by Karen White
I rubbed my face, feeling as if we’d been in Apalachicola for weeks instead of just a day. “I’m sorry about your teacup and saucer. The saucer has a clean break, and I have a source who can fix it so that you can’t even tell it was broken. But the teacup . . .” I stopped, remembering the splattering of china as it exploded on the floor. “I’m afraid it’s not fixable.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got eleven more, and if it makes you feel better, I’ll even commission you to find a replacement. But for now, you’ve got other things to worry about.”
Becky, who’d been allowed to miss school, came back from another trip to the snack machine with a candy bar and a Coke and returned to her seat next to mine. She’d hardly left my side since we’d arrived at the hospital, and I wondered whether Maisy minded. “How’s G-Grandpa?” Becky asked, her voice quavering.
She raised her hand to take a sip from her Coke can and I noticed her fingernails. They were bitten to the quick, the cuticles jagged and torn. I felt somebody watching and I looked up to find Birdie’s eyes focused on us, taking in what I was seeing, her gaze almost challenging. You can always tell a lady by her hands, I remembered her saying to me after spotting my own ruined nails at the dinner table. I’d kicked Maisy under the table to warn her about keeping her own hands in her lap, but she’d misunderstood and had started howling because I’d kicked her.
I’d heard the stutter, and I wanted to say the right thing, wanted to reassure her. I tucked Becky’s hair behind her ear, recognizing the gentle curve of it, the silky feel of the blond strands, and for a moment the words were stuck in my throat, and I remembered the last time I’d seen her, tiny and pink and bawling. And I thought of all the years between in which I’d thought nothing had changed. But of course it had. She’d grown older. We all had. Just not any wiser.
I smiled. “He was lucky your dad got him to the hospital so quickly. That saved his life. And we’re lucky, too, that we didn’t have to go to the hospital in Panama City, because a very good neurologist happened to be here this month. Grandpa’s still very sick, though, and they’re going to need to keep him here for a little while.”
She looked at me with worried eyes. “What about his b-bees? He was supposed to m-move the hives next weekend to the swamp.”
I looked over at Maisy and met her eyes for a moment. “I’m sure we’ll figure out something. I know your mama will know what to do.”
“But M-Mama hates bees. You p-probably need to stick around to m-make sure they’re all right until G-Grandpa gets better.”
I felt the panic rise in the back of my throat. “Oh, sweetheart, I can’t. I need to get Mr. Graf back to New Orleans so he can fly home to New York. And I’ve got work. . . .”
I stopped, watching her face. The set of her jaw and the way she’d narrowed her eyes and tucked in her chin was so much like Maisy when she was preparing an argument that I wanted to laugh. “So you’re j-just going to t-take off again?” I would have made a bet that she was quoting her mother verbatim.
I was acutely aware of James next to me. “I never ‘took off,’” I said, feeling the need to defend myself in front of him.
“But G-Grandpa needs you. The b-bees need you.” She put her hand in mine, and I felt the raw, jagged edges at the tips of her slender fingers.
James stood and I knew he was looking at me, but I couldn’t return his gaze. “I’m going to get some more coffee. Does anybody need some?”
Nobody said anything and I shook my head. “No. But thanks.”
I looked at our clasped hands, then up at Becky’s eager face. Her expression was open and honest, nothing hidden.
“I can come back,” I said hastily. “As soon as I drive Mr. Graf back, I can return until Grandpa is better.”
“You w-won’t,” she said matter-of-factly. “If you l-leave, you won’t come b-back. M-Mama told me that last night, so that I w-wouldn’t be hurt. I just didn’t b-believe her.”
My emotions ricocheted between hurt and obligation, shame and hopelessness. How could I explain now the choices Maisy and I had made, and the promise to never regret them? I put a hand on her arm, meant to calm her, to remind her to take a deep breath. Just like I’d seen Maisy do.
