Sophie made a face.
“And so the processor bees spit the nectar into the cell and wait for the hive’s warmth to evaporate the water. And then they cap it off and use it to eat off in the winter.”
Sophie’s expression was still sicked out. “Honey is bee puke.”
Daisy bobbed her head. “Technically, I guess it is.”
Sophie made a gagging noise and stuck out her tongue.
“Doesn’t taste like puke though, does it?”
“No,” she conceded. “And I like that they all have jobs. And they build things like Daddy. I think I’d want to be an architect bee, even if I had to use sweat to do it.”
My arm rested on the back of the seat behind Daisy, my fingers toying absently with the fabric of her shirt. “I’d be a builder too, I think. Can’t imagine doing much else. How about you? What would you be?”
Daisy tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear only for it to come loose again. “I think I’d like to be a forager. I could fly around and see the world. Taste all the flowers, feed the hive. They only live a month or two—the queen lives up to five years—but I think I’d live a whole lot more life in those couple months than a queen who was stuck inside laying eggs all day. Plus, I’d rather not murder my sisters, thank you.”
We pulled up to the house as she finished and climbed out, unpacking our things. Sophie started talking about the things you could do with a honeycomb, but my mind wandered as I considered the bees. I imagined myself in the warm dark place, building every day, every night. Only one job, nothing else to think about but making structures to care for my hive. No decisions to make. It sounded like bliss.
The sun was low, shining golden sunlight through the trees. We’d been here the better part of the afternoon picking flowers and harvesting honey. Well, they had. I’d just carried around a basket and listened. A week had passed quickly, which in and of itself was strange. Considering our site was shut down, leaving me with virtually no work to do, it was a miracle. Any time before a few weeks ago, I would have busied myself with every project we had on contract, micromanaging my brothers to the point of a potential fist fight.
Lucky for all of us, I had Daisy.
Lucky for me most of all.
We hadn’t been apart for more than a few hours since the day of the storm, our lives intertwining with a natural ease nobody questioned, least of all me. Her family and mine welcomed us like we were already part of each other’s lives. Like they took one look at Daisy and I and agreed that it was right and good with absolute certainty.
With so much time on my hands, I had nothing to do but tag along with Daisy around the farm. And because I couldn’t let anything go without fixing it, I usually kept my tools in the back of her truck so I could attend to anything I found. Leaning fenceposts and barbed wire were righted, loose barn doors tightened and leveled. The chicken coop was in need of a new ramp, so I built one in a few hours, along with installing new hooks and racks in the stables.
There was plenty to do, so I did what I could. I ate meals with the Blums, and Daisy ate with us. I managed most of the business from home, and when Daisy asked me one night on finding me in Dad’s old office how long it’d been since I’d stayed out of the office so long, I couldn’t recall. Before he passed, that I was certain of. I’d pulled her into my lap and kissed my thanks, unable to tell her with words that in a heartbeat, I had changed. I owed that to her for waking me from endless sleep, a debt I could never repay.
Nights were spent at my place, many of them sleepless, occupied by sighs in the dark and hearts sparked alive. There weren’t enough hours in the day. I needed the hours of the night too.
Sophie had been waiting all week to come to the farm, so here we were, sun kissed and happy as we headed inside.
The kitchen bustled with activity as the Blum women moved around the room in a harmony that only comes with a lifetime of togetherness. Grant sat at the island cutting circular biscuits out of dough. It was the only job they’d let him do, that much I knew. I’d been assigned to biscuit duty myself a couple of times. Didn’t even know if anyone ever ate them or if it was just a ploy to keep us out of the way. I had to favor the latter, based solely on the knowledge I’d gained.
The doorbell rang, but no one stopped moving.
“I’ll get it,” I offered, knowing who it was.
Daisy kissed me on the cheek. “I’m gonna go change.”
Dottie waved Sophie over with her hands in the universal position of a messy cook. “Come on, honey. Wanna help snap peas?”
Sophie skipped across the kitchen—seriously I didn’t know if that kid walked anywhere—and as I walked out, it was to the sound of Dottie’s gentle voice, instructing Sophie on what to do and where she could sit. I wondered if my mother would have been like this with her. I wondered how dad would have been with her too. Remembering that she only had a pack of unruly assholes and her deadbeat mother cut me to the quick. But seeing her with Dottie was a balm on the wound. Every little kindness was.
When I opened the door, it was to the knot of my brothers, who were so imposing in size, they made the front porch seem smaller than it was.
“You bring those potatoes?” I asked with narrowed eyes.
Cade held the casserole dish up from behind the other two, his hands in oven mitts and his face flat. “We’re not completely useless, you know.”
With a tilted smile, I stepped out of the way so they could file in. “Debatable.”
He rolled his eyes at me as he passed and I closed the door behind him, following them past the atrium in the middle of the house, and into the kitchen.
The room erupted into greetings, everyone wearing a smile as they said their hellos. Dottie, whose hands were now clean, hugged Carson, kissed Cole on the cheek, and took the casserole from Cade, offering her cheek for a motherly kiss that he provided.
Grant had cleaned up, abandoning his biscuit endeavor to get everybody drinks. And within a few minutes the men were sitting around the kitchen table with beers in hand while the women worked.
“You sure we can’t help?” Carson asked, not liking the imbalance of work.
Dottie waved him off. “I’m sure. We have a system.”
Jo snorted a laugh. “Yeah—the system is that we cook and y’all clean up after us.”
They looked to me for confirmation, and I shrugged one shoulder, bringing the bottle to my lips.
Dottie smiled at him. “I appreciate the offer though. Most men wouldn’t.”
I set my beer down, turning it in my hand on the table. “Forgive us, Dottie. We aren’t used to having things like this done for us.”
“Green flag,” Poppy joked from the stove.
“Green flag?” Cole echoed.
“You know. The opposite of a red flag.”
When the laughter died down, Carson said, “Seems the campaign is going well, Poppy,” His eyes betrayed his interest, and it had nothing to do with the campaign.
“I saw signs for the charity all downtown,” Cade added. “And Bettie’s windows are all soaped. She’s donating a portion of her proceeds, isn’t she?”
“She is,” Poppy answered. “It’s going well, I think. There’s a town hall meeting tomorrow night that I’ll have to argue at, but to be honest, I kinda enjoy it. Especially when I’m arguing with Doug Windbag. He has the IQ of a koala.”