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

Jake’s mother to set up their books, and Queen of G Honey had taken off. Ron and the nephews helped move the hives to the orchard, and they also built the network of ramps that Jake had designed to run throughout the apiary.

Jake had more initiative than most at his age. He was certainly doing better financially than she had at nineteen, she thought wryly. Thanks to Amri’s lawyer dad, the kid had a trust that protected his stake in the honey business and his disability benefits. And lucky thing too. He had plans for queen rearing and cross breeding for mite-resistant bees that would keep Queen of G growing in new directions she couldn’t even have imagined. She laughed and shook her head. His enthusiasm never failed to surprise her.

Alice climbed into her pickup and headed up the long driveway into town. She passed the high school and the gas station. She slowed down by the taqueria and made a mental note to call Evangelina and ask what she could bring to her youngest daughter’s quinceañera next weekend. The Monday after the extravagant party for the girl was Bud’s birthday. It eased her heart knowing she would spend the day before with his parents, Ron and Evie, little Ronnie, and the other nieces and nephews. Her family. Jake and Amri were coming too, and she thought she might invite Stan.

Stan, as she had suspected, was a man worth getting to know. After that first beer at pFriem last summer, they went hiking up on Mount Hood.

“Hiking! A healthy sheen on your brow!” She could almost hear her mother laughing.

Holtzmans had always confined exercise to hard work, but Alice had taken to hiking. Over the summer Stan showed her his favorite trails along creeks and waterfalls up on the mountain. She and Stan were—what would her old-fashioned father have said? Keeping company. Nothing serious.

Alice passed Little Bit Grocery and Ranch Supply, which she no longer haunted on off-hours. Now when she went she looked forward to seeing the people she knew—old friends and new ones. She pulled her seat belt off her neck and loosened the button on her pants, which just felt better. She stuck her elbow out the window and drove through her little town to the courthouse to see a bit of local justice meted out.

•   •   •

Harry waited in line for the shower, holding his clean clothes under one arm and his toiletry bag under the other. He’d learned the hard way that anything left lying around would be filched by one of the other guys.

He leaned against the sink and glanced at himself in the mirror. They’d let him keep the handlebar mustache, for which he was grateful. It took so long to grow in. It would have been a damn shame to have to shave it off for some vague regulation about facial hair.

He looked stronger too. He was proud of that. He lifted weights and ran three times a week these days and felt fitter than he ever had. The work they had him doing was so physical it paid to be as fit as possible so he didn’t get injured.

The water in one of the stalls shut off, and Harry heard loud whistling and a deep baritone singing “Shake Your Moneymaker.” The curtain swished open, and Yogi stepped out in fresh board shorts and a T-shirt. He saw Harry, dropped his dirty clothes, and launched into an air-guitar solo, whipping his long, wet hair around, finishing with a jump kick.

Harry slow-clapped as Yogi made the faint sound of screaming fans through cupped hands.

“Thank you, South Padre!” he yell-whispered.

Harry laughed.

“You stoked for today, Stokes?” Yogi asked. “We’re in charge of that pack of rug rats from L.A. again.”

Harry groaned and slouched into the shower. “You have to take those horrible twins, Yogi. They don’t listen.”

“That’s cuz their brains are in their balls right now. They’re fifteen. What do you expect? You can handle ’em, Stokes. Know why? Cuz yer always stoked!”

He hollered this last part as he left the bathroom.

Yogi had gotten Harry a job for the season with South Padre Kiteboarding Adventures. The Texas season ran from October to May, which were the dark and rainy months up north. Yogi had worked for SPKA for years. After he’d watched Harry excel over the summer, he offered to talk to his boss. Harry jumped at the chance. He’d had to miss the fall harvest, but Alice said she expected him back at the end of spring.

“All hands on deck this summer, Harry,” she said.

He was elated that he still had a place there. He hadn’t been sure she would keep him on after he told her about the TV heist and his jail time. He remembered how he stood in the kitchen and recounted the whole stupid story the day he stole the SupraGro truck. He let it out in a rush, staring at Alice’s feet. She’d taken off her work boots, and Harry could see she had a hole in one sock.

Alice put her hands on her knees and exhaled when he finished. She looked mad. Harry braced himself.

“Those little shits!” she exclaimed. “Let you take all the blame. Sounds like they both need an ass-kicking.”

Harry stared, and Alice shrugged.

“Look, I didn’t ask you if you had a record. And you didn’t tell me. You gave me references, and I didn’t call them. So.” She stood. “Who wants more pie?”

She went into the kitchen.

Harry looked at Jake, who stifled a laugh.

It felt good to come clean, although he hadn’t really needed to tell her. He thought everything would come out when he was arrested for stealing the truck.

Up at Uncle H’s old place, he climbed down out of the cab to face the flashing blue-and-red lights of the sheriff department’s Jeep. He didn’t regret what he had done, not a bit, even as he faced arrest. He wanted to help, even if his action only delayed the spraying by a day or two.