Taste of Honey (25 page)

“I’ve always been honest with you, Gerry, so I won’t mince words now: Yes, your job could be on the line.” She sighed. “If it’s any consolation, I have a feeling I may be next.” Her pale blue eyes shone with indignation—and perhaps a touch of resignation—in the alpine crag of her face.

Gerry felt her own indignation flare. “You?”

“Well, I’m not getting any younger.”

“Says who?”

“I’ll remember that next time I have trouble getting up off my knees in chapel.” The old woman’s mouth flattened into the faintest of smiles. “As for you, if I’d have thought she wouldn’t misinterpret it, I’d have told Mother Edward the truth—that you’re a breath of fresh air around here.”

“It sounds as if they think of me more as poison.” Gerry appreciated the reverend mother’s words of support, but she’d need more than that to keep from getting fired.

“We won’t know anything until Sister Clement does her report. Until then, I suggest you go about your business as usual.”

Business as usual—with this hanging over her head? “What should I tell Marian Abrams when she gets here—that the bees aren’t the only things to watch out for around here?”

“I wouldn’t advise it.” The reverend mother’s voice was stern.

“It’s not fair,” Gerry pushed on regardless. “They’re looking for a scapegoat, and who better than me?” She cast a rueful glance at her skirt, which ended demurely at her knees but nevertheless stuck out like a sore thumb around here.

Mother Ignatius sighed. “I wish it were as simple as that, but the truth is they have a point. Not about you in particular, but I don’t have to remind you that a spiritual community is like … well, like a chorus line.” She smiled at the analogy, one she would have used only with Gerry. “What happens to one affects us all.”

“ ‘Friendship of the world is enmity with God’?” Gerry quoted from James. “I’m not sure it’s as high-minded as that.”

She remembered her brother’s warning. Could this have something to do with Jim? What if he were secretly plotting to get rid of her? It was far-fetched, sure, but she wouldn’t put it past him. And with the influence he must yield in the archdiocese …

The thought was interrupted by Mother Ignatius saying forcefully, “If anyone’s motives are less than pure, we’ll get to the bottom of it, I can assure you.”

The brief silence that followed was disturbed only by the ticking of insects against the screen and the swish of a scrub brush down the hall. Gerry stood. “When is Sister Clement coming?”

“Monday. I trust you’ll make her feel welcome.” Mother Ignatius rose and stepped out from behind her desk, tall and spare in the dark serge habit that fell about her in folds, reminiscent of the flinty-eyed pioneer women in the sepia photos hanging in the museum downtown.

Gerry mustered a smile. “I’ll do my best.”

She floated to her feet and started for the door. All at once it sank in: She’d spent her entire adult life behind these walls. What would it be like without this place to come to every day? Without the garden to stroll through, and the sweet sound of voices joined in song? Without the hives and the honey house and Sister

Agnes? They might as well pack her off to be with Sister Beatrice.

Marian Abrams turned out to be a stylish middle-aged woman with dark shingled hair and an artfully made-up face. It was only a preliminary interview, but she’d come prepared: a briefcase containing a notepad and minirecorder, and a camera case holding a fancy Nikon. Gerry gave her a tour of the grounds, followed by tea in the visitors’ room, where she told the story of the origins of Blessed Bee.

“It all started back in the early thirties with Sister Benedicta,” she began. “She was sent here to recover from tuberculosis—it was felt she’d benefit from our dry climate. And at first she
did
get better.” Gerry smiled, relishing the tale as much as she had the storybooks she’d read to her children when they were little. “She was full of joy, always singing, always a kind word—but the most amazing thing about her was her way with animals. It was said that sparrows would alight on her shoulders and deer would eat from her hand. She could walk among bees and not be stung, even reach barehanded into a hollow tree trunk and pull out a honeycomb.

“Soon the nuns had all the honey they could use—honey that was rumored to have curative powers. Before long they were inundated with requests from the outside, and Sister Benedicta was put in charge of constructing an apiary. Within a few years Blessed Bee was being sold throughout the valley and beyond.” She paused, taking a sip of her honey-sweetened tea. “Then Sister Benedicta fell ill again.”

“Hold it!” Marian scrambled to pop another cassette into the recorder.

