How to Charm a Beekeeper's Heart

by Candice Patterson

  Was that a compliment? Arianne resisted the urge to pick Lucy’s chin up off the floor.

  “I just can’t believe it. I hardly recognized you.”

  Heat filled her cheeks, and Arianne swallowed the rising anger. “Thank you.” I think. She was surprised Lucy remembered her at all. The pair had been best friends until the fourth grade, when Arianne’s mother died. After that, they grew apart. Lucy was never unkind to Arianne, but she didn’t pay her any attention, either.

  “Do you think Huck’s feeling up to visitors today?”

  Lucy finally gained control of her mouth and curled it into a smile. “That’s right. I forgot you two were related. Cousins or something, right?” She went back to the desk and opened Huck’s chart, writing something in with the pencil she’d removed from behind her ear.

  Arianne had no idea what Lucy was talking about, but knew the ICU wouldn’t allow her to see Huck unless she was family, so she chose to remain silent. Maybe Lucy was offering her a little grace.

  “I wrote your name down so you won’t have any trouble getting past the desk from now on. He’s in room 204. Follow me.”

  A buzzer sounded and a large automatic door swung open. Lucy stepped through with Arianne at her heels.

  “I’m so glad you’re here, Arianne.” Lucy picked lint off her black scrubs. “He’s really bad. The doctors rushed him into surgery as soon as he got here, and he’s been in a medically induced coma ever since. He’s got two more surgeries scheduled this week, if his internal swelling subsides enough.”

  Tears filled Arianne’s eyes, but she blinked them away and focused on Lucy’s tennis shoes squeaking against the floor. “So, he doesn’t know that the woman with him died?”

  They’d reached room 204, and Lucy gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “No.” She stared at the floor as if trying to control her emotions as well. “Don’t stay too long or Nurse Vivian will run you off. She’s worse than the National Guard.”

  Lucy walked away, leaving Arianne alone in the open doorway. The hospital walls shrunk around her, and her head buzzed and swam as if she’d taken something awful.

  What would she see when she walked in? Would Huck live through all this?

  She swallowed and stepped inside. A blue curtain engulfed the corner, hiding him. Her gaze followed the maze of tracks on the ceiling. She tugged at the curtain enough to see the patient.

  A mummified Huck filled the narrow bed, his limbs cradled with pillows and slings. Tubes ran in and out of him like tunnels of a tiny subway system. Black eyes framed the white medical tape on his nose. Arianne’s insides folded.

  Huck’s chest rose and fell to the rhythm of the ventilator. Arianne stared, her stomach turning at the thought of a machine keeping him alive. She tip-toed to the bed and dared to stroke her fingertips along his knuckles protruding from the full arm cast. His skin was clammy. She ran her hand along the thin blanket spilling over the mattress. She’d be sure to ask a nurse for another one.

  The curtain rolled in its track. A tall, skinny man with white hair stood with a stethoscope in his hand. Teal scrubs extended from the knees to his matching rubber shoes.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize he had company. I’m Doctor Reynolds.” He draped the stethoscope around his neck and extended his hand. “And you are?”

  She placed her hand in his. “Arianne Winters.”

  He nodded. “Do you know of anyone else we need to contact? We’ve had a difficult time locating family members.”

  To her knowledge Martin never had any children, so she wasn’t sure if Huck had real cousins out there somewhere or not. His mother was deceased. Had he ever met his dad? The thought brought fresh tears. How horrible to almost die alone. “I’m all he has.”

  The doctor nodded.

  “Is he going to pull through?”

  He checked his watch. “At this point, there are no guarantees. It’d be easier for me to tell you what isn’t damaged than to go through the list of what is. I’m scheduled to be in surgery in ten minutes, but I wanted to come by and check on him. I’d like to meet with you tomorrow morning to discuss his injuries and a plan for long-term care. Will ten o’clock work for you?”

  “I can arrange it.” What am I doing? She had no authority to make medical decisions for him, or to be involved in any way for that matter. But if she didn’t do it, who would?

