Honeysuckle Love

by S. Walden

  She didn’t know if the voices were inside her head or inside her dream or if that was one in the same. She read about psychotic episodes, how it was common to have them going into a depression, and she feared for her sanity. She listened for them. If they talked to her while she was awake, then she knew she had a huge problem on her hands. But if they only talked to her in her dreams, she thought she was safe.

  The room was quiet. She closed her eyes and listened hard. Nothing.

  “I’m not crazy,” she said out loud. She didn’t believe her own voice. She said it again, this time trying to sound more convincing. “I’m not crazy,” and she halfway believed it.

  She pulled on the dry clothes and went back to bed. She ran her hand gingerly over the bed sheets and discovered that her sweat had soaked them, too. She considered sleeping on the couch, but it was uncomfortable, and she would freeze. She thought she could squeeze into Beatrice’s bed. Beatrice wouldn’t mind.

  She crept quietly into her sister’s room and slid into bed beside her. It was a twin that afforded little room, but Clara liked the snugness. Beatrice stirred.

  “Clara?” she asked drowsily.

  “Shhh. Go back to sleep,” Clara whispered.

  “Are you okay?” Beatrice mumbled.

  “Yes,” Clara replied. “I just wet the bed,” she said, and then giggled.

  Beatrice didn’t understand but giggled like she did.

  The girls fell asleep, Clara cradling her little sister against her body and feeling safe.

  ***

  Beatrice didn’t know how to broach the subject, so she simply blurted it out.

  “Clara, it’s not uncommon for teenagers to wet the bed,” she said the next morning as Clara watched the bacon sizzle in the pan on the stove.

  She perfected this two days ago—learning how to cook bacon and eggs on the skillet using the wood stove. It really wasn’t any different from using the gas stove, though it took longer. She couldn’t understand why she hadn’t been cooking with the skillet all along. A whole new menu opened up to them, and she felt a surge of happiness.

  Ms. Debbie agreed to keep Clara’s groceries that required refrigeration, and Clara sent Beatrice over to get the food items as she needed them. Clara refrained from going over herself as much as possible because Ms. Debbie constantly wanted to talk about new living arrangements for the girls. Clara appreciated Ms. Debbie’s generosity, but she appreciated her own bed more.

  “Bea, what are you talking about?” Clara asked distracted.

  “You don’t have to be ashamed,” Beatrice said. She felt embarrassed and fidgeted with the plates and forks on the table.

  “Ashamed about what?”

  “You confessed to me last night,” Beatrice said. “In the bed. In the darkness. I can understand that. Who wants to admit they wet the bed in broad daylight?”

  Clara burst out laughing.

  “What?” Beatrice asked.

  “Oh my God, Bea!” Clara cried. “I didn’t wet the bed. I made a joke. A joke!”

  “I don’t get it,” Beatrice said. She furrowed her brows in frustration.

  “I woke up sweating,” Clara explained. “Sweating hard. So much so that I wet the bed with my sweat. I had to change my clothes because they were soaked through!”

  “Ohhh,” Beatrice said. “I didn’t think you wet the bed,” she lied. She was so relieved.

  Clara chuckled as she flipped the bacon pieces.

  “I confess that I don’t think I could have looked at you the same again, Clare-Bear,” Beatrice said.

  “Yeah, well I wouldn’t be able to look at me the same either, you nut,” Clara replied.

  “Just please don’t ever wet the bed, Clara,” Beatrice begged.

  “Not even when I’m old and gray,” Clara replied looking back at her sister. “Scrambled or dip eggs?”

  “Your choice because I’m soooo happy you didn’t pee in your bed,” Beatrice said, and Clara burst out laughing all over again.

  They ate most of their breakfast in silence until Beatrice piped up with a question.

  “Clara?” she asked.

  “Yes?”

  “Why did you sweat so badly last night?”

  “I had a bad dream, that’s all,” Clara replied.

  “Do you have bad dreams a lot?” Beatrice asked.

  “No.”

  “Good.” She took her plate to the kitchen sink and looked out the window. “Clara?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Why is Evan in our back yard?”

  “What?!” Clara jumped up from the table and ran to the window. She pressed her face against the pane and watched as Evan opened the shed door that she never bothered to lock and walked inside. He wore a pair of old jeans that sported paint stains and a few tears in the knees and a soft flannel shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He emerged with a rake, shovel, and hedge clippers and leaned them against the side of the shed before disappearing into the darkness. He came out a few seconds later pushing a lawn mower and carrying a gas can, and Clara decided it was time to confront the new landscaper.

  She stormed outside forgetting that she wasn’t wearing a bra, and approached Evan.

  “Oh, hi Clara,” he said brightly.

  “Hi yourself,” she snapped. “What are you doing here? And why are you in my shed?”

  “I figured it would be your mom or dad running out here to ask what I’m doing,” Evan replied.

  Clara felt hot all over. “Why are you here?” she demanded.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Evan asked. “I thought I’d help you with the yard today.”

  “We don’t need any help,” she said.