Maisy stood and walked toward us. “We can manage fine without her, just like we always have.” She took the almost empty Coke can and the half-eaten candy bar and placed them on the table by Becky’s chair. “Come on, Becky. Let’s go get some real food. We can bring something back for Birdie and Aunt Georgia.”
I met Maisy’s gaze. “I’ve been thinking. About Grandpa’s stroke, and how unexpected it was. And how he was looking at the teacup when it happened. Do you think that’s what caused it?”
She frowned impatiently. “His stroke was caused by a burst blood vessel in his brain. And probably from his high cholesterol and blood pressure. If surprise had something to do with it, I would say it had more to do with your visit and not some stupid teacup.” She held out her hand to Becky. “Come on—let’s go get something to eat.”
Becky walked slowly to the door with her mother, then paused before running back to me, cupping her hands around my ear to whisper. “B-Birdie wants you to stay.” She pulled back and I stared at her in surprise. Her teeth—small, white, and straight—worried her lower lip, her eyes trained on the ceiling as if she were trying to remember something she’d memorized for a test. Then she cupped her hands around my ear again and whispered, “She n-needs your help.”
She pulled away, then ran to Maisy, who was watching me closely with the same narrowed eyes I’d just seen on Becky. I stared at the empty space where they’d stood long after they’d left, wondering whether Birdie had really spoken to her, or if Becky simply had a vivid imagination.
My gaze shifted to Birdie, who was staring out the window across the room, humming something low and toneless, and I thought about Grandpa’s bees, and how he once said that it made sense for bees to always flap their wings, because if they didn’t, they’d fall to the ground and die. But people weren’t like that, our constant movement just a distraction from the things we couldn’t bear to face.
“Birdie?” I called, almost expecting her to turn to me with clear eyes for the first time in almost a decade. I wanted to believe that Becky wasn’t making it up, that Birdie talked to her. But if that were true, what did it mean? And did I really want to know? My short visit home was turning into quicksand, and the more I struggled to extricate myself, the stronger the pull to keep me stuck.
Birdie continued her soft, monotonous humming, reminding me of a funeral dirge, and I wasn’t sure why, but it made me want to cry. Something had happened to my mother almost ten years before and I’d been too wrapped up in my own life to pay attention, to watch as the threads were spun and knotted around her too tightly for me to be able to pick them apart and set her free.
I stood quickly and rushed to the doorway, wanting to tell Becky that I would be back, that it was time to fix things before it was too late. I nearly ran into James, causing him to splash coffee onto the floor and on his shoes.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, clutching at his arm, not completely sure I was apologizing for the coffee. “But I need to stay a little longer. To make sure my grandfather is going to be okay. I can drive you to the airport tomorrow, but I’ll come right back. And I’ll continue searching for your grandmother’s china pattern.”
His eyes searched mine. “I don’t need to go back. Not for a while.”
I dropped my hands, understanding. “You’re running away.” I didn’t mean it as an accusation, merely a statement of fact.
He nodded. “I need to keep moving.”
I thought of the bees again, their incessant wing flapping keeping them aloft. I met his gaze. “Sooner or later you’re going to have to find a place to land.” I began walking away, my sandals slapping the linoleum floor.
“Have you?”
I felt the anger in the back of my throat, stinging my eyes. I wanted to turn back and yell at him, to tell him yes, that I was so much better now, and that all those years of being gone were worth it. But then I thought of my grandfather and Becky, and Maisy and Birdie and all that I’d missed, a photo album full of blank pages.
Everything has its price. I stopped with my back to him, trying to recall who’d said that, remembering it had been Aunt Marlene as she’d helped me pack my small suitcase and I’d told her what I’d done.
I kept walking, feeling his gaze on my back until I pushed through the glass door at the front of the building before running down the front walkway and out into the fresh air saturated with the scent of salt water. I gulped the air into my lungs, tasting it along with all the memories it brought back to me.
“Georgia?”
I spun around and saw Lyle approaching me from the parking lot.
