Page 124 of The Beekeeper

Blaze

“Pais?” I knocked on her door twice, but she didn’t answer. “Paisley?”

“Go away.”

I let out a deep breath. We moved in almost two weeks ago, and from the moment that all of her things had been deposited in her room, her door had been tightly shut. It wasn’t locked, so I could go in if I wanted—and I did want—but what I wanted more was for her to open up to me on her own. I thought she’d last a day. We were now on day twelve.

Twelve days felt like years when up until now, my daughter had been a constant at my side.

“Pais, can we talk, please?”

Silence.

I swallowed a groan and pressed my back to the wall outside her room, knocking my head into it. Had I made a mistake? No. This couldn’t be a mistake. Our own place. The privacy. The space. Everything was perfect…so why didn’t it feel right?

Stupid fucking question, Blaze. You know why it doesn’t feel right.

It will though, I tried to reassure myself. It will eventually feel right without Harper. With just Paisley and me like it was before. Like it was supposed to be.

I went to knock again and stopped, hearing a familiar sound. Heavy pelts of rain hit the windows; there was a storm rolling in. Never thought I’d be grateful for a thunderstorm.

“Hey, Pais, sounds like a storm is starting,” I called into the door again. I turned my head and pressed my ear to the wood, hearing some shuffling behind it. As if on cue, a boom of thunder rattled. “I was thinking we could make some thunder cake if you want.” More shuffling, but still no answer. “Okay, well, I’m not sure I can make it without you, so if you want to help, I’ll be in the kitchen.”

I headed downstairs without waiting for her answer. I wanted to get her as far away from her room as possible so there was less chance of her retreating to it.

I made as much noise as I could, getting out bowls and a whisk and scouring the cabinets for the Ferrero Rocher chocolates I’d hidden all the way in the back, knowing a thunderstorm would eventually come, and that Harper had given me—given us the tools to survive it.

“You forgot the sugar.”

For a split-second—an impossible split-second—Paisley’s voice had sounded just like Harper’s. I spun, expecting to see the woman haunting my dreams standing in the kitchen. Her halo of sun-gold hair. Her bright, warm smile. And the look in her eyes…it was gone—she was gone. And it was Pais there instead.

Fuck, I was going crazy.

“Right.” I nodded, trying not to show just how relieved I was to see her. “Good catch.”

Even though I wanted to go over and hug my daughter, to hold her close and promise her—and myself—that it was all going to be okay, I instead went into the pantry for the new bag of sugar. And I got screwed again.

Next to the bag of sugar was the damn jar of jelly that Gigi had given me. Royal Jelly. I knew what her little gifts were supposed to signify and still, I’d packed this jar with the rest of my stuff when we’d moved out of Harper’s. I should’ve left it. Should’ve stuck it here like a damn jack-in-the-box waiting for the right moment to jump out and scare me.

Moving here—moving out was supposed to help. It was supposed to put distance between us, so I wouldn’t have to see Harper every morning. Hear her in the shower. Know she was right downstairs in her bed—right there within my reach. Instead, we’d moved and it was like my goddamn imagination wanted to torture me by imagining her more. Every moment. Every place. I wondered what Harper would think about the house. I wondered if she’d paint the whole of it yellow. What the living room would look like with all her bee-themed decor. Where she’d decide to put hives outside.

Every time I went to order or make dinner, I wondered what she was doing. What she was going to have. Who she was going to have it with.

I couldn’t stop thinking about her, and wondering if I’d just made the biggest mistake of my life.

“What’s that?”

I looked over my shoulder, finding Paisley watching me stare blankly at the jar. Busted.

“Jam,” I answered and went back to my task, wondering why the hell I hadn’t left that at Harper’s. “Gigi gave it to me as a present for Father’s Day.” A nice gift, or so I thought until Wade explained the significance of Gigi’s premonition preserves to me.

“Royal Jelly.” Her head snapped up, looking at me like I was supposed to know what that meant.

“It looks like grape,” I said, feeling like our roles were suddenly reversed; I was the student who didn’t know the answer to a simple question.

“No, Daddy.” She huffed. “You don’t know what Royal Jelly is?”

“I…” I dragged my hand along my jaw. “I guess I don’t.”