  Evan took an inventory of his surroundings. Tree limbs strewn about, leaves everywhere, overgrown shrubs. He looked back at Clara, his brows raised in question.

  “You sure?” he asked grinning.

  Clara tried for a retort, but it was useless. The yard was a mess, and she couldn’t possibly get it cleaned up on her own. She looked around her and sighed.

  “Clara?” Evan asked. He tried to avoid looking at her pale blue shirt. It hugged her in all the right places, and he could make out her hardened nipples underneath the flimsy fabric.

  “Yes?” she said turning back to him.

  “Where are your parents?” he asked.

  Clara considered him. She had two options. She hoped she chose the right one.

  “Come inside,” she said resigned. “We’ll talk.”

  Evan sat quietly thinking.

  “If you report us, I’ll kill you,” Clara said. She held up the knife she was using to butter their toast. She had nothing really to offer him but bread she toasted on the skillet with some strawberry jam she bought using one of her precious coupons.

  “Put the knife down,” Evan said, thinking how painful it would be to get stabbed with the blunt end of a butter knife. “And I’m not going to report you.”

  Beatrice sat close to Evan hoping he would invite her and Clara for yogurt again.

  “I know it’s a lot to take in,” Clara said, spreading jam over the three pieces of toast. “I can’t even believe I told you.”

  “I’m glad you did,” Evan replied.

  “Why?” she asked aggressively. “Why would anyone want to know about this? What can you do with this information except hurt us?”

  Evan looked deeply offended. His entire body stiffened, and he instinctively balled his hands into fists. “Don’t say that again,” he demanded. “I would never hurt you.”

  Beatrice noted Evan’s demeanor and placed her hand on his forearm lightly. “Evan, are you a passionate person like I am? I feel like you are,” she said quietly, and Clara wanted to smack her.

  Evan smiled at Beatrice. “Yes, Bea. I’m very passionate.” He turned back to Clara. “I won’t hurt you, Clara,” he insisted, unable to ignore her accusation.

  “I believe you,” she said softly. She handed them each a piece of toast, and they ate in silence.


  Evan considered what would be expected of him in this situation. He should report them. That’s what anyone else would do. It was unfair to them that they had to live on their own. They were just girls—two young girls. They shouldn’t have to live like this. In the dark. So poor. Clara taking on responsibilities that should be reserved for adults. But they weren’t frightened, he noted. In fact, they both appeared well-adjusted and healthy. And then he realized what could happen if he did notify the authorities. They would be taken away, perhaps to two different homes. How could he be responsible for that?

  No wonder Clara was so resistant. The realization was like a slap in the face. She didn’t want him getting close. She didn’t want him to know anything. No wonder she acted so reserved and nervous around him. He started believing that she truly didn’t like him. Now he realized that wasn’t the case at all. She was just being protective of herself and her sister. She was a good sister to Beatrice—responsible and loyal and kind—and he felt a rush of admiration for her. Clara was a good girl, and he wanted nothing more than to kiss her in that moment of discovery, that moment when his heart grew with what he thought could be love for her. Real love.

  “What can I do to help?” Evan asked.

  “Nothing,” Clara replied. “It’s not your job to help.”

  “I know it’s not my job, Clara,” Evan said patiently. “But I’m asking you because I want to.”

  Beatrice could stand it no more. “We really just love yogurt, and maybe you could take us to get some again.” She instantly regretted her words as she looked over at Clara.

  Evan looked at Clara, too, and shook his head. She drew her mouth tight fighting the urge to rebuke her sister.

  “I would love to take you for yogurt anytime,” Evan said. “What do you say we clean up your yard and then treat ourselves afterwards?”

  “Well, that’s the only way to do it!” Beatrice said. “You can’t give yourself treats until you do something to deserve them, right Clara?”

  Clara shrugged and looked down at her feet. Only then did she get a glimpse of her nipples pressing firmly against the material of her shirt.

  “Oh my God,” she said to herself, and hurried to her bedroom. She slammed the door and pulled open her top dresser drawer. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” she said grabbing a bra and tossing it on the bed. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” she whispered tearing off her shirt and securing the bra.

  She heard a knock on the door.

  “What?” she asked alarmed. “Don’t come in!”

  “What’s wrong, Clara?” Beatrice asked. “Are you coming out again?”

  “Yes. I’m just changing,” Clara replied.

  “Oh.” Beatrice sounded relieved. “I’ll change too and meet you outside.”

  Clara did not respond. She sat on the edge of her bed feeling horrified, staring ahead at her closet door, wearing only her bra and cotton pants trying to muster the courage to emerge from her bedroom. Once she was fully dressed.

  “Okay Clara?” Beatrice pressed. She wouldn’t leave until Clara acknowledged her.

  “Yes Beatrice. I’ll meet you outside.”