  “If you have any questions in the meantime, please see a nurse.”

  He left the room and her attention shifted to the monitors. Rainbows of light flashed his vital signs. Daylight filtered in through the thick blinds, spilling over this larger-than-life man a breath away from losing it all. What a long recovery ahead.

  Huck’s eyelids quivered. Arianne prayed that his dreams brought him comfort.

  “He is not worthy of the honeycomb, that shuns the hives because the bees have stings.”

  —William Shakespeare

  7

  Had he swallowed sandpaper? Were his eyelids taped shut? Every bone in his body screamed in pain. That must’ve been some party. This was, by far, the worst hangover on record.

  Huck forced his eyes open and met toes peeking from a cast. His eyes crossed as he focused on the white spot on his throbbing nose. He tried to pull it off, but his arm was restricted by a sling. Tubes snaked from his arms to machines beside his bed. Was he in the hospital? His muscles tensed, adding to the agony.

  “Good. You’re awake.” A woman in black scrubs entered his line of hazy vision. She scooted a chair next to his bed and leaned her elbow on the mattress. “Remember me, Quarterback?”

  Quarterback. Now it made sense. He’d been injured during a game. Except he didn’t remember playing a game. With as little movement as possible, he assessed the damage to his body again. The guys on the other team must’ve been huge. How would this affect his scholarship?

  She patted his arm. “It’s fine if you don’t remember. I’m Lucy Cosgrove. We went to school together.”

  Went. So, this wasn’t a football injury?

  She held up a Styrofoam cup. “Thirsty?”

  She had no idea. He gave a stiff nod, disappointed when she spooned ice chips into his mouth. He wanted water. A gallon.

  After another spoonful, she placed the cup on the table. “That’s enough for now. You’re scheduled for a swallow test first thing tomorrow. If you pass that you can have water.” She turned and added something to his IV. “This will help with any pain.”

  Lucy removed the oxygen tube from his nose, which made him want to howl. “Your oxygen level is good, so I’m going to give you a break.”

  From the look of things, he didn’t need any more breaks.

  She paused beside his bed, frowning at him, hands on her hips. “Do you remember why you’re here?” Her voice was low, cautious.

  He barely shook his head. His nose burned with a sneeze, and he held his breath, willing it to pass. A sneeze might kill him.

  “You were in a motorcycle accident twelve days ago on Highway 233. The driver of the other vehicle had a heart attack and veered into your lane. You swerved to miss and lost control of your motorcycle.”

  Screeching tires rang in his ears. Memories slammed into him like a sledgehammer—the diner, the wind, the black Cadillac, his body contorting through the air.

  Giada.

  He closed his eyes and nodded once.

  “You remember. That’s an excellent sign.” She touched his arm. “You’re lucky to be alive. Good thing you were wearing a helmet.”

  He looked at her. What about Giada? Was she wearing a helmet? He couldn’t remember.

  “Your cousin, Arianne, was here earlier.” She walked to the dry-erase board covered with medical code and checkmarks. The marker squeaked across the board’s slick surface.

  Cousin? He didn’t have any cousins. Huck spoke Giada’s name, but it came out like a hound dog with a mouth full of mashed potatoes.

  Lucy’s smile fell. “I know you have questions, but right now you need to rest.” Sh
e pulled the blankets up to his neck. “Hang in there. I’ll be back to check on you.”

  What about Giada? Dread crushed his chest.

  The room got blurry.

  She patted his shoulder and left. He tried to call after her, but fire shot through his bottom lip. He worked his tongue over the roughness. Stiches?

  The torture in his body eased, and his head clouded in a thick fog. Giada filled his mind as his heavy eyelids closed.

  ~*~

  Arianne stared out the bridal shop window, gnawing her thumbnail. Fingers snapped in front of her face.

  “Earth to Arianne. Hello?”

  She turned to Missy. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  Missy studied her. “What’s up with you?”

  “Nothing.” Arianne straightened the business cards and sale flyers behind the register. Anything to distract her mind from the mess she was in.

  Her sister leaned against the glass counter, palms spread wide. “Yeah, right. Spill it.”

