Lost in the Beehive_A Novel

by Michele Young-Stone

  I started to cry.

  “The boy and the bees are the most persistent spirits to come to me. ‘Zelda, find her,’ the boy compels me. There are many not of this world who watch over you.”

  “What am I supposed to do?”

  “That, I don’t know, girl. But clearly, the boy thinks you know what to do.”

  “I’ve been thinking about it.”

  “Well, good, because I need my peace. And like I said, none of us are long for this world.”

  “Thank you,” I told her.

  She said, “By the way, I think your daughter might have the sight. For your sake, I hope not.”

  Madame Zelda took my hands into her veiny ones. She said, “I hope I don’t see you again. I hope you can let the boy get some rest.”

  “I’m trying,” I said.

  “You try harder, and never, sweet girl, never name a child after a gypsy fortune-teller, even if she is legendary.”

  When I exited the tent, Betty and Zelda were waiting for me. Zelda said, “What did the witch lady want?”

  “Oh, she’s no witch, honey. She’s the one and only legendary Madame Zelda, a gypsy fortune-teller.”

  Betty said, “What was that about?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  We rode the Ferris wheel, Zelda between us. We rode the Tilt-A-Whirl, Zelda on the inside. I was in the middle holding on to her, telling her that it was just this thing called centrifugal force. “Don’t be scared.”

  Betty said, “And chaos. Every ride is different depending on the number and weight of the riders.”

  I shook my head at Betty.

  She said, “That’s why it’s my favorite.”

  Zelda said, “Mine too. Because of chaos.”

  I wondered how I was going to stop living my lie. I knew where it would have to start. I would have to tell Betty the truth about who I was and how I felt. From there, I would have to make it clear that whatever I did had to be in the best interest of Zelda. I could divorce Jacob. I could move back to Maryville. Eventually, Betty and I could be together. We could be roommates. No one had to know the truth about us, if there could be an us, if she would love me how I loved her.

  After riding the Tilt-A-Whirl a dizzying ten times, Zelda and I pinned against Betty as our car swung, we petted the donkeys and rabbits. We noshed hot dogs and French fries. By the time we walked back to Betty’s car, Zelda was unconscious. Betty carried her. “Tonight was a great night,” she said.

  “Unforgettable.” Betty laid Zelda in the back seat and I climbed in beside her. As Betty started the engine, I said, “Do you think we can come to your house?”

  “How come?”

  “Jacob’s out of town, and I want to talk.” If I didn’t tell Betty the truth now, I didn’t know when I would tell her, if I’d ever tell her. It wasn’t going to get easier.

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll tell you about Madame Zelda.”

  Betty’s house was only five miles from the fairgrounds. She parked in the alleyway behind her apartment. My palms were sweating. I picked Zelda up and carried her upstairs to Betty’s apartment. It had parquet floors and one exposed brick wall. Four windows fronted the street. They were draped with blue curtains. I set Zelda down on the sofa, covering her with an afghan, and wiped my palms down the front of my jeans before blurting, “I’m in love with you. I’m not who you think I am.”

  “What?” Betty said.

  “I’m in love with you.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about, Gloria? First, you’re magically aligned with bees. Then, your daughter’s namesake is a gypsy who happens to be at the town carnival, and now, you’re telling me that you’re in love with me. Are you taking hallucinogens?”

  Before I could respond, she said, “And for the record, there’s no way that that wind picked Zelda up and carried her to that tent. I wouldn’t be surprised if your gypsy fortune-teller didn’t grab her.”

  “I don’t know where to start,” I said.

  “The beginning is always a good place. I don’t know what’s going on with you lately.”

  “I’m sorry.” Betty was understandably frustrated.

  “Do you want a drink?”

  “Yes.”

  Betty got down two glasses and poured some wine. She handed me a glass. “So what’s going on? And be honest. Please.”

  “Well,” I started, “you know the real me. I’m in love with you. I have no doubts about that. I’ve been in love with you for years, and yes, my daughter is named after a fortune-teller. Honeybees are my spirit animal, and I’m really tired of living a lie.”

  “Slow down.”

