He’d helped Conte site the hives last summer, a yard in North Stamford with good southeast exposure where they got morning sun. Plenty of room, with woods edging the property and forage for the bees. And no pesticides. He wouldn’t work bees for people who sprayed. Period.
He waited until Conte had successfully extracted a frame, then pulled out his phone.
Not Lilah.
He rubbed the stiffness in his neck. She should be home by now. He was a little uneasy about this new friend of hers. He didn’t know the family and even though Lilah had assured him the mom was going to be home, he had his doubts. Not that Lilah actually lied, she just conveniently forgot. Like the time he went to pick her up at the movies, and she’d gone off with a friend to get ice cream. “I didn’t know you were coming,” she’d said. “I thought I was supposed to call.” He was about to try her now when his phone lit up again.
The same number. Whowasthis? He felt a prickle of worry. The hospital. The police. A million things could happen to a twelve-year-old girl.
“Glenn Marsden,” he said curtly, his heart suspended. Lilah was his everything. There would be no world without her.
“I’m so glad I reached you.” The woman sounded out of breath. “I’m looking for help with some bees. For my father, actually. He’s the one with the bees. We have a bit of an emergency.”
“What kind of emergency?” His heart rate began to settle. It wasn’t about Lilah. Just some homeowner with what they thought was an emergency. “Bees get into the house?” That was it ninety percent of the time.
“Oh God, no! I mean I hope not, there’s no sign of that. I haven’t seen any inside the house.”
He glanced over at Conte, who was trying to replace a frame. He’d stirred up the hive, what was left of it, and a bunch of bees were flying around his head. It wouldn’t take long before one found its way up his pant leg or under his veil.
“So what’s the problem?” He didn’t have time for a long conversation, he needed to make sure Lilah was home where she was supposed to be. It was easier when the babysitter used to come, but now, in seventh grade that was a nonstarter. Last week, he’d made the mistake of yelling at her when she went to a friend’s and didn’t tell him, which sent her into a funk for two days. God help him, he had no road map for parenting a preteen girl.
“The problem is my dad ordered a box of bees and has nowhere to put them. They’re here right now and—”
“Well, he’ll need a hive for starters.” This was no emergency, just someone who’d failed to plan. He had no time for this.
“He has a couple of hives, but they already have bees in them. Look, he’s ah…” She dropped her voice. “He’s eighty-five and having memory issues. He needs help. Is there any way you can stop by?”
“So he has bees now?” Across the yard, Conte was struggling with another frame. They must be stuck together with propolis. Bees would glue together every crack if you let them. “Can you put him on? It would be helpful if I could talk to him.” He needed to wrap this up, deal with Conte and get home.
“He ah…doesn’t know I’m calling. It would be better if you could just come by.”
“He doesn’t know you’re calling?” He had no patience for people who weren’t transparent. He’d had enough of that with Sophie. “Why don’t you talk it over with your dad. If he’s interested, he can give me a call. I’m sorry, I have to go.”
“Wait. What do I do with these bees? My dad’s been keeping bees for years, but it’s too much for him now. I’m just here for a few days, and I need to get him some help. Please. I don’t even know if he should be living on his own anymore, much less handling bees.” She said this last almost like she was talking to herself, like she’d forgotten he was on the phone.
“Is it a package of bees or is there a queen? If there’s no queen, he can introduce them into one of his other hives.” He still hoped he could get her off the phone without committing himself, but he did feel bad for the old man. If he did have memory problems, handling bees would be tough. You had to know what you were doing and what you did the day before.
“I believe there’s a queen, yes he said so. But he can’t even manage the boxes anymore. He nearly dropped one yesterday.”
Glenn sighed. “Where do you live? I might be able to swing by later this afternoon. But if your dad’s not on board, it’s not going to work.”
“He’ll be on board! I promise.” She sounded immensely relieved. “Thank you so much.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he muttered. “I haven’t done anything.”
...
Lilah was already home when he got there, curled up on the couch with her phone like nothing in the world was the matter. The dog jumped down guiltily, but Lilah barely glanced up.
“When did you get home?” Glenn said. “You didn’t answer your phone.”
“Oh yeah, sorry. I meant to call you back.”
He took a breath. He was sweaty from wrestling with Conte’s hives and had gotten stung on the neck for his trouble. Stings didn’t usually bother him, but he hadn’t gotten the stinger out in time and this one was starting to swell, adding to his aggravation.
“Lilah, we need to talk.” He sat on the couch, which the dog took as an invitation. Wriggling, he banged Glenn’s leg with his stuffed hippo. “No Charlie!” he said crossly.
“Why can’t he be on here? He’s not hurting anything.” Lilah looked mutinous at this affront.