  “I just cleaned that. Now your fingerprints are all over the glass.”

  Missy rolled her eyes. “The first customer that walks in here is going to mess it up anyway.”

  Arianne glanced around the empty shop. If she had any customers today.

  “Look, I’ll clean it up while you tell me what’s wrong. Beside the fact that you’re OCD.”

  Arianne plunked the cleaner and a roll of paper towels onto the counter and shoved them at her sister. “I’ve made a bad situation worse.”

  Missy pushed up her silver bracelets and sprayed the counter. “You’re going to have to elaborate.”

  “I visited Huck in the hospital last Tuesday and let the nurse assume I was his cousin so she’d let me in the ICU. While I was there, the doctor came in, and I was afraid he would kick me out, so I let him believe I was Huck’s cousin, too.”

  A dramatized gasp escaped Missy, and she covered her mouth with her hand. “You lied?”

  “Omitted.”

  Missy rolled her eyes and chuckled. “Is that what’s got your granny panties in a knot?”

  Arianne snatched the window cleaner and pointed to the counter. “I don’t wear granny panties. And put some elbow grease into it. I don’t want any streaks.” She returned the bottle to a cabinet beneath the register. “A lie is a lie, Missy. No matter how it’s presented. But no, that’s not the entire reason I’m upset. That’s just what started it all.”

  Missy made a rolling motion with her finger, signaling for Arianne to get to the point. Then she scrubbed the paper towel over the counter once more.

  “Huck doesn’t have any other living family members, and they think I’m his cousin, so the doctor gave me the information regarding his care. The nurse called around noon and said Huck woke from his coma yesterday—which is wonderful—but the doctor wants to meet with me again tomorrow to discuss further treatment and give instructions on how to care for him once he’s released.”

  She shivered. “And Huck still doesn’t know the woman riding with him died.”

  Missy wadded the paper towel and tossed it in the trash can. “I’m still failing to see the problem here.”

  Arianne gripped the glass counter in frustration. “Aren’t you listening? They think I’m going to take care of him when he’s released. Huck’s going to be livid when he finds out I lied, and the doctors have shared all his personal information with me. I’m supposed to have everything out of here by the end of next week.” She drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “And on top of that, the doctor wants me to be there for moral support when they tell him about his girlfriend, or whoever she was.”

  Missy swatted Arianne’s hands. “I just cleaned that, you know.”

  Arianne stormed away and went to her office to check on Emma. Her sister could be so insensitive sometimes. Arianne complimented Emma’s picture of a princess, kissed her cheek, then lumbered back into the shop to fluff the mannequin’s dress for the hundredth time.

  “You might have something going here.” Missy turned from side to side, admiring her reflection in the floor-length mirror. Her red-and-white, nautical-style shirt matched perfectly with her white shorts and gold sandals.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, this situation could work to your advantage.”

  “A woman died, Missy. I have no desire to work it to my advantage.”

  Missy waved her hand. “I’m not talking about that part.” She joined Arianne by the mannequin. “Think about it. You need Huck to let you stay here. He needs someone to care for him when he leaves the hospital.”

  Arianne released her hold on the lace veil and raised her brows.

  Missy smacked her forehead. “For a brainiac, you can be so dense sometimes. Make a deal with Huck. Tell him you’ll take care of him if he’ll let you stay.”

  Arianne gazed around the shop. Missy’s suggestion was looking like her only option. Huck had no one, and if he tossed her out, she’d be homeless. Maybe they could help each other. Of course, they’d tried that once before, and he didn’t keep his end of the bargain. But they were adults now, and he had offered other scenarios in lieu of eviction. She could trust him this time around. Couldn’t she?

  E.B. White, author of children’s classic Charlotte’s Web, wrote a poem in The New Yorker (1945) criticizing the development of artificial insemination of queen bees.

  8

  Huck jolted awake. His heart slammed against his ribs. Sweat beaded his temples. As his surroundings became clearer, he took a deep breath and pushed the crash’s replay from his mind.

