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“Yes. Plus, you made us that fabulous dinner last night.”
“Oh, that reminds me. We’re having spaghetti and meatballs tonight if you and Dylan are interested.”
“We’d be honored,” I say, before realizing what I’m agreeing to.
“Great. Do you want to come over to our house this time?”
“Sure.” It’s all for the condos, I keep telling myself. Nothing else.
“Hey, I noticed that you and Dylan didn’t stay overnight at the new place.”
“Oh, uh. We’re moving in little by little, so sleeping in the other apartment is easier for now.”
“Gotcha,” she says. But there’s something in her tone that makes me feel like she doesn’t entirely believe me. Maybe I’m just paranoid because she told me she sees something dark in me.
Thankfully, I hear the loud sounds of Dwight’s vintage car heading down the road.
Mae covers her ears. “What is that?”
“Dwight’s prized Packard.”
“Huh?”
“His Packard,” I yell louder.
“Oh!”
When Dwight parks his car and the sound cuts off, I head out to greet him.
“Thanks for making it out here, Dwight.”
“No problem.” He looks the same as I remember with his large, silver wire glasses, and his hair parted perfectly down the middle. I often wonder if the writers of The Office were inspired by him.
“Dwight this is Mae Dale. She lives here.”
“Hello, Mr. Summers.” Mae holds out her hand in greeting.
“Mr. Summers was my father,” Dwight says, shaking her hand. “Please, just call me Dwight.”
“Okay, Dwight.” Mae smiles. “Like Dean said, thanks for coming.”
Dwight doesn’t respond. He just starts walking toward the abandoned hives.
“He says the bees—or at least their dead bodies—talk to him,” I whisper.
Mae’s eyes open wide, and I smirk. She’s not smiling at Dwight any longer.
“I know. But he knows what he’s doing.”
“I trust you,” Mae whispers, and my heart trips over itself at her soft tone.
“Oh, these sure are beautiful,” Dwight comments, after taking the boxes and slides apart. He’s a distracting presence, thankfully, because I think I may be coming down with a fever or something. It’s the only explanation for my delirious thinking.
“So, do you think there’s any hope for us to salvage them?” Mae asks.
“Sure. But you’ll have to go to Bruce,” Dwight says, his focus still on the boxes.
“Bruce?”
