My sisters are all so incredible. Eila’s work event managed to showcase Eva’s social media marketing skills and Eliza’s goats and, of course, Eila’s own amazing plant skills. I wish she’d have made a push to let me set up some beehives here, but this job is still pretty new for her. I get it.
I glance at my work phone out of habit. Nothing new. I usually get a lot of calls this time of year because bees tend to swarm into people’s yards … or houses … or machinery.
I never meant to become a beekeeper. It’s not like how Esther opened a bar on purpose and Eila was always going to be a professional plant lady.
I happened to be in the right place one day when someone found bees in their garage and, well, I just knew what to do. Now, here I am, selling honey and beeswax salves and, when I’m really lucky, getting paid to remove bees from other people’s property.
But today is about Eila. I’m happy for her and Ben, I swear. Even though I can tell my sister is going to move out and then I’ll be totally stuck with rent. Sure, I could move someplace smaller and probably afford to live alone. But it’s not just me.
I’ve got five colonies of bees in the back yard, and that doesn’t even include the spare boxes I’ve started storing on Eila’s lot where she grows hops.
I smile and clap as my sister proudly details the native plants all throughout the cemetery. Who would have thought these old cemeteries were so carefully planned out? There’s a flipping arboretum in here, and I just know those fruit trees would really benefit from a nice, active colony of honeybees. Oh well.
Eila catches my eye, hands in her pockets, and I wave at her from my place front and center of the little crowd consisting of all our sisters, their friends, and quite a few strangers just here for the vibes. Should I have brought business cards? Is that slimy, to promote my work at my sister’s shindig?
Before I can decide, my work phone actually rings in my pocket. I back away from the group, hoping I’m not distracting my sister from her talk, and answer the phone without looking at the number. “Storm Swarm, this is Eden.”
The caller coughs. And then I hear a voice I’d rather forget. “Eden? Hey. I’ve got a problem.”
I pull the phone away from my face and stare at it. Of course I don’t have his number entered into my contacts. This is my work phone. In my personal phone, I listed him as ACTUAL SATAN.
“Eden? Are you there?” His voice sounds tinny, far away. I take a few breaths and look around me, trying to decide if, I don’t know, someone is pranking me. Somehow.
“Nate?” I hate the way his name feels in my mouth, my tongue heavy with uncertainty. This guy screwed me over last year. Big time.
“Yeah. It’s me. I was hoping—“
“If you’re calling to report more diseases, I assure you I’ve had all the tests. You can go jump in a river now, goodbye.”
“Eden, wait!” His voice is just desperate enough to halt my thumb before I press the red button to end the call. “I’m calling about a professional issue, I swear.”
I frown. Today is Saturday and it’s late afternoon. Why is he working right now? Sounds fishy. “You have 90 seconds.”
He sighs. “I’m flipping a house over in Point Breeze.”
“So?” I look over my shoulder, realizing he’s less than a mile away from me at the moment.
“Well. Um. The attic is full of bees.”
My brows shoot up. “Oh yeah?”
“God, Eden, there must be a million of them. An actual million bees inside the walls.”
I laugh. “There are probably two million if it’s one of those big mansions.”
I listen to him exhale, trying not to remember the sound and feel of him breathing near my ear while his hands roamed my body. “So, can you help me get rid of them? None of my guys will agree to work with all that going on.”
I look at my sister, standing up on a rock and gesturing as she proudly describes responsible weed control here in the cemetery. I think again about the rent and the upcoming winter slow season. “It’ll cost you,” I hiss at Nate, before I spit out a fee double my usual rate to remove bees from a residential property.
“Fine. Whatever. How soon can you be here?”
Shocked, I mutter, “My stuff is in my van. Give me five minutes.”
Nate texts me an address and I catch my sister Esther’s eye at the back of the crowd. I point at my phone and mouth “work call.”
She waves me off with a smile and I head off into the literal sunset to rescue my ex from a swarm of bees.
Thank you for reading Ben and Eila’s story! Eden’s book, The Burgh and the Bees, is next in the Planted and Plowed series.
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