Page 108 of Almost Rotten

Sawyer snorts. “Yeah, you did, Bee Daddy.”

I bow my head and give it a shake. She’s so good at lightening the mood exactly when it’s needed.

“When a call came in, if I was available, I’d go. But sometimes Meg would answer the phone and beat me to it. Saving a swarm is tricky. We have to act fast. Sometimes we’d miss them. Sometimes we’d show up and find wasps or yellow jackets. Only the honeybees counted. That year, in the span of a month, we got six non-honeybee calls, and I managed to be the one on the scene every time.” I adjust my hat, pulling it a little lower. “Needless to say, I lost. By a lot. Meg saved four more colonies than I did that summer.”

“Hence the four bees,” Sawyer surmises.

“Yep. She picked the design. And the location. When it came time to get in the chair, she couldn’t stop laughing, which made my entire body shake. Mercer had to hold my hand instead.”

“Oh my god,” she snickers. “You haven’t lived that down, have you?”

“It gets worse.” I wince. “In my defense, there are a lot of nerve endings around the hip bone.”

She shifts closer, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “You cried, didn’t you?”

“Like a baby,” I admit with a laugh. “It’s the hardest I’d ever cried until… well. You know.”

Squeezing my hand, she hums in understanding.

With the lightness of the moment overshadowed by the ever-present reminder of grief, we grow quiet, and without releasing my hand, she shifts back and leans against the fence. We sit like that, quiet but not uncomfortable, for several minutes.

Eventually, with a wistful sigh, Sawyer breaks the silence. “She sounds incredible.”

Contentment envelops me like a warm blanket. “She was spectacular.”

She squeezes my hand again. “Anytime you want to talk about her, I’m more than willing to listen. And if you don’t, that’s okay, too.”

I examine her genuine expression, marveling. How does this woman who’s so much younger than me have such a deep, thorough understanding of grief? It’s impressive and also heartbreaking.

I’ve waded through more than my fair share of bullshit platitudes over the last year and a half. So often, people project their grief onto me or struggle to find the appropriate sentiments.

For the longest time, only Mercer, Edna, and Bella understood.

But even then, they didn’t always know what to do with me.

Sawyer’s different.

She sees the grief, and she respects its dark disposition and sharp edges. But she doesn’t shy away from asking questions and offering support.

She sees it—she seesme—and she’s not scared of the damage that’s been done.

“Come here.” I pull her close and kiss the crown of her head. “I know I can tell you anything, honey. And for the record, I think you’re pretty spectacular, too.”

From the crook of my arm, she offers me a cheeky smile.

“Right back at ya, Bee Daddy.”

Chapter forty-six

Noah

Isuck in a lungful of air, relishing her warm, sweet, cinnamon and apple scent. My truck’s going to smell like her for days.

She’s lighter now than when we left.

That’s exactly what I was hoping for.

Getting her out of town. Getting her out of her head.