The Summer We Saved the Bees (19 page)

Violet did most of the talking. She started with my bee project, explaining how I’d done all this research on why bees were dying and all that stuff. She didn’t make it sound like the trip was all my fault this time. She explained how Jade had latched on to the subject and started her own website about it, and how things had kind of spiraled from there—the trip and George the van and leaving school early and Ty not being allowed to come.

Mrs. Brooks interrupted her a couple of times to clarify some point, but mostly she just drove and listened, even though Violet didn’t seem to be getting anywhere close to explaining why we had all appeared, without warning and without our parents, at the Walmart in Nelson.

Violet had just gotten to the part where we did our first presentation in Vancouver when Mrs. Brooks held up a hand
to indicate she should stop. “This is my place,” she said, pulling into the driveway beside a meticulously landscaped front yard. “So Violet, just pause the story there and let’s get you all settled in with a drink and something to eat—I bet you haven’t had dinner, have you? And then you can tell me the rest.”

Violet nodded, looking relieved. I wondered if she’d been planning to leave out the part where she took off with Ty. It wasn’t really relevant, but so far she’d included every last detail, right down to which exams she was missing and the specific design of the twins’ costumes. As we got out of the car, she grabbed my shoulder. “Do you think it’s going well?” she whispered.

“It’s hard to tell. Did you know she hadn’t talked to Curtis in years?”

“Sort of. I knew they had a big fight and that was why she left Lasqueti. And I knew it didn’t go well when he visited with the twins. I think he was hoping to fix things, but it didn’t work out.” She made a face. “I can’t stop babbling—I’m so nervous.”

I leaned close, my mouth inches from her ear. “You’re going to tell her about Whisper, right? About her not talking and everything?”

“Of course. That’s mostly why we’re here, right?”

I nodded. “Yeah. But don’t explain that part in front of the twins.”

She pulled back and gave me a scornful look. “Give me some credit. I’m not a complete idiot, Wolf.”

Twenty-Nine

WE ALL TROOPED
into the house after Mrs. Brooks. It was nice, but in a super-tidy way that made it look like no one actually lived there. Polished wood floors, mostly covered by beige carpeting. A glass coffee table with a vase of flowers on it. An enormous L-shaped couch—white leather, with a few brown polka-dot cushions placed at strategic intervals. A big television but no books, no magazines, no games, no empty coffee mugs.

I stood there awkwardly while Violet followed her grandmother into the kitchen to help get drinks and food for everyone. Ty plunked himself down on the living room couch, shoving a polka-dot cushion aside, and after a moment’s hesitation I flopped down beside him. The twins trailed into the room behind us. They looked tired and pale, and Saffy had awful dark circles under her eyes.

“You guys hungry?” Ty asked them.

Whisper nodded and snuggled up beside me, her head on my shoulder. She felt warm, and her hair was sticking damply to her forehead.

Saffron climbed onto Ty’s lap. “Tell us a story about Buzzy.”

Ty’s eyes met mine. “I’m all storied out, kiddo.”

“Please?”

“Got no more in me right now, Saffy. Seriously. Maybe at bedtime, okay? After we have something to eat.” Ty leaned his head back on the couch cushions, eyes closed.

“I’ll tell you a story,” I said.

Both girls turned to look at me, Whisper smiling, Saffron unconvinced.

“Um, so there was once a little monkey—” I began.

“A bee,” Saffy said.

“No, Buzzy is Ty’s story,” I said.

“Tell a story about George then.”

“George the van?”

She nodded.

I sighed. “Fine. Once upon a time there was a van called George. George was black and yellow, and he had stripes like a bee. And more than anything, George wanted to…” I hesitated, trying to think of something a van might want.

“To fly,” Whisper breathed.

“Okay.” My breath caught in my throat. She was speaking. That was twice she’d spoken today. Did that mean I hadn’t made things worse, at least? “More than anything,” I said, “George wanted to fly.”

Saffron giggled. “A flying van!”

“That’s right. Because the thing about George…” I paused, thinking, looking down at Whisper. A hint of a smile flickered at the corners of her mouth. “The thing about George,” I went on, “was that he didn’t know he was a van. He thought he was a bee. But all the other bees he saw were so much smaller and fuzzier than him, and they all knew how to fly…”

Whisper’s eyes closed. Saffron leaned her head on Ty’s chest, listening.

“George watched the bees flying around. He watched them landing on the bright flowers and gathering pollen, and he wondered why he was stuck on the ground. He wondered where his wings were and when he would be able to fly.” I had a lump in my throat all of a sudden, and I found myself blinking back tears. What the hell was wrong with me? Practically crying over a stupid imaginary van. “Um, so one day he met a…um, he met a…”

“A skateboard,” Ty said.

I rolled my eyes. “Fine, a skateboard. And the skateboard couldn’t fly either.”

Violet walked in, carrying a tray. She put it down carefully on the coffee table in front of us: a plate of cheese and crackers, some cut-up apples, a package of chocolate-covered cookies.

“You want some food?” I asked.

Saffron shook her head drowsily. “More story.”

Whisper didn’t answer. She was already fast asleep.

I sighed. Time to come up with a happy ending. “Okay. So George and the skateboard started to talk…”

Violet gave me a funny look, but I shrugged and plowed on. “And the skateboard said, ‘Hey, you have wheels like I do. So maybe you’re not a bee. Maybe you’re a skateboard.’ But George was pretty sure he wasn’t a skateboard.” I waited, watching Saffron. Her eyes were closed and her mouth slightly open. “Saffy?” No answer.

