Soon the plans were ready — the City of Hickoryvale fast-tracked the permits, knowing how vital it was to get another medical facility up and running. They were already looking for a new doctor to take over Roxanne’s downtown clinic. Archie channeled all his attention to the new project, hiring local trades and laborers. A guy down the road with a backhoe cleared and leveled the ground in front of the clinic, and paved it for a small parking lot. They hired a landscaper to design and plant some gardens around the lot and clinic. Two months later, there was a little public ceremony with the mayor cutting a ribbon, and Roxanne’s new clinic was officially open. That afternoon she and Maggie greeted their first patients. Many of them had followed her here from the downtown clinic.
With the international and local news still dominated by the pandemic, it was easy to forget people still needed medical attention for countless ailments that had been around long before COVID arrived. Women still got pregnant, people had car accidents, hurt themselves working, and contracted a wide range of diseases. Roxanne was on the phone every day to the Hickoryvale hospital, and another in Atlanta, a two-hour drive from Hickoryvale, looking for ways to help people diagnosed with cancer, or heart disease, or who needed their hips or knees replaced.
In the evenings, Roxanne fell into Archie’s arms, exhausted but feeling excited and motivated, ready to tackle the world again. She hadn’t felt like this since she’d completed her Toronto General residency and hung up her first shingle. Because Georgia was such a warm state, they were able to get out and walk together most evenings, making sure to leave their phones back inside the house so they wouldn’t be disturbed. They inspected the bees, the gardens, and walked the property, often stopping for a swim in the stream pool. This usually resulted in a love-making session on the grassy bank, each of them feeling like they were getting their batteries charged. It was during those hours after their lovemaking, they had their deepest conversations, and touched on what the future might hold in store for them.
It was on such an evening, lying on a blanket they’d brought along for after their swim, and drinking a cold beer, that Archie raised the big question. Roxanne was naked on her side, stretched out alongside Archie who was on his back. One of her legs was laying across his thighs; her upper breast lay across the edge of his chest. As they spoke, her hand slowly slid up and down his chest, upper legs, and over his now flaccid member. His hand slowly caressed her hip, thigh, and breast.
“Roxanne, I’m going to broach a subject that’s been on my mind for a couple of months now, and I don’t quite know how to say it. We’re not exactly kids anymore and I’ve already done the ‘go down on one knee’ thing years ago and it didn’t work out so well. The truth is, I’d really like for us to get married, and if by some minor miracle you’re of a similar mind, I’d like to you help me figure out how to do it. I’d like you to pick out your ring — you’re the one that’ll be wearing it for the rest of your life. If there is a special way you’d like to be asked to make it official… anything you like… let me know and I’ll do it.”
All of this had gushed out of Archie in one long frantic sentence and he finally paused, catching his breath.
“Ahhhh, geez,” he said. “That was probably the worst proposal in the history of mankind.”
He finally glanced over at her and could see her eyes welling up, the first tears spilling from her eyes and flowing down her cheeks.
“Oh baby, I’ve been thinking about this too. It would make me deliriously happy to marry you. And I’m no expert either, having never done it before.”
Archie was surprised at how relieved he was to hear her say this and took her in a full-body hug.
“These are crazy times, baby,” said Roxanne, once she’d recovered from the surprise of Archie’s heartfelt monolog. “Neither of us has much family, so it’ll probably be a casual affair. How about right here in our backyard in the flower garden, with several thousand bees buzzing around?” She was crying lustily now.
“Sounds perfect to me,” said Archie, his eyes now leaking a bit, too. They embraced again and he felt himself hardening, pressing urgently into the soft flesh of her thigh. “I have an idea to make it official,” he whispered in her ear.
Roxanne rolled onto her back, spreading her legs and pulling Archie over on top of her, his legs between hers.
“I have a hunch this idea is going to be a shit-load better than kneeling,” she said, smiling lecherously, her eyes still liquid with tears.
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November 2020
Roxanne’s bees were thriving; she’d been a quick study as a ‘beek’ as she now referred to herself. One of the most difficult tasks for new beekeepers is controlling the Varroa mite, which over the past twenty years, spread across North America, infesting and destroying hundreds of thousands of honey bee colonies. Archie had used the same control method as Nessy Carmichael — sprinkling and dusting the interior of the hive boxes with powdered icing sugar. The theory; mites couldn’t cling as easily to the bees because the sugar made them slippery. And it was harmless — one hundred percent natural and chemical-free.
Research had debunked the effectiveness of the icing sugar method, so Roxanne had purchased an oxalic acid vaporizer. The resulting vapor killed the mites but was mostly harmless to the bees. Oxalic acid was a natural compound — it was what made rhubarb sour, so was harmless if a bit of it got into the honey frames. She treated every hive just before first light so no bees were out browsing yet, every morning for ten days, ensuring she’d killed every mite throughout the hives — even ones sealed inside cells with newly laid eggs. Then she treated weekly after that as browsing bees constantly brought new Varroa back to the hive after jostling with other bees in the field. Her Varroa-free hives were healthier, stronger, and produced considerably more honey than infected hives.