The Music of Bees by Eileen Garvin (most read book in the world TXT) 📕

Alice, by contrast, was alone in this moment of urgency and had no one to lean on for guidance or comfort. She hadn’t been in so much as a fender bender since high school, but she quickly recognized that yelling was inappropriate, especially given the circumstances—namely, that she might have injured a minor in a wheelchair. She peered down at the boy and lowered her voice.

“Are you okay, kid? Can you . . . can you sit up?”

The boy didn’t say anything, but he was still smiling. That didn’t seem right. Was he mentally delayed? Or what was it—cerebral palsy? Holy hell! Alice fumbled for her phone.

“I’m calling 911,” she mumbled to herself.

The boy’s smile disappeared then, and he put a hand up. “No. Don’t do that. I—I’m okay. I just need a minute. Catch my breath.”

His voice was quiet but otherwise sounded normal, and it made Alice realize that she was crouching too close to him. She stepped back. What was he doing out here in the near damn dark? She looked around into the falling dusk and saw no one.

“Are you by yourself?” she asked.

The boy nodded.

Alice felt guilt and shame pump through her body like a drug. She could smell her own sweat. She looked up and down the road, which was dark and quiet. Then she ran back to her truck, turned off the engine, and clicked on her hazard lights. When she returned, the boy hadn’t moved.

She plunked herself down, crossed her legs, and watched the kid’s face. He blinked up at her, and she saw his chest rise and fall.

“That’s good. Take some deep breaths. We’ll just sit here a minute,” she said.

The dusk deepened, and the air darkened. The cockeyed headlights of the truck threw two arms of light into the orchards. In their beams she could see bees zipping around. The hazard signals ticked like a frantic kitchen timer, and Alice’s heart raced to match it. The kid was staring up at the sky.

“I’ll be right back,” she said. She returned to the truck, grabbed her water bottle, and looked at the wreckage of nucs in the truck bed and the ditch. Hundreds of bees had alighted on the truck bed and were scent fanning madly. With their abdomens raised and their Nasonov glands exposed, they were spreading pheromone trying to locate their queens. What a mess. It would have to wait.

She returned to the boy and held up the bottle. “Thirsty?”

He shook his head, and Alice sat down next to him again.

“Are you hurt?” she asked, and then cringed. He was in a wheelchair, for God’s sake. “Are you in pain?”

He shook his head again. That hair! His beak-like nose stood out sharply on his pale face. In his skinny jeans and combat boots, he was as alien to Hood River County as if he had dropped from the sky.

“Did you hit your head?”

He nodded. “Not hard. It just kind of . . . bounced when I fell.”

Alice realized she was holding her breath and exhaled.

“What’s your name?”

“Jake.”

“Jake. I’m Alice. Alice Holtzman.”

He looked directly at her then and nodded. Alice felt herself relax a notch. She could smell the cold water of the irrigation ditch below them and was thankful the kid hadn’t fallen in. She squirmed as the gravel poked through her overalls. In the faltering light, the boy’s pale face was luminous under the crazy hairdo. Alice glanced at her watch.

“Listen, Jake, I should call your folks and let them know where you are. Can you give me their number?”

He shook his head and winced. “No. It’s okay. I’ll be up in a second. They aren’t home anyway.”

That last part sounded like a lie and, given that they likely had cell phones, irrelevant.

“Right,” she said slowly, not sure what else to say. Alice hadn’t been around teenage boys since she was a teenager herself.

“I think I can sit up,” he said.

He pushed himself up on his elbows and pulled the tangle of earbuds and sunglasses off his neck. He blinked and glanced around.

“What’s that noise?” he asked.

The air around them pulsed and vibrated. Alice could see the bees in a throbbing cloud above the truck in the waning light. Agitated questions thrummed through the air. Where was the queen? Was the brood safe? Were the guard bees on duty? Where was everybody? Where was home? Despite the more urgent situation of the boy in the chair, she felt hot tears spring to her eyes at what she had done to her bees. She cleared her throat.

“It’s bees. Honeybees,” Alice said. “I had some beehives in the back of my truck, and they are a bit confused right now. I’m so sorry about this. I just didn’t see you. I was probably going too fast, but this is my road and I hardly ever see anyone out here. I certainly didn’t expect—”

She stopped, flustered. The boy was watching her, and she thought she saw the corners of his mouth twitch.

“You didn’t expect to see a wheelchair ripping down Reed Road?” he asked.

She didn’t know what to say to that.

The boy shifted his weight and looked over her shoulder toward the truck.

“So, honeybees? Why do you have bees in your truck?”

“I’m a beekeeper,” she said, grateful for something to talk about. “Just a hobby, really.” She gestured down the road toward her house. “I have a few hives.”

“Beehives. Whoa.”

He watched the bees zipping in and out of the headlights.

“They sound mad,” he said.

Alice shook her head. “No, they aren’t mad. More like confused.”

What had he said his name was? God, her memory! She tried to keep her voice calm.

“They’re just kind of talking to each other right now, making sure everyone is all right. They’re supposed to be in their boxes. Some fell out of the truck when I hit the fence.”

She looked at the side of his thin face. What were you supposed to do when someone hit their head? Ask them questions? Jake! His name was Jake.

“How’s your head, Jake? Any better?”

He