listen. He hadn’t turned the flashlight on. He didn’t need the light yet. His mom’s room was right across from theirs and she always left her door cracked open so she could hear if one of them needed her. She was great that way. It seemed like if he or one of his brothers even twitched in their sleep, Mom would be there in less than a second. Reagan had had terrible nightmares after their dad got killed and bam—Mom would somehow know as soon as he started to whimper. Sometimes she would be there before Gareth even woke up. This was cool, but it also meant that he had to engage superstealth mode when he got up for these midnight raids.

He passed the twins’ room and grinned a little. His baby brothers were so cute. Gareth wasn’t sure it was normal to love his little brothers like he did, but he was grateful to them for existing because they had seemed to be the only thing that would get their mom out of bed there for a while. Maybe he should feel bad about that, like hate them instead because he hadn’t been able to get her up himself. But he didn’t. He had been sad after their dad died, too. He’d understood. It had been hard for him to get up sometimes.

He felt safe once he reached the room—the den. He wondered why it was called a den, because to him a den was where animals slept. But nobody ever slept in there—not anymore. His dad used to fall asleep watching football sometimes, but he’d never stayed there all night.

But the den was where Mom kept the stuff—her stash. But she didn’t hide it very well. Gareth had first found it a couple months after his dad died. He didn’t know what he’d been looking for when he’d found it. He hadn’t meant to snoop—not really. He’d just felt so alone—felt that way still—without his dad. He and his dad had been a unit, a team—“simpatico,” his Uncle Bering had called it. Gareth had looked up that word and it totally fit him and his dad.

Uncle Bering was cool, too. Uncle Bering had been what had gotten him out of bed after his dad died, but now he had a baby of his own and things were changing...

He froze for a second when he heard a sound. He exhaled a whoosh of breath as Crosby strolled into the room and let out one of his half meows. Gareth called it a half meow because Crosby opened his mouth really wide but only about half the sound you expected to hear would come out. The giant black-and-white cat had taken to “helping” Gareth in his quests. When he’d first started doing this he’d been afraid the sound of Crosby’s purr would wake his mom, but it didn’t. It didn’t even wake their dog, MacGyver, although he really wasn’t much of a watchdog anyway. But MacGyver slept with Mom and that was good because Gareth felt that the dog would be at least adequate in alarming him if anyone ever broke in and got to Mom’s room. Gareth thought about that kind of stuff because as the man of the house he had to be prepared for anything.

He stroked Crosby’s soft fur for a moment. Then he took the key out of his pocket and unlocked the cabinet, still without using the flashlight because he’d gotten good enough at this that he only needed the light when he got to the stuff...