The Music of Bees Eileen Garvin (best autobiographies to read .TXT) 📖

and the skylights as Alice leaned back into the rose-colored love seat. She felt like she was playing hooky from school. She had left work for that appointment, telling Nancy only that she had a doctor’s visit. Nosy Nancy. Even there in the private office, Alice felt as if the residents of the little town were leaning in, craning an ear to listen to her talk about her very private thoughts.

“Can you think about how it started? What were you thinking about when that anxiety was triggered the first time?”

Alice described standing in the grocery store parking lot and noticing it was crowded. It was a Sunday morning, and Spanish-language mass had just ended at church. She thought about coming back later, but told herself she was being silly avoiding people and forced herself to walk through the door.

Dr. Zimmerman nodded and made a note. Alice was distracted by the woman’s casual elegance—a slate-blue cashmere sweater and dark wool slacks. She wouldn’t know that the clothes she wore on a rainy Tuesday were more expensive than what some would spend on special-occasion clothing in this town. Not that it mattered. Dr. Zimmerman looked like she belonged wherever she chose to be—comfortable in her own skin.

Alice crossed and uncrossed her legs. She dug her thumb into her waistband. She described how she had grabbed a blue plastic shopping basket, only meaning to get a few things, like milk, cereal, and Tylenol. She moved through the crowd—mostly Latino families all dressed-up from mass. In the checkout line, she saw a little girl in a flouncy pink dress, patent leather shoes, and white ankle socks. She had one hand in her mother’s and was looking up at the older woman, asking a question in Spanish. Her glance fell on Alice as she passed, and Alice recalled Luz Quinto from the Hood River County Fair when she and Buddy were on their first date. Luz and her lamb. Luz and her little face blooming with joy when Buddy gave it back to her.

Alice felt her breath catch recounting the story to Dr. Zimmerman. Of course that hadn’t been Luz Quinto in the store. She would have been in high school by then. But the heart-shaped face, the soft brown eyes, and the bright smile brought it all back. Alice wheeled around and headed to the produce department to get away from the little girl and the memories that flooded her mind: Buddy at the fair. Buddy in the kitchen. Buddy leaving for work that last time.

Dr. Zimmerman nodded. “So it was the little girl, and the memory of that day?”

Alice shook her head and rubbed her hands across her face, trying to find the words. No, it wasn’t just the memories, she said. It was the realization that time had moved on. Alice was no longer a young woman with options. When she first met Bud, her life opened up in ways she’d never imagined. She’d expected to be alone in life, and she had been content with that. But then she gained this extraordinary life partner. She even thought they might have kids—something she’d never considered possible before. Her, Alice—somebody’s mom! Al and Marina could have been grandparents. Bud would help her run her parents’ orchard, and she could leave the county job to lean into the family farm. She could teach their children all that Al and Marina had taught her about the fruit business and how to behave in the world. She would leave something behind. But not now. All those possibilities were gone. Alice was a childless, middle-aged widow and the last of her family. The treasures she never even knew she’d wanted before had evaporated overnight. She felt—she searched the edges of the emotion for the right word—robbed. Her biggest dreams had disappeared just as she’d become aware of their existence.

She felt safe talking about these things to Dr. Zimmerman in her cozy office. And the doctor had given her a strategy to help whenever she felt overwhelmed, when she lost her breath. Follow the thread. What was it that made her feel out of control? What stole her breath?

Alice walked on toward the river. She thought of Rich Carlson’s pointy face and mean smile. She remembered the long-ago Christmas party, his face too close to hers. Usually that memory brought shame and discomfort, but now she felt a flash of indignation. How dare he touch her. And now, this threat to mess with her pension, that money she had worked so hard for. She, who never called in sick. Alice, who came in early and stayed late. Loyal Alice. Why would he do that? More to the point, why did it make her feel this rising panic? Everyone knew Alice was doing Bill’s job. If they fired her, nothing would get done. The waterfront project, the biggest development the county had undertaken in years, would be stalled for months as they cajoled the old man off the golf course. Even if they got him back to work, they would discover that Alice had been doing his job for so long that he truly didn’t know how things worked anymore. Or they could hire someone new to replace her. Either way, they couldn’t afford to lose the time.

This wasn’t about her fear of getting fired, then. And she wasn’t embarrassed at being linked with Stan either. Like she’d told Nancy, she respected what Stan’s organization had done for the farmers and orchardists like her parents. It was something else. What was it?

“You’re too nice, Alice.”

Out of nowhere, out of the clear blue, she heard Buddy’s voice.

“You know it, sweet pea.”

The sudden realization was like a curtain pulled aside to reveal a hidden room, the interworkings of Alice’s heart, her motivations, misguided and hidden even from herself.

How often had she stayed late on a Friday to finish something Nancy had dumped on her? Not that she had plans anyway.

“You’re so good to me, Alice!” Nancy called as she left. “Thank