  “I never loved Jacob. I tried to love him. I’ve been trying to be what other people want me to be, what I thought I needed to be. I’m so sorry, and I was going to tell you the whole truth, and then I got pregnant, and I didn’t know what the fuck to do. I’m so sorry, Betty.”

  We stood at the bar separating the kitchen from the living room. Betty topped off our glasses. “I’m speechless,” she said.

  “That never happens.”

  “No joke, Gloria.”

  I said, “Remember that first day you came over with your coconut cookies and we listened to Carole King?”

  “Yes.”

  “And remember the time I kissed you?”

  “Of course. I won’t forget that.”

  “I was in love with you then. I’ve loved you since the first day we met, Betty.”

  “You never said that you liked women or that you’d ever liked women.”

  “I was scared.”

  “Did you used to date old gypsy fortune-tellers? Is that what that was about?”

  “She’s a little old for me.” I sipped from my glass. “The Gloria you don’t know has always been attracted to women. She had her first and only girlfriend when she was sixteen. She was in love with her.” I got goosebumps. There was so much to explain, so much to reveal. “Her name was Isabel, but she broke up with Gloria. She was only experimenting.

  “After Isabel left, Gloria was really sad and agreed to be admitted to a terrible place called the Belmont Institute where she could be ‘cured’ of her homosexuality.” My voice quivered. “I’m talking about myself in third person. Ugh, this is hard. I never talk about this.”

  “You’ve said plenty. I really don’t know how I’m supposed to respond. You’ve been lying to me.”

  I looked at Betty’s wine-stained lips. “But I have to explain. I have to stop hiding. When I was at the institute, I met this boy, this amazing boy, who assured me that there was nothing wrong with me. We were born how we were born. We shouldn’t have to feel guilty or apologize for who we were. I loved him. He made me fight for who I was, for what I believed.” Betty came to my side of the bar and, setting her glass down, wrapped her arms around me. She pressed her lips to my head, and I looked up to see her. “I loved him so much.”

  Betty said, “You and Zelda are my world. Have you noticed that I’m always around? I’m not going anywhere. Whatever happens, I’ll always be here for you.”

  We moved to the sofa opposite where Zelda slept. Betty tucked her feet up under her legs. “So, what happened to your friend?”

  I took a deep breath. “He died.” Then, I didn’t say anything for a minute. I couldn’t. “But before he died, we lived. He tried to live, anyway. We met Madame Zelda on Coney Island, and she didn’t see his fortune.”

  “What was his name?”

  “He’s with the bees,” I said. “Somehow. That first time I met Madame Zelda, she said that the bees carried messages between worlds. They’ve always followed me. He’s with them. He comes to me in dreams. He comes to her in dreams.”

  “What’s his name?”

  I didn’t want to say it. I didn’t want to break down. I said, “I’m going to leave Jacob.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I never should’ve married him, except if I hadn’t, I never would’ve had Zelda. I wouldn’t have met you. Do y
ou know that Sheff used to say that if he and I ever had children, we’d have the most beautiful children in the world? And I did … We did.”

  Betty said, “You said his name. His name was Sheff?”

  “His name was Sheffield Schoeffler, and I loved him very much.” Tears began to fall. They were the kind of tears that fall without sound; the kind that fall without embarrassment, apology, or thought; the kind that should never be wiped away. “Sheff sent Madame Zelda to the carnival tonight to remind me of what’s so apparent. It’s time for me to fly.”

  “What are you going to tell Jacob? What are you going to say?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t tell him the truth. I mean, I can’t tell him that I’m in love with you. He’d take Zelda. I’m going to tell him that I don’t love him. I’m going to tell him that I’m leaving.”

  “Are you really in love with me?”

  “I’m certain.”

  Betty set down her wineglass, and we kissed. I didn’t kiss her. She didn’t kiss me. We kissed. She said, “No one’s going to take Zelda from you.”

  “No. You’re right. I won’t let them.”

  31

  WE SLEPT OVER AT BETTY’S. I dreamed of Sheff sitting on the velveteen sofa of the Hotel Chelsea. He was smiling and waving and looking so fine, I didn’t think he knew he was in my dream. I woke on the sofa with Zelda’s fingers in my hair. “I had a sleepover at Aunt Betty’s.”

