If Not For A Bee. Carol Ross
back on track. “Janie, how have you been?”
“Better,” she answered tightly.
“What?”
“I’ve been better.” Her tone was dismissive as she flicked her eyes away.
She addressed the baker. “Lilah, I’m so sorry about the mess.”
Lilah smiled sadly. “Don’t worry about it, Janie. I’ll have Isaac clean it up. That’s what we hired him for.”
Janie checked the watch on her wrist. “We need to go. Thanks so much, Lilah. The cake was beautiful.”
Gareth looked at Lilah. “I’m sorry about the cake, too.”
Lilah reached out a hand and squeezed his shoulder. “It’s okay, hon. I’m sorry, too, for you.”
Janie glanced in Aidan’s general direction but didn’t even try for eye contact. “Bye, I’m sure we’ll see you around, Aidan.”
Aidan thought these people were getting awfully worked up over a dessert. He watched Janie and her forlorn son trudge down the street like they were headed to a funeral...
Odd.
Lilah turned and grasped the door handle.
“Hey, um, Lilah, right?”
She spun back around and scowled at him. “Yes.”
“Why can’t you make another dessert?” he asked again.
“Because Reagan is lactose intolerant so I made that one with soy milk. Besides, it’s too late. I could never have another one done in time.” She looked near tears as she turned away and ducked back inside the bakery.
Aidan shivered lightly as a cool breeze swirled around his legs. He stood on the street wishing he would have packed some pants in his carry-on bag and wondering if he’d somehow landed on another planet instead of the remote little town of Rankins, Alaska.
* * *
JANIE DID HER best to salvage the evening. She and Gareth swung by the grocery store and picked up a package of festively decorated, dairy-free cupcakes. At least her two-year-old twins would be happy. Gabe had this adorable habit of carefully picking off sprinkles with his tiny fingers one at a time. She mentioned this to Gareth and joked about the mess they would make with the frosting. Her attempts to cheer her oldest son fell disappointingly flat.
Janie let the silence fill the car as she drove them home. She knew she should say something—offer words of wisdom and comfort. She was a mother—weren’t these things supposed to come to her effortlessly? In natural, normal-type moments they seemed to, but she felt completely inept when it came to this... Probably because there wasn’t anything natural about your husband and the father of your two boys getting killed in the prime of his life while you were pregnant with two more.
A snap of the fingers and she’d gone from a happily married mother of two with twins on the way to a devastated, grief-stricken widow and single mother of four. And then, as if Cal’s death hadn’t stolen virtually every bit of her joy, a difficult pregnancy had leeched away what little remained. She’d ended up bedridden with preeclampsia, the twins had been born premature, and she’d immediately sunk into that cruel pit of despair known as postpartum depression. She could barely think about that nightmarish time without being overwhelmed with guilt or growing cold with the fear that those feelings might somehow return...
She pulled into the driveway of their home—the home she and Cal had so lovingly built the year after they were married. They’d been so excited to purchase the property a mere half mile from her mom’s. They’d poured countless hours into constructing the modest Arts-and-Crafts-style house, doing most of the work themselves—with help from family and friends—all the while making plans to fill it with the family they wanted to have. Well, they’d managed to get a good start on the family part before Cal had died. Now it was a struggle to keep up with the care and maintenance the three-bedroom home and the five acres of ground required. She wouldn’t be able to do it at all if it wasn’t for the help of her family.
She turned toward Gareth to say...something—she knew she needed to say something. But he was already climbing out of the car. Her mom met them at the door. Janie didn’t know how she’d survive without her mother—how any of them would survive. Grandma Claire had watched the younger boys while she and Gareth went to town to run a few errands, which included picking up the now-trashed dessert for the birthday celebration her oldest son insisted they have for his deceased father.
Janie wanted to cry.
“Hey,” Claire said. “Where’s the birthday cake?”
“It’s ruined,” Gareth said. “I ruined it. I dropped it, Grandma.”
“Gareth, you didn’t ruin it.” No, the bee patrol ruined it, she wanted to say, as she allowed her anger over the incident to overrule the despair. “It was an accident.” She looked at her mom. “There was a bee—”
Claire’s face turned white as her eyes darted from Janie to her grandson. “You didn’t get stung, did you?” She smiled—or tried to. “Of course you didn’t—you wouldn’t be here if you’d been stung. You’d be at the hospital.”
Reagan walked into the kitchen, where they were now gathered. “Hey, where’s the cake?” he asked.
“We didn’t get it,” Gareth said.
“What? Why?”
Janie answered, “There was an accident.”
“What kind of accident? A car accident? Are you guys okay?”
“No, Reagan, honey—an accident where the cake got ruined.”
“Oh.” His face fell, displaying his disappointment. “How are we going to celebrate now?”
“I think under the circumstances your dad would understand. We picked up some cupcakes. We’ll use those. Come on—let’s go sit at the table.”
Claire offered, “I’ll bring in the cupcakes if you want to round up the little guys.”
Finn toddled into the kitchen and let out a happy squeal at the sight of his mother. Janie scooped him up and kissed his velvety soft cheek. The thought flitted through her brain that at least the twins had been spared having to grieve for their father. They’d never known him. She immediately felt guilty—her signature emotion these days, it seemed. Of course it was better that Gareth and Reagan had known Cal for at least those precious early years. He’d been an excellent father, but it had just been so incredibly difficult to watch them suffer after his death—to watch them suffer still.
She secured the twins in their high chairs and took a seat. Claire walked into the room with the cupcakes neatly arranged on a platter. Brightly colored candles poked out of the frosting-covered peak of each cupcake. At least they looked pretty, which was something because Janie was certain the prepackaged, dairy-free treats would taste like cardboard slathered with sugar-infused shortening.
Claire handed Gareth some matches. He began lighting the candles.
Gabe pointed and chirped, “Cup-cup.”
Finn slapped his high-chair tray and laughed with delight as if his brother had told a hilarious joke. At two years of age, they already shared some kind of secret twin language.
“Mom, how many birthdays did you and Dad celebrate with Boston cream pie?” Reagan asked.
“Twelve,” Janie said and heard her voice crack. She tried to cover the sound with a cough. “I made your dad his first one while we were still in high school.”
Gareth turned his head and glanced out the window.
Her mom began singing the birthday song and she, Gareth and Reagan joined in. The twins shouted out their own joyous version of gibberish.
Reagan and Gareth blew out the