Chapter Twenty-Eight Bee

Chapter Twenty-Eight Bee

Sunday evening, December 24, 2023

Bee couldn’t stop pacing. She’d paced in her bedroom the night before, in the kitchen that morning, and outside the coffee

shop that evening as she tried to make sense of what the hell she had gotten herself into. She and Knox had kissed. They’d

done more than kiss. And she’d left him hot and bothered while she froze to death in her own bed.

Well, that wasn’t true. The bedroom, as always, was perfectly comfortable, but that didn’t mean Bee hadn’t been wide awake

the whole night, staring at the ceiling. What was she thinking? She knew what it was like to get involved with men with easy smiles and divided attention. Knox was sweet, and gorgeous, and kind,

but he was also just getting over the love of his life. The woman whose bed Bee happened to be sleeping in. She had absolutely

no business getting involved with him.

She had tried to write a poem about that too. Something about heartache and forbidden love, or whatever the hell intellectual sophists more talented than her waxed on about. But then she decided that she hated poetry, and she hated her hormones, and she hated her stupid, traitorous heart.

It was a whole thing.

“Bee,” Jimmy said, clasping her on the shoulder. “Missed ya this morning.”

Bee turned and gave the man a warm hug. “Just nervous about tonight,” she said. “Still haven’t decided if I’m going to perform.

Thought I’d feel better if I came here early. Write through the cobwebs.”

“Any luck?” he asked.

“No.” Her voice was light with nonchalance.

Still, Jimmy grasped her hand with both of his. “Either way,” he said, “I’m proud of you for giving it a shot.”

Bee felt her skin warm. No one had ever told her that before. That they were proud, even if all she did was try. She gave Jimmy another tight hug. “Where’s Knox?” she asked when she pulled away.

“He’ll be here,” Jimmy said. “Told me he’s just finished a few things up.”

They found a table close to the door, opposite the side of the stage. Soon more people streamed in and the lights began to

dim. A barista took the stage and announced a brother-and-sister duo who would play a rendition of “Blue Christmas.” Someone

in the crowd whooped, and then the two appeared, white teenagers wearing matching brown vests and blue jeans.

“Those are Christine’s kids, down the street,” Jimmy whispered. “They’ve got the voices of angels.”

When they were done, another white kid took the stage, blond hair parted neatly on the side, with big blue eyes. He looked

little more than three or four years old, and he wore a reindeer costume, his nose painted to look like Rudolph’s. Bee recognized

him as the little boy who had fronted the chorus with his electric lantern the first night she’d come to town. In the audience

in front of the stage, his mom helped him through “The Itsy Bitsy Spider.” It didn’t exactly match the theme of the night,

but the child seemed delighted.

“Joe’s son, from the hardware store,” Jimmy said.

As each new performer took the stage, Jimmy shared some tidbit or another about them, and soon the show began to feel less

like an impending nightmare and more like an evening shared among friends. Maybe she would read something, she thought. The

sign-up sheet was on the counter, where the baristas were still serving hot cocoa and wine. But where was Knox?

She looked around and saw Bob from the grocery store standing nearby. He was clutching a candle in one of his hands. Then

Clover’s cousins, Kendrick and Simone, ran giggling up to Jimmy and attacked his torso with glee.

“Hi, you two!” Jimmy exclaimed, though he kept his voice low so as not to disturb the Black woman playing flute onstage. “Where’s

your mom?”

Janine waved at him from beside the door. She was chatting with a Latina woman Bee didn’t recognize who also had a candle tucked under her arm. When Bee caught Janine’s eye, she waved, and the kids ran off, possibly to tackle some other neighbor Bee hadn’t yet met.

The flautist finished her song, and the little boy took the stage again, this time with the chorus. Taylor stood right behind

him alongside her friends, and they sang a medley of Christmas classics. Then the barista came onstage with a barstool, and

Knox hobbled onto the stage. The crowd whooped and hollered, and Bee didn’t miss the long eye roll that Taylor responded with.

Then they sang through a series of famous pop songs at a faster tempo, with Knox accompanying them on the guitar. By the time

it was over, the whole crowd was on its feet, even Bee, who hadn’t managed to take her eyes off Knox the whole performance.