  “It looks like you have chocolate on your face.”

  “Aunt Betty gave me some cake before she went downstairs to work. She didn’t want to wake you. I said I’d watch you.”

  “Thanks for watching me.” The phone rang. I wasn’t going to pick it up. It was Betty’s home phone. She had another phone downstairs in the restaurant. I knew that when Betty got off work at two, she’d drive me and Zelda home. Until then, I thought we could stroll around town, get a bite at the restaurant, and go to the library. They had a story time at twelve thirty on Saturdays. There was an antique store on First Street that had fun costume jewelry. I went down the hall to brush my teeth. The phone finally stopped ringing, but then immediately started again. Zelda said, “I can get it.”

  “No, it’s Betty’s phone, honey.”

  I brushed my teeth. The phone was still ringing. I went to the kitchen, worried that it might have something to do with Betty’s mother, and picked up. “Hello.”

  “Gloria?”

  “This is she.”

  “It’s me. What are you doing at Betty’s? Why didn’t you come home?”

  “We spent the night after the carnival. It was late.”

  Jacob said, “I was worried sick.”

  “You said that you were staying in Raleigh.”

  “I said that I might stay in Raleigh.”

  “Okay, but you always stay overnight in Raleigh.”

  “I’m coming to get you.”

  “Don’t do that.” I poured a cup of coffee. “I let Oscar out before we went to the carnival. He should be fine. We’re fine. I think I’m going to take Zelda to the library. Betty can drive us home when she gets off at two. I left enough food for Oscar. The dog should be fine.”

  “I don’t care about Oscar. I had a real shit night, and I want my family at home.” He hung up.

  I looked at Zelda. “Daddy will be here in a minute. Let’s go say bye to Aunt Betty.”

  “I want to go to the library.”

  “I know, sweetheart, but we can go on Monday.”

  “When’s Monday?”

  “Not too far from now.” I took her hand. She was still wearing her red cowboy boots, her blonde curls tangled at the nape of her neck. We headed downstairs. From the sidewalk, I looked through the plate glass window embossed Betty’s Bakery. The letters were frosty. I saw Betty smiling behind the counter. Every table was full. She was such a joyful person, and she loved me. It was hard to fathom that I could be so fortunate. I pushed the door open and a bell jingled. She looked up. “Good morning,” she said.

  “Hi,” I said meekly. She put her hands on my shoulders and smiled.

  “What can I get you two for breakfast?”

  “I’d like more cake,” Zelda said.

  “I guessed that.”

  I said, “No more cake, honey.” To Betty, I said, “Jacob’s on his way to get us.”

  “I thought he was in Raleigh.”

  “So did I.”

  “Don’t go,” she said. “Stay and have breakfast.”

  “I can’t do that. You know that.” Just then, his truck pulled up outside.

  “We have to go,” I said.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to do what we talked about. I’m going to tell him that it’s over.”

  “Call me, okay. I’ll be home after two. Or you can call here.” She leaned in and squeezed me tight. Zelda squeezed her leg. Jacob honked the horn.

  As we left the restaurant, Jacob was getting out of the truck. He opened the passenger-side door and lifted Zelda up. It was a blustery, crisp day, blue as far as I could see. He took hold of my face and kissed me. “I got home around four this morning, and I was lonely for my girls.”

  “That’s nice.” I felt like I was going to be physically sick. Why had he suddenly changed his plans and come home from Raleigh? As I climbed into the truck, I looked back at Betty. She was watching us through the plate glass window.

  He said, “So tell me about the fair.”

  I rolled my window down.

  Zelda said, “There was an old witch lady there in a big tent.”

  “What else?”

  “They had cotton candy and a pumpkin patch. Mommy, where’s my pumpkin?”

  “I think we left it at Betty’s.”

  “We need to get it. I want to sleep with him.”

  As we pulled up to the house, Oscar came out to greet us. He licked Zelda, and she squealed.

  Jacob said, “What do you have planned for today? I miss spending time with you.”

  “I’m going to get cleaned up,” I said, “then work in the garden.”