“Are you all right?”
I nodded. “I just needed to be outside. I’ll be fine in a minute.”
“How’s your grandfather? I was coming to pick up Becky and was hoping for good news.”
Finding a smile, I said, “He’s okay, considering. And thanks to you. You saved his life.”
He shrugged. He’d never been any good at accepting compliments. “I wouldn’t have been there to help if James hadn’t come running after me.” He leaned a little closer. “Is everything okay?”
I tried to pinpoint just one of the things that tickled my brain like crawling insects. “Yeah. It’s just . . .” I met his gaze. “I think I’m going to stick around for a little while. At least until I know Grandpa is going to be okay.”
His brown eyes were warm. “That’s probably a good idea. I guess with your job you can work remotely.”
A corner of my mouth turned up reluctantly. “Assuming I owned a laptop and cell phone. But James has both, so I’m not worried. And my boss is one of those annoying family men who thinks I should want to spend time with my own family. I haven’t asked yet, but I know I can stay as long as I need, with his blessing.”
“Good,” he said. “But that’s not all, is it?”
Like Maisy, he’d always been able to read my mind, which was probably why we’d never become romantically involved. That and the fact that he’d loved my sister since the moment they met. I looked him in the eye. “Has Becky ever said anything to you about Birdie talking to her?”
“A few times. But I just thought that was her being dramatic, making up stuff to suit her point of view, if you know what I mean. She’s definitely inherited the flair for drama.”
I looked up at the impossibly blue sky. “That she has.” Glancing back at him, I said, “She’s a great kid. You and Maisy have done a really good job.”
“Thanks. That’s mostly Maisy’s doing. She lets me be the fun parent while she’s the rule maker and enforcer. Can’t say that’s fair, but it just seemed to work for us. Until recently, anyway.”
He shifted his feet, rubbing the soles against the cement, and I noticed how his hair had begun to thin on the sides, and how his face showed lines and shadows I didn’t remember.
“How about you, Lyle? Are you doing all right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just trying to work things out with Maisy. Figure out what we’re going to do.” Our eyes met for a long moment. “I miss you.”
The stress of the last few days seemed to be compounded by those three simple words, and to my horror I felt my eyes well with tears. Lyle reached out his arm and hugged me to him, pressing my face into his shoulder, and I gave in to his warmth.
“You can come back to stay forever, you know. People who matter don’t care what happened years ago. And the people who do care don’t matter.” He patted my back in comfort, the gesture making me want to cry even more. I didn’t deserve it.
“Not Maisy.” I sniffed.
“You know how to fix that,” he said softly.
I thought for a moment how right he was, how all I had to do was quite simple, really. Like unpainting a portrait stroke by stroke. But we wouldn’t be left with a blank canvas with which to start over. I would still have my pride and Maisy her resentment, with enough of each to sink a ship.
“Why have you never blamed me?” My voice was muffled in his shirt.
He didn’t even hesitate. “Because I know you. Because I know the person you really are.”
“But Maisy is my sister.” As if that relationship were like an eraser on the end of a pencil, correcting all mistakes. Grandpa had told us that when we were little girls, and we had always believed it. Until a sunny afternoon in early July all those years ago, when Maisy and I had stopped believing in anything at all.
We both looked up at the sound of the front door opening. Maisy stood holding it open for Becky to walk through, and I spotted James behind her watching us with a blank expression. I stepped away from Lyle, realizing how it might look.
Leaving Maisy’s side, Becky ran toward us, throwing her arms around us both in a group hug, then standing back to smile. I couldn’t look at Maisy, so I allowed my gaze to stray behind her, where I met James’s gaze. I realized that I’d have to explain a few things to him if we were planning on staying any longer.
Ignoring me, Maisy approached Lyle. “I’ve already called Becky’s teachers and they’ll have her missed work ready to be picked up at the end of the school day. Please make sure you go through all of it to make sure it’s done. And no pizza for dinner. She’s been eating mostly junk food all day, and she’ll need something nutritious.”
