Tom looked around for what had drawn the mice, but couldn’t identify anything amiss. There was a big dark stain in one corner near the door where the ecru shiplap was discolored, so he approached and put his hand against it. The damp surface felt almost warm to the touch.
“Is that where they’re getting in?” Rose followed up.
“I don’t see a hole,” Tom said. “And I don’t see where the stain is coming from. Weird that it’s not by a window. Maybe a pipe burst in the wall?”
Rose looked at him expectantly, and Tom remembered that he was supposed to be handy on this trip. He’d bought a multi-tool at a hardware store yesterday, and he took it out of his pocket as though he knew what he was doing.
I don’t perform traditional masculinity for just anyone, Rosie. Please be impressed.
“I’ll just open it up and take a look,” he said authoritatively, flipping out the penknife attachment and slipping it into a crack in the shiplap. The panel, floor to ceiling, lifted easily.
He was checking out of the corner of his eye to see if Rosie was turned on by this display of competency, so he heard her gasp before he turned back to the open panel and saw that he’d literally lifted the lid on an enormous, swarming hive of bees.
The entire wall was riddled with golden honeycomb and, more problematically, a moving carpet of brown bees, thousands upon thousands of bees. Bees that probably did not appreciate someone opening their hive up with a penknife. The faint sound of buzzing turned into a near roar.
Rosie and Tom both screeched and jumped away from the wall, which took them toward the middle of the room. Thebees poured out, buzzing and pissed, the cloud growing and obscuring the exit. They’d probably just woken up and were, like Tom, taking a moment to figure out what had gone terribly awry. There was an imminent collision of two civilizations:Oh shit, people, thought one group.Oh shit, bees, thought the other.
Rosie made a wordless squeak of panic, a sound he would have found adorable under other circumstances.
“They won’t sting us if we don’t mess with them,” Tom said, repeating his mother’s advice by instinct.
“We just broke into their house while their kids were sleeping!” Rosie pointed out in a furious whisper. She pressed up against Tom, trying to get behind him as they scooted backward to the opposite wall. “Oh my God. If I die here, don’t bury me at Mount Auburn, because I swear to God I’m coming back from eighteenth-century Catholic hell to haunt the crap out of my dad for not helping.”
“Are you allergic to bees?” Tom demanded.
“I don’t know! I’ve never been stung.” Rosie hid her face between his shoulder blades. “But I’m allergic toeverything.”
“Where’s your EpiPen?” Tom asked, frozen in place as the bees began to expand into the rest of the room.
“In my purse. In the car. God,” Rosie mumbled against his back.
The tightness and fear in her voice finally spurred him into action. He’d only seen her use her EpiPen once before, their freshman year, when she was caught unawares by the shrimp in her soup. The experience had been embarrassing for her, terrifying for them both.
I only get one Rosie, and if she breaks, I don’t get another, he’d said when she asked him not to call campus EMS.
Tom took a step away from her to strip off his parka. Then he turned and draped it over her, pulling the hood over her head as though he were dropping a cover over a birdcage. When he was sure he couldn’t see any skin, he wrapped his arms around her and hauled her out of the room, straight through the cloud of angry bees.
At least three of the little bastards got him on his fingers and the back of his neck as he rushed down the hall, pursued by some of the swarm. He didn’t stop when he got to the stairs. He lifted Rosie off her feet by the waist so they could stumble, slide, and fall down the spiral stairs to the main floor.
He carried her straight out the front door and didn’t set her down until his feet crunched on the gravel of the front drive. His chest ached from the effort and the sudden adrenaline, but exhilarated victory coursed through his veins as he pulled off the couple of bees that had gotten him.
It was dark and cold outside. They wouldn’t want to fly around out here.
Tom checked his parka’s sleeves and hood for stowaways before unwrapping Rosie. He was prepared to be celebrated for his daring and bold initiative, but when he pulled the fur ruff over her head, Rosie’s face was bright pink, and tears were streaking down her face. Her tight, bunched shoulders shook.
Tom instinctively looked around to see if anyone was nearby—Rosiehatedanyone seeing her cry—but his brain quickly caught up with bigger concerns.
“Did one get you?” He gasped. “I’ll—I’ll grab your purse. You have your EpiPen? I’ll call 911. How far is the hospital?”
Rosie loudly sniffled and wiped her face on the sleeve of her pretty blouse before she answered. “No, I didn’t get stung.”
Noticing how cold it was outside, Tom used his grip on her shoulders to gently pull her a few steps closer to the car, letting go of her only long enough to open the door and guide her into the back seat.
Tom slid in next to her, heart hammering through his chest. She bent over with her forehead against the seat in front of her, shoulders shaking.
“Rosie?” he asked tentatively, pulling the door shut. “What is it?”
Tom curled his arm back around her shoulders, part of him exultingFinally!because she still fit perfectly there, although he hadn’t thought it would take this long or involve so many bees.