Then the choir walked silently off the stage, not giving enough time for an extended round of applause.

Suddenly, the crowd hushed. The tension in the air was taut, and everyone around her buzzed with anticipation. They were waiting

for something. Knox still hadn’t left the stage. Bee took a deep breath, afraid that if she blinked, she might miss something

huge.

“This is for a very special woman in all our lives,” he said. “A woman who brought a lot of light and love to this community.

And”—he looked up, finding Jimmy in the crowd—“it’s for a man we’re all very lucky to still have with us. It’s been a hard

year, folks, but we’re still standing. Mae Mills, we love you and we miss you.”

With those words, Bee watched as Bob, and Kendrick, and Simone, and two dozen other people seated in the audience, including those who had just performed, lit their candles and held them in the air. Someone handed a candle to her and then to Jimmy. Knox began to strum his guitar, and Bee recognized the chords to Jeff Buckley’s version of “Hallelujah.”

I’ve heard there was a secret chord...

But you don’t really care for music, do you?

Knox’s voice was low and powerful, and as he began to sing, she heard a quiet sob from beside her. Jimmy was crying. He covered

his face as his body shook. The Latina woman from before came over quietly and wrapped her arms around his small frame. Bob

came over too and put his hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. Bee gently took the candle from his hand. She held it for him.

Around them, the crowd sang along to the chorus. Hallelujah, hallelujah. Knox’s voice carried over them, and she could hear his voice break. Hallelujah, she sang with him. Hallelujah.

When Knox finished, the lights went on. The barista announced a short intermission, and the crowd surged toward Jimmy, who

was still drying his eyes. Unnoticed, Bee left the table and stepped outside, breathing in the cool evening breeze. She heard

the sober tone inside turn to laughter and chatter, and she watched the stars. How bright they burned in the night sky, so

far away and still so powerful, so present. In the midst of all that, she was really quite small, wasn’t she?

If it were another night, another city, surrounded by different people, the thought might make her feel insignificant.

Instead, she felt free.

The door behind her opened, releasing another rush of voices. In their midst, she heard her name, and then a hand was on the small of her back.

“Hey,” Knox said, coming around to face her. “I was worried you left.”

“Oh, no.” Bee shook her head. “Just wanted to clear my head. That was beautiful, what you did in there.”

Knox shrugged, a shy smile playing on his lips. “Thanks,” he said. “You think you might perform something?”

“How am I supposed to follow that?” she asked teasingly.

“It’s not a competition,” he said, and Bee laughed.

“I’m not used to that,” she said. “I’m not really used to any of this. All this love, and support, and community. You’re all

family out here.”

“You deserve that,” Knox said. He ducked his head when she looked at him, like he wasn’t sure if he was ready to say what

he was about to say. Then he stepped closer and grabbed her hands. “Bee, about last night—”

“We don’t have to talk about that.”

“I want to,” Knox said, “if that’s all right.” She let him continue. “Bee, I’ve spent most of my life in love with one woman.

And I thought I’d never feel the way she made me feel ever again. And you aren’t the first woman to try. Not that you were

trying.” He cleared his throat. “What I mean to say is, a lot of women in town kind of tried to flirt with me over the last

few months, when they learned I was single. And it didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel natural the way it does with you.”

Bee listened to him, tears springing to her eyes, but he wasn’t finished.

“Bee,” he continued, “you might just be the strangest woman I’ve ever met, and definitely one of the most stubborn, which is saying something. You’re smart, and sharp, and breathtaking, and you drive me a little bit crazy.” He took a breath. “I don’t want this to just be a fling. I’d like to see if we could, maybe, have this be something more.”

She couldn’t stop them. The tears flowed freely. She tried to rub them away, but they were fast. “But I didn’t write you a

poem,” she said.

Knox laughed and pulled her to his chest. “Funnily enough,” he said, “I think we’ll survive.”

The door behind them opened again, but this time someone was screaming.

“Knox!” Kendrick yelled. “Come quick! Uncle Jimmy fell!”