“Mama!” Becky moaned. Lyle kept his expression serious, but I was pretty sure he and Becky would be eating pizza for dinner.
Maisy turned around and headed back toward the hospital door. “Grandpa’s awake and he’s asking for you,” she said over her shoulder to me as she brushed by James and continued inside.
I said a quick good-bye to Lyle and Becky, then followed Maisy into the building. I made to move past James, but he took hold of my arm, stopping me.
“I can go find your aunt Marlene’s house and start looking through the catalogs you brought with you. Or I can stay here at the hospital. My sisters say I’m a good referee.”
“What makes you think I need a referee?”
He raised his eyebrows in response.
I wanted to tell him that I didn’t deserve his kindness, that if he knew everything, he’d be on the first flight back home. And that I was just fine on my own, not just because I’d grown used to it, but because it was what I preferred now. Relationships of all kinds were messy, untidy things, like balls of twine full of knots that never knew how to unravel properly.
But James wasn’t looking for a friend any more than I was. Maybe that made him safe. Maybe that made me take his hand and pull him along with me down the corridor, feeling like I’d been tossed overboard and he was the only thing keeping me afloat.
chapter 10
Honeybees communicate with dance instead of words to tell other bees in the hive where to find food or a new home or to warn of approaching danger. It’s a complicated dance of turning in circles and bisecting precisely calculated angles, and understood only by bees and those who bother to pay attention.
—NED BLOODWORTH’S BEEKEEPER’S JOURNAL
Maisy
Maisy woke up the following morning to a quiet house that smelled of coffee. She’d taken the day off from work, planning on spending most of it at the hospital, and hadn’t set her alarm. Still, she was surprised to see it was past nine o’clock and that she hadn’t moved from her position in the bed since she’d passed out in it the night before.
She quickly slid to the floor, throwing on a robe over the T-shirt and boxers she usually slept in, then padded barefoot across the hall to Birdie’s bedroom. The door was open, and there was no sign of her mother in the bed or adjacent bathroom.
Feeling slightly panicked, she ran down the stairs and into the kitchen, halting abruptly on the threshold. Birdie, fully dressed and adorned with makeup and jewelry, sat at the table taking tiny bites of scrambled eggs from her plate. Georgia, in jeans shorts full of patches and a tie-dyed T-shirt—both looking as if they’d barely survived the seventies—had her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She stood at the stove flipping pancakes, wearing no makeup and looking no less beautiful.
“You’re here early,” Maisy muttered as she stumbled toward the coffeepot.
Georgia kept her focus on the pan in front of her. “Yeah, well, you stayed so late at the hospital that I figured I’d get Birdie out of bed and breakfast started before you got up.”
Maisy was silent as she poured her mug to the brim, then took a sip, needing fortification if she had to speak with her sister. She recognized the mug, with its chip near the top and the letter “M” formed from the outlines of three mermaids. Its twin, except with the letter “G,” sat on the counter next to the coffeemaker, half-full of cold coffee. Maisy hadn’t seen the mugs in years and figured Georgia had had to dig pretty far back in the cabinet to find them.
“Birdie usually takes her breakfast on a tray in bed,” she said ungraciously, eyeing their mother over the rim of her steaming cup.
Georgia’s gaze flickered over at her for a moment. “I didn’t ask. I just told her that I was making breakfast and to come down when she was ready.”
There was no hint of smugness, but Maisy felt annoyed all the same. As if taking care of Birdie were as easy as telling her the way it should be. As if after all these years Birdie wasn’t still playing favorites.
“How did she get dressed?”
Georgia slid a spatula under a pancake and carefully turned it over. “I imagine she did it herself.” She turned to face their mother for a moment, as if she actually expected her to say something. Focusing her attention on the stove again, she said, “I’m soaking her skirt from yesterday in the laundry room sink.”