The Music of Bees by Eileen Garvin (free ereaders txt) 📗

quitting was related to this other thing—this protest against the county and the big ag company.

“You two shouldn’t get involved in this,” she said, turning her coffee cup around in her hands. “Your folks would probably want you to steer clear.”

She brought the cup to her mouth and spilled coffee down the front of her overalls. She brushed it off with her hand, and Jake handed her a tea towel. Harry liked Alice, this slightly grumpy bee lady who was almost as old as his mom and unlike any woman he had known—teachers, aunts, and various neighbors. She wasn’t a coddler or a disciplinarian or phony-friendly. Even his own mother had a way of overpoliteness with people that Harry noticed. Alice was different. Alice was just, well, Alice.

“My mom does have an opinion about you,” Jake was saying.

Alice raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” she said.

“She wanted me to tell you she is praying for you at church. Not just on Sundays. Every day. Her whole prayer group too.”

Alice chuckled, saying she was unaccustomed to being remembered in prayers and to please say thank you for her. Her face grew serious again.

“Look, I’ve lived here my whole life, and I know this town. Things could get ugly. You really should distance yourself from this, from me.”

It dawned on Harry that she was concerned about them, about him. Other than his parents, Harry couldn’t recall the last time someone had worried about his well-being. Alice told Jake he could stay with her for now, but she didn’t know what the future held.

She smiled at Harry, and her eyes looked sad. “I can pay you through the month, Harry, but then— Well, I’m not sure what I’m going to do for work myself. I’ll give you a great reference, kid.”

Harry felt those familiar twins—worry and self-doubt—settle back onto his shoulders then.

“I hate to let you go, Harry. You can stay here as long as you need to while you’re looking,” Alice said.

Harry wanted to say he would work for room and board. But he needed the money. He still owed his mom for his legal fees. He groaned inside thinking of his mom. He had to call her. But not until he had Uncle H’s ashes.

Alice braced her hands on her knees. “I’m going to start visiting farmers today about the watershed petition. Why don’t you two work on the next phase of our hive project here? Jake, check on Eight and Nine to see how close they are to swarming. Harry, I’ll need hive stands for all the new hives you put together. Same height as the rest of them, okay?”

Alice stood and zipped her windbreaker. “I’ll check in later.”

They watched her walk away past the apiary and into Doug Ransom’s orchard.

Harry could feel Jake’s eyes on him. The boy popped a wheelie in his chair and spun in a circle, whistling.

“Holy shit! Wish I’d been there to watch Alice blow the doors off the planning department,” Jake said. “Boom! That just happened!”

Harry mustered a smile.

Jake punched him lightly in the shoulder. “C’mon, man. Don’t worry about it. You’ll find something. There’s loads of jobs you can do around here.”

Harry shrugged, feeling defeated, and watched Jake slide the pieces of his trumpet together. He held the instrument against his mouth and pursed his lips.

“As for me, I’m going to start a marching band, work all the weddings and quinceañeras around here. Going to put Hood River on the map, yo!”

He put the trumpet to his mouth again, played a couple of lines of “La Cucaracha,” and grinned at Harry. “Too creepy?”

Harry could see his friend was trying to cheer him up. It dawned on him that this uncertain future was even worse for Jake, who faced the same problems but with fewer options. Harry could drive. Harry could use his legs. He could get another job doing manual labor pretty easily. He felt like a jackass for sulking when Jake had obstacles he didn’t.

“I don’t know, man. With that head, you already look like a creeper,” Harry said.

“Oh, snap!” Jake laughed. “Just for that, I’ll make you second breakfast before we get to work.”

Up in the house, Jake rolled into the kitchen and began pulling food out of the refrigerator, singing to himself.

“La cucaracha, la cucaracha. Ya no puede caminar.”

Harry grabbed the phone book. He glanced at Jake, started to explain, and then didn’t. He called the morgue.

“Hello. Um, my name is Harry Stokes. Yeah. I, um, need to come pick up my uncle. Harold Goodwin. Yes, that’s right. His remains?”

Jake jerked his head up from the cutting board where he was grating cheese.

“Right. ID and five hundred dollars. Great. Okay. Thanks.”

He hung up and put his hands over his face.

“Dude?” Jake said.

“It’s kind of a long story,” Harry said.

He started at the beginning, well, almost the beginning, and told Jake about Seattle, the trailer, his uncle’s frailty, and the hospital. He didn’t say anything about jail.

“Man, when you said your uncle had died, you made it sound like it was a while ago. Does Alice know?”

“Hell no!” Harry said. “I mean, what was I supposed to say? ‘Thanks for the job! Can I borrow the truck to go pick up my dead uncle?’ I thought I’d have a chance to slip by there on an errand, but it’s all the way over in Bingen. I just kept putting it off . . .”

“Wait,” Jake said. “When did he die?”

Harry looked up at the ceiling.

“April twenty-ninth? I think.”

“The day of your interview?”

Harry sighed and nodded.

“Jesus, Harry! Why didn’t you say something?”

Harry shoved his hands into his hair and shrugged. “You don’t talk about yourself much either, man,” he mumbled.

Jake scoffed. “There’s not much to tell, Harry. I mean, you know my story. I was a loser in high school, and I fucked up my legs at a stupid party.”

Harry looked at him and didn’t say anything. Jake held his gaze.

“I don’t blame anyone else. It was just a stupid accident, but I’m the one who was