“Out cold,” Ty said. He shifted Saffron off his lap. “Here, there’s room for them both if we move.”

We eased the girls down so that they were lying with their heads together in the middle of the couch and their bare feet—very dirty bare feet—at the ends. I sat down on the carpet and grabbed a cracker and a thick slice of pale yellow cheese. “So where’s your grandmother?” I asked in a low voice. “What did she say?”

“Take a wild guess,” she said flatly. “Take a wild guess what she’s doing right now.”

I shook my head. “What?” I stared at her, too tired to play games. “Isn’t she going to help us? To help Whisper?”

“She’s on the phone to Curtis,” Violet said wearily.

“Oh.” I chewed, swallowed. “You explained about Whisper not talking and needing help? And Mom not getting it and just making things worse?”

“I explained everything.” Violet shrugged. “I don’t know what I expected. I should have known she wouldn’t do anything.”

“Maybe she’ll explain,” I said. “Maybe Mom and Curtis will listen to her.”

“Maybe,” Violet said. “But I wouldn’t count on it.”

We all sat there in silence for a long moment. I watched the twins asleep on the couch, their hair tangled and their faces flushed.

“What do you want to do, Violet?” Ty asked softly. “Your dad and Jade…I know the van’s not going, but they’ll probably catch a bus and come, right? You want to take off before they get here?”

Violet burst into tears and ran from the room. I heard the front door open and then bang closed. Ty sighed, stood up and followed her. I just sat there, waiting. Eating cheese and crackers. Thinking. Was Ty right that our parents would come? Or would Mom insist on sticking to their schedule? She had rescheduled all that stuff in Hope and Kamloops and Kelowna. And she’d been prepared to leave Vancouver without Violet if necessary.

“Well, it looks like we should get those two to bed.”

I looked up. Mrs. Brooks was standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips. I hastily swallowed a mouthful of too-dry cracker. “Um. Yeah. They kind of crashed.”

“No doubt,” she said. “Where’s Violet?”

“She’s with Ty,” I said. “Outside, I think.”

“Is she?” She studied me for a long moment. “Well. You certainly look like your mother.”

“I guess,” I said. Something about her tone of voice made me think this was not a compliment.

“Follow me,” she ordered. “I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping.”

I cleared my throat. “Did you talk to our parents?”

“I talked to Curtis,” she said.

“What did he say?”

“He said they’ll catch the next bus, which isn’t until the morning. They’ll be here tomorrow night.”

“Both of them?” I held my breath.

“I assume so,” she said.

I was trying very hard not to assume anything at all.

Mrs. Brooks had a spare room with a queen bed for the twins, and she’d put a thin foam mattress on the floor for me. White sheets and a navy-blue comforter were neatly folded at the end of it.

“What about Violet and Ty?” I asked.

“Ty can sleep in the living room,” she said. She was out of breath from carrying Whisper up the stairs. “On the couch. And I’ve put an air mattress in my office for Violet.”

We pulled the covers back and laid Saffron and Whisper down, hair and teeth unbrushed and clothes still on. They didn’t even stir. Their feet looked filthy against the clean white sheets, and I quickly pulled a blanket up over them, hoping Mrs. Brooks hadn’t noticed.

“I guess I’ll go to bed now too,” I said. I wasn’t sleepy exactly; I just wanted to be by myself.

“Of course,” Mrs. Brooks said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

After she’d gone back downstairs, I took a towel from the pile she’d left us and folded it in a double layer
underneath Whisper’s bum, just in case she wet the bed. And then I lay down on my own bed and tried to relax. I couldn’t stop thinking though. They weren’t even real thoughts—just jumbled bits and pieces of thoughts, like my brain was randomly skipping ahead and going back over everything that had happened over the last few days. Vi saying she was going away with Ty. Hazel and Tess playing Monopoly with me. Anna’s story about the war. George, the van who couldn’t fly.

Mom telling me I had to be a warrior…

Next thing I knew, the sun was streaming in the window and Whisper was sitting up in bed, staring down at me.

Thirty

MRS. BROOKS MADE
breakfast for us all: toast, jam, scrambled eggs, sliced-up apples and cheese, and the kind of orange juice you make from frozen concentrate and that has that weird taste. Once Duncan and I ate a whole can of it frozen, like ice cream. Or more like sorbet, I guess. It tasted okay that way—super sweet—but I didn’t like how it tasted as juice. Mom doesn’t buy juice much—she says water’s better for you—but when she does, it’s the made-from-real-fruit stuff.

Mrs. Brooks didn’t say anything about her conversation with Curtis or about what we’d done, taking off on our parents. It felt weird not talking about it—kind of like there was this great big ugly
thing
sitting in the middle of the table between the butter dish and the stacks of toast, and we were all pretending it wasn’t there.

“Pass the jam, Wolf?” Violet said.

I picked it up and handed it across the table to her.

“Thanks.”

Long awkward silence.

“Can I have more toast with peanut butter?” Saffron asked.

“Here, Saf,” Ty said. “I’ll make you one.” He picked up a piece of toast and started spreading peanut butter on it.

More awkward silence. I could hear the knife scraping on the toast and the too-loud sound of my own chewing. Ty passed Saffron the toast. Whisper nibbled on a slice of apple. Violet met my eyes across the table, and I wondered what she was thinking. I hadn’t talked to her since she’d run out of the room in tears the night before.

“Well,” Mrs. Brooks said. “When you’ve all finished eating, perhaps you could watch the twins, Tyler? I’d like to have a talk with Violet and Wolf.”

Apparently we weren’t going to ignore that big ugly thing in the middle of the table after all.