Elizabeth Wrenn - Last Known Address

Minding Our Bees’ Nests

Fresh Illinois Honey

‘I can personally recommend this honey for my cornbread,’ he said. ‘We–uh, I, tend the hives myself.’ He looks like a TV pitchman, thought C.C., quickly hiding her smile. Not quickly enough, she realized when Purdy darted a quick smile back at her, then looked away.

Not that kind of smile. Was it? No, of course not. She looked at her hands, wrapped around the ceramic mug. The warmth on her palms matched the warmth in her cheeks. Oh, she was just being silly, was all.

‘This’s real good on the cornbread,’ said Purdy. C.C. glanced up, relieved to see he was looking at Meg. His ruddy cheeks formed small balls under his blue eyes, a disarming dimple in his left cheek. He turned toward her again. Dimples in both cheeks, she saw. He held the honey before her like a maître d’ holding a bottle of wine for inspection. ‘See, it’s got a touch of cinnamon in it,’ he said, tapping his finger on the label. ‘But you got your syrup too,’ he added, pointing it out on the table, next to the napkin holder. ‘If you prefer that route. My wife, may she rest in peace, was partial to syrup. But I myself like the honey. Ma’am?’ He offered C.C. the honey, his eyebrows held aloft expectantly, wiry white caterpillars stopped mid-march.

C.C. looked down again, gingerly touched her hair. She then looked at the honey, keeping her eyes focused on the little bees on the label. ‘Well, being from the south originally, I do like syrup on cornbread. But I’ll give the honey a try. The cinnamon sounds good.’ She couldn’t help a quick glance across the table. Meg was doing that cheek-chewing thing she did when she was trying not to smile. Shelly was not so restrained; she had a smirk a mile wide and was staring right at her. C.C. was deathly afraid Shelly would make some wisecrack. But, bless her heart, she kept mum.

Oh, you’re acting crazier than a sprayed roach! It was all C.C. could do not to slap herself. Mum about what? Really. C.C. took the bottom of the honey bottle in her hand, looking at the cute illustrations of happy bees on the label. But Purdy still held the top of the bottle, his eyes locked on hers.

‘Thank you,’ said C.C., pulling slightly on the bottle. Purdy didn’t let go. ‘Um…’

He must have thought she didn’t remember his name, because he stuck out his free hand, still holding the bottle in the other. C.C. gave him her free hand, not releasing the bottle either, since he hadn’t. It was an awkward shake, her hand too warm from being wrapped around her coffee mug, his cool and a little clammy.

‘I’m Purdy. Everyone calls me Purdy,’ he said, still holding her hand.

‘C.C.,’ said C.C., wondering what in the hell was going on. They sat there, neither letting go of the honey, and Purdy not letting go of her hand. The bell on the front door rang and two men, laughing loudly, stepped in. Purdy startled visibly, and gasped. He let go of her hand, but appeared not to realize he still held the honey.

‘S’okay, Purdy. Just us,’ said a tall, thin man dressed in overalls, a younger man with him, who had to be his son, dressed alike, hair combed with grease alike. They quieted immediately and looked contrite. Purdy gave the men a slight wave. C.C. saw that Meg and Shelly were also looking back and forth between the men and Purdy. Those men acted as if they’d walked too noisily into a library, rather than a restaurant.

She looked at Purdy. He was pale. He slowly turned his attention back to the table, his face quickly pinking. But he still hadn’t let go of the bottle of honey. In fact, if anything, he had a tighter hold on it. And now C.C. too had been holding on for so long that she wasn’t sure how to let go. Plus, she wanted it. On her cornbread. She was feeling rather possessive of it.

Not knowing what else to do, too embarrassed to look at either of her friends or this odd, jumpy man standing there at the other end of her honey bottle, she studied each letter of ‘Minding Our Bees’ Nests’. She smiled, realizing for the first time the pun in the name. ‘That’s a cute name,’ she said, still mulling over her options–letting go of the honey bottle that had been, after all, offered to her. Or pull again, harder. But she immediately felt the blush rising in her cheeks as she realized with a cringe that the last thing spoken before she’d made her comment, was Purdy telling them his name. Oh, Jesus, Mary and Joseph! She’d just sounded like she’d said Purdy was a cute name! She saw Meg and Shelly stifling laughs.

‘I, I mean the honey. “Minding Our Bees’ Nests”‘,’ she added hastily, adding too many Ss at the end. She had a bit of a lisp, which seemed to be getting worse in the past couple of years (she’d even wondered if her tongue had gained weight). But it was a hard combination to say. Suddenly the bottle was in her hand.

‘I hope you enjoy it, uh…uh, ma’am,’ Purdy said kindly.

‘Yum,’ said C.C., setting the honey down close to her. Was he asking for her name again? It would be so embarrassing if she gave it to him, and it wasn’t what he was stuttering about. She felt like she was thirteen! But Purdy nodded and, if she wasn’t mistaken, gave a slight wink. Not in a flirty way, C.C. was sure. Just excited about his honey. She was glad she hadn’t blurted out her name.

He gestured toward the pan, still steaming on the table. ‘Lemme know what you think. That’s my own cornbread recipe. Secret ingredient.’

C.C. feigned adjusting the band of her watch.

‘Just wave if you need anything,’ said Purdy.

C.C. nodded without looking up, not until she heard the other two say thank you and Purdy’s footsteps heading off.

‘Well!’ exclaimed Shelly. ‘My, my. My, my, my, my, my !’ She lifted her mug toward C.C. ‘Ya still got it, babe!’ Meg giggled and lifted her mug too, clinking against Shelly’s. C.C. felt herself turning about four shades of red as the two intertwined arms and gave each other doe eyes, then sipped their drinks.

‘Oh, now, stop that. What!’ They were just being silly. What man would choose to flirt with her over the other two? Of course he wasn’t flirting. He was just…odd, frankly. And he just really believed in his honey. And cornbread. She shook her head dismissively and sipped her drink. ‘Wow! These puppies are strong,’ she said, desperate to change the subject. Shelly and Meg both set their mugs on the table, doe eyes gone, puzzlement in their place.

‘Mine sure isn’t. Is yours?’ Shelly asked Meg.

Meg shook her head. ‘No. In fact, I was just going to say that I’m not sure there’s any kick in there at all. It’s good coffee and all, but—’

C.C. shoved her mug across the table. ‘Here. Taste this.’

Meg took a sip, recoiled. ‘Holy cow!’ She handed it to Shelly.

Shelly sipped, then slapped the table. ‘Hee-heeee! Either he’s trying to get you drunk on your first date or he’s so distracted by your beauty that he poured all three shots of booze into your mug!’

‘Oh, please . You’re nuts, Shelly,’ said C.C., batting the air between them dismissively, and trying hard not to look as embarrassed as she felt.

‘No, I think she’s right,’ whispered Meg, leaning in, smiling. ‘The man is obviously smitten.’

‘And you’re the kitten with whom he’s smitten!’ said Shelly, too loudly.

‘Shhhh!’ hissed both Meg and C.C. Shelly slapped her hand over her mouth, but snickered underneath it. Removing her hand, she turned to Meg, whispering now, but with just as much animation. ‘Hey! I guess we each get our own bed tonight if Purdy makes his move on C.C.’

C.C. kicked her under the table, feeling Meg’s foot doing the same.