If Not For A Bee. Carol Ross

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       CHAPTER ONE

      “HOLD STILL. I’LL kill it.”

      “Wait...”

      “Don’t move.”

      “Mom, Mom, Mo-o-om...” Gareth stared with wide-eyed terror at the box he held clutched in his hands. Janie could tell he was on the verge of losing it and she knew the precious cargo inside was the only thing keeping him from succumbing to the panic.

      “Honey, please relax. I will get it.” Janie reached into her bag for some kind of weapon. “Do you want me to take the box?”

      “No, Mom, I’ve got the box. Just get it...hurry.”

      “Gareth, please don’t drop the box.”

      “I’m trying not to,” he squeaked.

      “I know, honey. And I’ll get it.” She began rolling the newspaper she’d retrieved from her bag.

      The door to the bakery jingled as Lilah stepped out. “Janie, is everything okay?”

      The monster crawled closer toward Gareth’s hand. He let out a whimper and Janie felt her own pulse of fear.

      “We’re fine, Lilah. Or we will be soon—a bee landed on the cake box but I’m going to take care of it.”

      “Take care of it?” a deep voice said from somewhere over her left shoulder. “What do you mean?”

      “I mean,” she said, “that Mr. Bee is about to go to the great honeypot in the sky.”

      “But that’s a bumblebee.”

      “Yes, and this is a newspaper.” Janie raised the makeshift swatter a little higher. Her hand came down in a lightning-fast swipe, but something nudged her elbow at the last instant.

      She missed.

      The bee flew up toward Gareth’s face. He let out a scream. The box went flying. Lilah grabbed for the container—almost had it—but the waxy cardboard slipped from her hands. Janie winced as the box crashed to the ground.

      “Oh, no!” Lilah exclaimed.

      “Mom,” Gareth cried. “I’m so sorry.” Janie looked down at her thirteen-year-old son crouched on the ground, his eyes glued to the box now oozing yellow mush from its seams. Tears glittered on his thick black lashes.

      “Sweetie, it’s okay.”

      She turned and glared at the perpetrator, who had caused this unmitigated disaster. “What is the matter with you? Why did you do that?”

      “Oops,” the man said. His crooked grin matched his feeble explanation. Sun-streaked blond hair curled around his ears—he looked like a surfer who’d spent too much time chilling on the beach. And he was wearing shorts? It was spring, yes. But springtime in Alaska didn’t exactly call for shorts. The temperature was a not-exactly balmy fifty-one degrees.

      “I’ll buy you another one.”

      “That would be perfect,” Janie said coldly, letting plenty of sarcasm seep into her tone. “Why don’t you go do that right now?”

      “Okay, great,” he said enthusiastically. He looked at Lilah. “You work here, right?”

      “Yes, but I’m afraid that’s not possible.” Lilah twisted her fingers together nervously, her eyes darting from Janie to the doofus surfer and back again.

      “Janie, I’m so sorry,” she said.

      “It’s not your fault, Lilah.” Janie looked back down at Gareth, her chest squeezing so tightly she could barely breathe. His eyes were still trained on the mess of cake and pudding and chocolate. She could only imagine what he was thinking. His eyes met hers and it was all she could do not to cry at the stricken expression on his face.

      “Mom, I’m so sorry. I ruined it. I ruin everything.”

      “Gareth—”

      “Hey, I think we might be overreacting here, huh?” Beach Bum pulled his wallet out of one of the numerous pockets decorating his cargo shorts. “Is it your birthday, sport? I’ll buy you any kind of cake you want.”

      Sport? Who calls a thirteen-year-old sport? Janie looked at him again—really looked this time—and noticed a pair of laughter-filled gray-blue eyes set in a tanned face, a perfect match to his boy-band hair. Tourists, she thought with disgust, were a blessing and a curse. She loved her brother, Bering, and sister-in-law, Emily, for enticing them here, but sometimes she wished out-of-towners would stay away. Today, obviously, was one of those days.

      She wanted to tell him to go away and let her clean up the mess he’d made, although she had no idea how she was going to do that... Poor Gareth. And Reagan would be disappointed, too.

      “I’d really like to replace the cake. But that bee didn’t deserve—”

      “Thanks, but no, I’ve got this.”

      “No, really I can—”

      Janie felt her scalp begin to tingle with anger. She needed him gone, but apparently he needed some encouragement in that direction. She lifted a hand and interrupted. “No, thank you. You have done more than enough—really.”

      But he still didn’t move. СКАЧАТЬ