She’d peeked at the hives when she retrieved the mail earlier. The wasps had called off the attack for now and things were quiet. A few bees circled, guarding against intruders. She tookthat as a sign that at least the colony hadn’t been wiped out. She insisted her dad wear the bee suit, her heart quaking a little at the thought of going sans protection. If it looked wild down there, they would turn right around.
Her dad wanted to walk even though the day was cool and drizzly. She watched to make sure his step was steady, but he seemed to be doing all right with the cane. A couple of weeks ago she would have insisted on driving, but this day he was able. Who knew about tomorrow—she could wake up and forget who she was. Or go out for a run and get mowed down by a FedEx truck. The point was anything could happen, you couldn’t cower in fear of what might lie ahead. It wasted the life in front of you. It had taken her a long time to see that, always looking over her shoulder at what had befallen her mother. Terrified it might happen to her too. Her father had been knocked down, but he was doing his best.
She glanced at him, her heart beginning to hum. Whatever life had in store, time with him was finite. That much she knew. He wasn’t easy and he wouldn’t get any easier, but an idea had taken hold over the last few days.
“What would you think if I lived nearby?” she said. Shelly had asked why she had to live in New York. And why did she? A month ago she would have dismissed the idea as impossible, but now it felt right.
He looked at her. “Around here?”
“Yes.” A fine mist was coming down, frizzing her hair and dampening her face, but the coolness felt good. “I’ve decided not to go back to the city. I want to be closer to you.” Her marriage was over, and they were selling the apartment. Who knew where Andrew would end up. The thought of starting over somewhere new had begun to appeal. As much as she missed Glenn, she was glad she’d come to this now, her judgment unclouded by the persuasion of a man.
Her father blinked a couple of times. “You’re going to live in Laurelton?”
“Laurelton or maybe Stamford. If I can’t work for the city of New York living here, I’ll find something else. I’m ready for a change. You won’t get tired of having me around, will you? I can be a little bossy.”
He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then shook his head. Her dad had never been an emotional person, but the dementia brought everything closer to the surface. He was awash in feeling these days, a puzzle or a misplaced word could set him off. The frustration at what was happening, the lack of control. She’d seen him get snappish and upset plenty of times. She’d seen him tune out.
But she hadn’t seen joy.
He gripped her hand, his eyes shining. “You know I never get tired of you.”
She held his hand, heat starting behind her own eyes. She should have been a better daughter, should have visited more often. She should have done a hundred things. They wouldn’t get that time back. They had only what was in front of them.
...
The bees were still distressed from the day before, and it took several puffs of smoke to calm them down enough to slide in the entrance reducers. There wasn’t much to it. Each block of wood had two openings, one a little larger than the other. They reminded Cassie of the Lincoln Logs Andrew used to love when he was little. Efficiently constructed with a whiff of possibility.
Her dad set his cane against the hive and inserted the reducer with the smaller opening facing out. It plugged up the half inchbetween the baseboard and the bottom of the box where the bees flew in and out.
“See? Now they don’t have to guard such a big space.” He seemed pleased they’d accomplished this.
They did the same for the other hives as the bees stirred uneasily. “So that’s it?” Cassie said. It seemed so simple, but maybe it would give the bees a fighting chance.
“That’s it.”
“What do we do now?”
Her dad shrugged like it was obvious. “Wait and see if it works.”
...
On Thursday, the day they were to ink the deal with Weber, Cassie woke at five.
She hadn’t slept much that night, her stomach in a miserable twist. She got out of bed, pulled on a t-shirt and leggings and padded downstairs. Her dad and Andrew were still asleep, Shelly too in the spare bedroom downstairs. The sky was beginning to lighten, and the birds had been at it for half an hour already. She wondered glumly if the red maple outside her bedroom where they congregated would survive the bulldozers. Probably not. The Kingsley property had been scraped clean.
She made a pot of coffee but was too restless to drink it. She emptied the dishwasher and wiped down the kitchen counters, which were already spotless. She tossed yesterday’s newspaper in the recycling bin and put fresh towels in the downstairs bathroom. On the way to the laundry room she paused outside her father’s office. It needed a thorough cleaning, but she could never get in there during the day when he was awake. A layer of dust had settled over everything, and papers teetered in stacks.
She dropped the dirty towels on the floor and started on the desk. Her dad wouldn’t be up for a couple of hours, and at least this would keep her occupied. Better than wringing her hands about the sale.
She went through stacks of paper with jotted notes and yellowed newspaper clippings. A National Geographic from 2004. She paged through it, trying to figure out why he’d saved it but finally gave up. She sifted through mailers from a house painting company, an offer of membership from a local health club. Tossed all of it into the trash. Now she could see the back of his desk, where it looked like at one point he’d had a system for organizing files. There was the Lexus file (how had Andrew ever found it!) and a thick one marked home repair. One for appliances with warranty information for the ancient washer and dryer. And a file labeled insurance with his homeowners and auto and a life insurance policy. Those she knew about.
But here was one thing she hadn’t seen. A long-term care policy. She lowered herself onto the chair and began to read. Her dad had taken it out shortly after her mother died and had been paying on it for decades. A policy that would cover his care if he needed assisted living or a nursing home. The kind of expenses that depleted savings in no time. The kind that had led her to believe that selling to Weber was the only answer. Her father had planned ahead but never said a word. Quite possibly he’d forgotten.
She set down the file, her head spinning.
This would change everything.
Chapter Twenty-Four
