9. Nate

9

NATE

"How did you know?" Eden asks, her lashes wet. She reaches for my offered bandana and dabs at her cheeks.

"How did I know you needed help?" A blend of emotions wrestles in my chest at the sight of Eden weeping amidst the chaos of a kicked over beehive. "For starters, you ran out of my house like it was on fire. You left your bucket of… What did you call this stuff again?"

Eden sniffles and removes the veil. "It's dirty honeycomb. Just like all this." She gestures at the oozing heap, honey glistening on the toe of her boot.

I hear the crunch of shoes on gravel and look up to see a pair of police officers approaching. Farther down the street, a pair of women clings to the wall of a house, staring intently at the cops. I hope they don't want to watch Eden get hauled away. There's no way I'm letting that happen.

"Can we help you?" I straighten to my full height, hooking my thumbs in my belt loops. Eden's lip trembles.

One of the officers swats at an errant bee. "Ma'am, we had a call that you unleashed a swarm of killer bees…"

"Let me stop you right there," I interject. "Eden keeps honeybees. They're a protected species. She's working with the USDA, and she is not the one who kicked this hive and set them loose."

Eden's eyes widen with every word I utter, like she's never had anyone defend her before. Well, get used to it, sugar . I'm sweet on you.

The older police officer works a piece of gum and furrows his brow. "Are you the property owner?"

I shake my head. Eden blurts, "I rent. I haven't seen my landlord in years."

The younger cop scratches the back of his neck. The street is peaceful and calm. The bees from Eden's quarantine hive—are they the ones that were in the wall?—are long gone, for the most part. "Do you have the necessary paperwork to keep bees here?"

"What bees?" I ask, pointing to Eden's feet. "All I see is an empty box spilling some honey. You gonna cite her for littering?"

"All right, now," the older cop says, turning to the younger cop. "I don't even know how we'd write this one up." He hooks a thumb in my direction. "Big guy here is right. The bees are gone, as best I can tell."

I wince, spotting the brightly colored hives in Eden's backyard, hoping he doesn't look too closely.

He doesn't. He continues talking to his partner. "What do you think? Domestic disturbance, all clear on arrival?"

The younger officer takes a step back, his heel sinking into a fresh stream of honey oozing from the toppled box. He makes a face and wipes his heel in the grass. "Yeah, sounds good." He gives Eden a small smile. "Take care, now."

With that, they make their way to their cruiser, not engaging with the women on the stoop. Eden glares down the road and mumbles, "Don't worry about it, Mom. I'll clean up."

I frown. "That's your mom?"

Her eyes well up and her gaze drops to the ground. "That was Emma Storm doing what she does."

"What's that? Stir shit?" When Eden doesn't respond, I bite back a growl as I drape an arm around her shoulders. "Should I get the hose?"

She shakes her head. "That will be the last step. Let's see what we can salvage."

I help her carry the detritus to her house and sort through it, adding more bits to the black bucket I brought. I marvel at how carefully she saves rubber bands, wipes down wooden frames, and mends the cardboard.

"You don't waste anything, do you?"

She glances at her work. "I guess not. I grew up knowing there might not be more of anything." She shrugs. "Hard habit to break. Plus the bees are really resourceful."

I smile at her enthusiasm. "I wish I could salvage more in my work. I have a ton of smaller bits of wood in my dad's—in my shed."

The corner of her mouth twitches. "Will you tell me about him?" I nod and she gestures toward the house, walking toward the shade.

I sink to the step on the back porch. "Well, he smoked too much. Regrets that now, I suppose."

She blinks at my black humor and I forget I'm not at grief group where everyone makes these kinds of jokes. Eden coughs. "Come on, Nate. That's not what I meant."

I squint at the bright garden, at the painted row of beehives. "He was always there for me. Dependable as the sun, he used to say." I shift my focus to my shoelaces. "Mom didn't stick around long. I guess I was a fussy baby. They were never married."

Eden sits next to me on the stoop. "Babies are like that, I hear. Fussy."