When the tape was whirring, Gerry went on. “She died shortly thereafter and was buried in the graveyard on the hill. I’ll have one of the sisters take you up there, if you’d like. It’s a bit of a hike.”

“Okay if I take pictures?”

“I’m sure that won’t be a problem.” She took another sip of tea. “Where were we? Yes, the burial. It was winter, the time when bees normally hibernate, but the most incredible thing happened: A swarm gathered on Sister Benedicta’s grave. Efforts to brush them off were useless. When the weather grew colder, they began to die off. The following spring, wildflowers grew up out of the husks of all those dead bees. Some of the nuns say that if you listen closely, you can still hear a faint hum in the air.”

“That’s quite a tale.” Marian smiled, clearly not believing a word of it. Her eyes shone with excitement nonetheless. She knew a story her readers would gobble up when she heard one. I’ll give this to our writer, if that’s all right with you.” She tapped the cassette with a long red fingernail. “She’ll be giving you a call sometime next week.”

“Good. We’ll set something up.” Anything to take her mind off Sister Clement’s impending stay.

They finished their tea, and she passed Marian on to Sister Carmela for a tour of the honey house and apiary. An hour later Marian was back in her office. “I can’t thank you enough,” she said, gripping Gerry’s hand. “This is terrific stuff—just what I was hoping for.”

Gerry ushered her to the door. “Call if you have any questions.”

Later that afternoon, on her way home, it occurred to her that she might not be around to answer them. Depending on Sister Clement’s findings, she could be out on her ass long before the
West
article appeared in print. She grew cold at the thought. Never mind her own needs, how would she feed her kids?

She thought about phoning Aubrey; it would be good just to hear his voice. She hadn’t seen him since the wedding—he’d left for Budapest the following day. It had been two weeks since then and she’d missed him more than she would have thought possible. It was for that very reason she hadn’t rushed to his side the day before yesterday when he returned. She needed to prove to herself she could get along fine without him.

Then there was that awful incident at the wedding. Aubrey hadn’t mentioned it—he was far too nice. Gerry, on the other hand, had given her daughter an earful when they got home. She still hadn’t quite forgiven Andie, who claimed she hadn’t done it on purpose and that it was only a coincidence Isabella’s CD had been among the ones she’d pulled from the rack—an excuse Gerry found hard to swallow.

No, she’d wait a day or two longer. Last night they’d talked briefly on the phone and Aubrey had seemed eager to see her, but she was certain that was only because he’d missed the sex. A month ago it might have been the same for her, but a subtle shift had taken place over the past few weeks. She’d realized she wanted more, and the thought terrified her. If she kept her distance the feeling would pass, she told herself.

She was driving past the Dalrymple house when she noticed that the
FOR SALE
sign out front was gone. She wondered who’d bought it. Had Fran O’Brien changed her mind? Or had some smart doctor or lawyer snapped it up? She’d noticed a number of the houses along this street had discreet signs advertising the services of attorneys, medical professionals, accountants, even a psychic reader. Business must be good.

She arrived home minutes later to find Justin’s bike blocking the driveway. Again. She honked the horn. When he didn’t come running, she climbed from the car with an exasperated sigh.

It wasn’t until she was dragging his bike into the garage that he came charging out the door with his friend Nesto at his heels. “Sorry, Mom.” He darted over to help while Nesto, as dark as Justin was fair, hung back timidly. As soon as the bike was safely stowed alongside the washer and dryer, Justin blurted, “Mom, can Nesto stay for dinner?”

Gerry felt her irritation rise. How many times had she told him not to ask in front of his friends?

“Sure,” she said sweetly. “What’s on the menu?”

Justin gave her a slack-jawed look. “Huh?”

“I figured you must be doing the cooking if you’re inviting your friends for supper.” She winked at Nesto.

“Uh, well, I sort of thought …” Justin glanced toward the house. “Since we were having company anyway.”

She felt a jolt of alarm. No, Mike wouldn’t do that to her, not after all this time. She winced at the memory even so. Shortly after they were separated, she’d dragged home from work late one evening to find her estranged husband ensconced on the sofa, a kid under each arm, watching TV.

“Andie was scared,” he’d said, as if she were the kind of mother who left her children unattended for hours, even days, on end.