  If only he could do the same with his injuries.

  He turned his head to the dry side of the pillow. Arianne perched at the edge of a chair in the corner, ankles crossed. Pink flip-flops matched her wrinkled shirt, and her jeans had a small hole in the knee. A messy pile of curls was secured on top of her head. The only thing he could imagine looking better was a T-bone steak. If those nurses didn’t start feeding him some real food around here…

  Arianne stood and approached his bedside, rubbing her palms across her thighs. Her fingers trembled. A strange look that bordered on guilty crossed her face, puckering the skin on her cute little forehead. “How are you feeling today?”

  Huck cleared his throat and eyed the cup beside his bed. “Like I’ve been hit by a car.”

  “Can I get you anything?”

  His stomach gnawed his backbone. “Yeah, a 12-ounce steak, medium rare, a baked potato with butter and sour cream, and a dozen yeast rolls. Can you do that for me?”

  She bit her bottom lip and shook her head.

  “Come on, have a heart. All they’ve fed me the past twenty-four hours is ice chips and chicken broth. I’m starving.”

  “I’m sorry, but it’s liquids only right now.”

  “How ‘bout a beer then?”

  Another no. Why did she ask if she was going to deny every request?

  He shifted to relieve his stiff muscles and released a groan. The morphine kept him fairly comfortable, and he’d done nothing except sleep. At the moment, he’d give everything he owned to get out of this bed.

  When Lucy—he finally remembered her—had checked his vitals this morning, she told him they’d start weaning him off the morphine and start him on a lesser controlled substance. Every nurse who made an appearance dashed in and out, dancing around his questions as though they had something to hide. The boulder in his gut told him he didn’t want to know the answers.

  “Come to inspect the damage?” The skin beneath the medical tape on his nose itched.

  Arianne swallowed, and for a moment he wondered if she was going to get sick. “Huck, please, don’t be mad.” She licked her lips. “I—”

  A doctor burst into the room. Tall, lanky, covered in blue scrubs.

  “I’m Dr. Reynolds. I’ve been overseeing your care since you arrived. How are you feeling?”

  Couldn’t everyone tell just by looking at him? “Peachy. Although, I’d feel even better if you’d
remove this catheter.”

  “That’ll come with time.” The doc pulled up a vacant chair as if he intended to stay awhile.

  “So, what’s the damage, Doc?”

  A rustling noise came from the corner. Arianne was back in the chair, clutching her hands together so tightly her fingers turned purple. The scared look she’d given him earlier intensified. What was going on?

  Doc explained the three surgeries he’d performed and went through Huck’s injuries in a medical language he didn’t understand. What did a spleen do anyway? His brain reeled. He’d really lost twelve days of his life in a coma?

  “Your left fibula gave a clean break, along with a hairline fracture to the femur. Your pelvis—”

  “Enough mumbo-jumbo.” Huck couldn’t process any more. No matter how bad the news was, he needed answers now. “How much longer until I’m back to normal?”

  Doc glanced at Arianne. “Best case scenario, six to nine months to a full recovery, including physical therapy. Possibly longer.”

  The room tilted. He’d go insane lying in a bed for six months. “How long before I can walk?”

  “Unassisted—four to five months. If your healing continues to progress, we hope to release you by the end of next week.”

  Huck exhaled a loud breath. What about his bees? The honey? The farm?

  Matt. Who would watch out for him?

  The doc nodded at Arianne. What weren’t they telling him?

  Arianne stood and paced, thumbnail between her teeth.

  Giada. The weight of a semi-truck settled over him. “What is it?”

  Doc leaned forward, palms on his knees. “What I’m about to tell you isn’t going to be easy to hear. I asked your cousin to join us today since she’s agreed to oversee your recovery. Every patient needs moral support.”

  “What?” Huck shot a glance at Arianne. She winced.

  “The passenger with you that day,” Doc said. “What was your relationship to her?”

  Acid burned his throat. “We were dating.” He forced himself to ask the question. “How is she?”

  “She was pronounced dead at the scene. I’m sorry.”