  He said, “I can help you get cleaned up. I could wash your back.”

  I couldn’t remember the last time we’d been intimate. “That’s okay,” I said. “I’m good.”

  He followed me upstairs, his boots tromping. “I’m sorry that I’ve been gone so much with work.”

  “That’s okay.”

  I heard Zelda running up behind us. “Daddy,” she said, “you can play dolls with me.”

  “I’m going to play with Mommy today.”

  “I’ll play too,” she said.

  I went into the bathroom and locked the door. I could hear Zelda telling Jacob about her doll collection. I have to get out of here. I have to take Zelda and go away, maybe to Maryville for a while, someplace where we’ll be safe. I towel-dried my hair and looked in the mirror. For a second, I thought I saw Sheff looking back. I touched the glass. “I’m strong,” I said, my fingers lingering where I’d seen his face in my own.

  As I was getting dressed, Jacob called up from the kitchen, “I made breakfast. Are you hungry?”

  Zelda ran upstairs. “Daddy made eggs.”

  We sat at the kitchen table, the three of us, eating fried eggs and bacon. Jacob said, “Aren’t you impressed? I’m home on a Saturday, and I made breakfast!”

  “Sure.” I didn’t know what to say. Why today? You’re never home on weekends. After breakfast, he trailed me to the shed. I got a trowel. He picked one up. “We’re going to have a great day,” he said. I pulled my hair back in a kerchief and shrugged. I didn’t know him, or maybe the bigger problem was that I did know him. We went to the flower bed bordering the picket fence. I dug the weeds out around the chrysanthemums and deadheaded some of them. I noticed a few bees by one of the flowers and stopped digging.

  Jacob thrust his trowel into the dirt, back and forth, accomplishing nothing. “Look, Gloria,” he said, jabbing his trowel uselessly, “I’ll be close to home from here on out. I
love you and Zelda so much.”

  “What happened in Raleigh that made you drive home in the middle of the night?”

  “Can’t a man love his family without getting the third degree? Jesus Christ!”

  “Of course.”

  Around five o’clock, Early Bird pulled up with a twelve-pack of beer. He and Jacob retired to the workshop. I knew that they’d drink the whole thing and anything else Jacob had stashed out there. Then, tomorrow, he’d spend all day at the flea market. That would be my chance to get away. I’d leave a note. I’d borrow money from my parents and get a lawyer. I was done. I understood what Sheff was telling me, the same thing I’d been telling myself. I deserved to be happy.

  I went to the shed and put my gardening gloves and trowel up. I pulled the kerchief from my hair and shook out my curls. I remembered when the bees had swallowed me. I didn’t know if it had been real, but it had seemed real. It had always seemed that they meant to protect me, and soon they’d hibernate. Maybe by the time they returned in the spring, I would be free.

  I went to the kitchen and washed my hands. Zelda got on her step stool and washed hers. She said, “All clean.”

  “Are you ever going to take off that dress?” I asked.

  “Maybe when I get a kitten.”

  “Funny.”

  “I know.”

  “But what about when you take a bath?”

  “Maybe then.”

  She followed me upstairs. “It’s time to read to Oscar,” she said. The dog ran after her.

  I pulled my red suitcase out from under the bed and popped the silver latch. The lining was a silky beige fabric decorated with red rain boots. It smelled like the Hotel Chelsea, like I’d boxed my time there. It was like Pandora’s box now unleashed in Greeley. I was going to live how Sheff had said we’d live, just how we pleased. I was going to be with Betty. I was going to stop walking on eggshells. I could do this: Uncle Eddie knew I could do it. My parents knew. Sheff knew. I packed my underwear, clothes (I didn’t have much), and my copy of The Catcher in the Rye in my suitcase. I admired the blue dress Betty had bought me. Then, I smiled, imagining waking up to Betty every morning. I opened my cardboard jewelry box, the kind with the ballerina who dances, and pulled out the Madame Zelda handbill I’d found at the Jersey Shore. I stuffed it down beside the dress. Tomorrow, I’d pack Zelda’s things. As long as she had her fancy dress, nothing else really mattered. I latched the suitcase just as Zelda and Oscar bounded into the room.