"He liked routine." I think about my dad making the same meals on the same days of the week for decades. Always spaghetti on Monday, tacos on Tuesday, quesadillas on Wednesday. The man assembled ten sandwiches every Sunday evening and had me wiping off apples to line up for our lunches. "He was organized, but he didn't write anything down. Nothing I've been able to find, at any rate. I think he stored it all upstairs." I tap the side of my head and sigh. "Honestly, I have no clue what I'm doing. It's been an entire year, and I feel like I'm on the verge of being discovered as a huge fraud."

"Fraud… that's a familiar word." Eden glances down the road; there's no sign of Emma or the neighbor. "I think I'm just going through the motions with my business. I know I'm good at the bee part. But there's so much paperwork and rules, and I almost died when you told the police about me and the USDA because I swear, Nate, if they ever check to see what I did with that grant money, they'll suck it all back."

I laugh. "I don't think it works like that. Money's long spent, right?"

"You never know." She shakes her head. "Can I confess something awful?"

"Hit me."

Eden wrinkles her nose and takes a deep breath. "I was really jealous there, when you were talking about your dad. Being organized… being there at all. I never had that. I think mine and Eila's dad lives here in Pittsburgh, but we sure never hear from him. And Mom is…" Eden gestures.

"What's her deal?" I lean forward, clasping my hands. My thigh is pressed against Eden's, and the heat from her leg burns through my jeans.

"My sister Esther says it's the patriarchy. Like Mom was sort of raised to believe her only worth was in keeping a man around, so she devoted everything to making men happy. Then she'd have to start over when they'd inevitably leave."

"And she wasn't organized? How many Storms are there?"

Eden laughs. "Five of us. All girls. Four different fathers. Esther was really the one who raised us. The second she had a house big enough, she took us from Mom's apartment, and honestly, I'm not sure my mother noticed for a few months. She was in her pyramid scheme era, traveling to Vegas for workshops on how to sell better chamois towels or knives or whatever."

"Maybe she took my mom with her."

"Yeah." Eden leans on her elbows and closes her eyes, turning her face toward the sun. "Maybe."

I hear the crunch of shoes on gravel. Speak of the devil. Eden's mother moves in front of us, blocking the sun from our eyes. "I assume you've shooed away all the creatures?"

Eden opens her eyes. I expect her to yell; the woman cost her a colony of bees, but she sort of shrinks into herself, and her lip wobbles.

Her mom puts her hands on her hips. "I'm fine, by the way. No stings to speak of, mercifully."

I fight the urge to tell this woman to pound sand or to wrap an arm around Eden. Emma clops past us into the house, and Eden tenses, her easy composure gone. "Hey," I say. "What can I do?"

Biting her lip, Eden closes her eyes and silently counts to ten, plump lips moving slowly. "Can you help me rearrange the freezer so all the honeycomb fits? I usually save it up to process in big batches on rainy days."

"Of course. I love rearranging freezers."

A laugh bubbles from her lips, her tense shoulders relaxing. My heart thumps an extra beat; thank God I can help. My track record of being helpful isn't much to brag about. We take our time until the ancient appliance is stuffed to the brim. Eden gets us some water and glances at the clock with a small gasp.

"Oh, shoot. I'm supposed to go duckpin bowling with Marsha. We're in a league…" She looks at me hesitantly, eyes wrinkled and cheeks turning red. "Would you want to come along? You won't be able to play… That's dumb, right? I shouldn't invite you if you can't particip?—"

"I'd love to. Can I wear this?" I gesture at my mostly-clean t-shirt and dusty jeans.

"Sure. I'm wearing this." Her gaze tracks up and down my body and I might just clench my abs a little before she shakes herself out of it. "Well…" She looks down at the honey stains on her shoulders. "Maybe I'll change my shirt."

She runs inside, leaving me to wonder what possessed her to extend the invitation. One thing I know for sure is I'm not going to waste this opportunity to spend time with her.