It was all Gerry could do to keep from exploding. Hadn’t she phoned to let the kids know she’d be late? Andie had used the oldest ploy in the world to bring her daddy running. And the worst of it was, Gerry had had no choice but to let him stay. It was that or risk causing a scene.

Now she eyed Justin warily, asking, “What company would that be?”

He looked up at her agape. Clearly, he hadn’t expected it to be a surprise. “Claire,” he said. “Claire’s here. I thought you knew.” His face, she saw, was lit up like Christmas and Easter rolled into one. “She’s moving here, to Carson Springs. She bought a house and everything. Isn’t that
awesome
?’’

Gerry didn’t stop long enough to answer. Anyone who happened to glance out their front window just then would’ve seen her flying up the walk, her overstuffed shoulder bag bumping against her hip and a grin as wide as back and beyond spread across her astonished face.

“I didn’t want to tell anyone until I was sure it would go through.” Claire was seated on the sofa, a glass of wine on the coffee table in front of her. “I came straight over from the realtor’s office. The closing is tomorrow.”

Gerry could hardly believe what she was hearing. Her daughter was moving here! Claire had explained that she was opening a tearoom with her former boss, Kitty, but Gerry knew that couldn’t be the only reason. Joy welled in her until she thought she would burst with it.

“Well, you’ll have no shortage of helping hands.” She glanced at Justin, who nodded enthusiastically. He seemed to have forgotten all about Nesto, who’d had the good sense to head home. “We’re a full-service crew—everything from unpacking to hanging curtains. We’re especially good at ordering pizza,” she added with a smile.

Claire looked dubious. “I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all.” She grinned and nodded, feeling like one of those silly dogs stuck to a dashboard that waggled its head every time the car moved.

Cool it,
a voice warned.
You don’t want to scare her
o
ff.

“We’ll see how it goes.” Claire looked happy but Gerry sensed a slight reservation nonetheless.

“I’m sure you have your work cut out for you,” she said.

Claire laughed knowingly, taking a sip of her wine. “I haven’t even started packing. I gave notice a couple of weeks ago, but my bosses wanted me to stay until everything was tied up. I didn’t get here until yesterday.”

“Yesterday? You should have called.” She tried not to sound hurt that Claire hadn’t. “We have plenty of room.” A bit of a stretch, she knew, but Andie could have bunked in with Justin. “In fact, why don’t you stay here tonight?”

She was glad Andie wasn’t here to object—she must be off with Simon or Finch. Even knowing she’d be less than thrilled by Claire’s news didn’t dim Gerry’s joy.

“Thanks, but I’m paid up in advance at the inn.” Claire was making it clear she had no intention of allowing herself to be swallowed up. “Besides, I have to be up at the crack of dawn. Big meeting with my contractor.”

“Well, if you change your mind …” Gerry was torn between disappointment and relief, for asking Andie to bunk with Justin would be a sure recipe for mutiny. And she couldn’t very well expect Claire to sleep on the couch.

Claire heard the relief in Gerry’s voice and thought,
I should have given her some warning.
Springing it on her had been a mistake. Gerry was probably wondering how she was going to bill it to her friends and neighbors.
Oh, by the way, have you met my daughter? You didn’t know I had more than one? Well, you see …

If Gerry was enthusiastic at all it was only because she had mixed feelings. But what had Claire expected—to be greeted with open arms? That was a child’s fantasy. As foolish as hoping her parents would understand.

Lou and Millie hadn’t gone ballistic when she’d told them. It had been more of an implosion, like a condemned building being brought down—a crumpling inward that was painful to see. Millie had cried, and Claire had cried too, while Lou just looked on, shaking his head in bewilderment. No amount of explaining could dissuade them of the notion that her sole reason for buying a house in Carson Springs was to be near Gerry.

But if that had been true, she’d be sorely disappointed. Gerry didn’t want her, not really. Oh, she was happy they’d found each other … but not that she was here to stay. It was a little like someone saying they’re not a racist, she thought, then having it put to the test when a black family moves in next door. One thing was for sure: Gerry would have a whole lot of explaining to do.

The front door swung open just then and Andie came tramping in. At the sight of Claire, she froze.