  She did emerge from her room eventually, and she was dressed in an old pair of jeans that were too short and a long sleeve T-shirt, her breasts nicely secured in a bra with no nipples showing. She pulled her hair up in a high ponytail, and Evan liked it immediately. He’d never seen her wear her hair like that. She wore ponytails at school, but they were always low, hovering about the nape of her neck. Understated or serious. Not this one. This one was flirty, and it wanted him to look at it. His desire for her intensified the longer he stared.

  He walked with her to the back yard and Beatrice soon followed. The three stood in the center of the yard and considered the work ahead.

  “Maybe assigning tasks?” Evan offered.

  “I want to push the lawn mower,” Beatrice said.

  “Absolutely not,” Clara replied. “It’s dangerous and you can slice your feet off. Is that what you want? No feet?”

  Evan grinned. “I’ll mow the lawn,” he offered. “I’m sure there’s no gas in the mower, so I’ll need to run to the station to get some.”

  “I’ll give you money,” Clara said.

  Evan ignored her. He was not going to take money from Clara, not after what he saw. He was shocked to learn the girls had been living the past seven weeks with no electricity. They didn’t live in shambles, but he could tell from the moment he walked inside that everything was worn and old. The furniture looked like it needed to be retired. He noticed the wallpaper peeling in the corners of the kitchen, and water damage in various spots on the walls. Still, the girls kept the house clean. It was slowly falling apart around them, but it was clean.

  “I’ll rake then,” Beatrice said. “Even though it would be much more fun to mow.”

  Clara helped her sister with another rake she found shoved in the back of the shed. There were so many leaves, all of a sudden she noticed, when just yesterday she swore that the trees were full of them. Now the trees stood naked, shed of their colorful clothing, and Clara felt embarrassed for them.

  The girls only got a portion of the back yard raked when Evan returned with gas for the mower. He readied the equipment, checking this and that—Clara had no clue—then approached Beatrice.

  “I’ll finish this,” he said taking the rake from her. “You start picking up all those sticks. And if you come across big rocks, pick those up too. I’d like to keep my eyeballs while I mow.”

  “Where do I put everything?” Beatrice asked.

  Evan looked around. “In that back corner,” he said pointing to the dead honeysuckle vines.

  “No!” Clara said. She hurried over to Beatrice. “Not there, Bea. Over there,” she suggested, pointing to a spot on the opposite side of the yard.

  “I know, Clara,” Beatrice replied. “Evan doesn’t understand.” And she went to work.

  “Special spot?” Evan asked as Clara began raking again.

  “Yes,” she said quietly, and Evan didn’t pry.

  They worked all day, and though the weather was chilly, they were breathing heavily and caked with sweat when it was all over. But the yard looked beautiful, clean and trim, and Clara rejoiced that it was one less thing she had to be ashamed about on her long list of embarrassing things.

  “I believe we discussed frozen yogurt,” Evan said as they sat at the kitchen table late in the afternoon downing glasses of water. Clara wished she had ice.

  “Maybe another time,” Clara said. “We’re dirty.”

  Beatrice pouted. Evan let his eyes rove over Clara and thought she never looked so sexy. The knees of her pants where dirt-stained from kneeling and pulling weeds. She had brown streaks on her cheeks from wiping sweat away with her dirty garden gloves. Her ponytail was tangled and knotted and sported a few pieces of stray leaves and pine straw. He watched her lick her lips after another swallow of her water, the moisture glistening on her full mouth, and he wanted to lunge at her from across the table, tackle her to the floor, taste the dirt and salty sweat on her. He wished that Beatrice was somewhere far away.

  “Please Clare-Bear,” he heard Beatrice whine, and forced himself out of his fantasy.

  “I don’t mind going like this if you don’t,” Evan said.

  “Well, I do,” Clara replied.

  “Oh Clara,” Beatrice said. “You look beautiful as you always do.”

  Evan wanted to agree, “Fuck yeah!” but kept his mouth shut.

  “Please let’s go for fro-yo,” Beatrice pleaded.

  “Fro-yo?” Clara mocked. “It’s fro-yo now?”

  “Well, that’s what everyone calls it,” Beatrice replied scowling.

  “But not you, Bea,” Clara said. “Because you’re not an idiot.”

  Beatrice harrumphed and crossed her arms over her chest. Evan looked at Clara as if to say, “You know you’re going to lose this one.”

  “Fine,” Clara said, and Beatrice squealed.<
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  Chapter 9

  Clara hadn’t seen Jen, Meredith, or Katy for two weeks—not since the embarrassing blowup at the mall. She figured they would never try to talk to her again, and a part of her was relieved. The other part was undecided. She did want girlfriends, she just didn’t know if she wanted those particular girls as friends. She certainly could never let them come over to her house. She felt like it was impossible to have normal friendships because of her home life. But then Beatrice did. Why couldn’t she? Then she realized it was because Beatrice was good at lying. She could keep her friends away from the house with all sorts of made-up stories. Clara wasn’t lucky enough to be such a good liar. She was a prisoner to her secrecy instead, and in that moment, she fumed with hatred for her mother.

  She was at her locker putting books away, vaguely aware of a pixie walking towards her.

  “Hey, Clara,” Katy said, tentatively approaching her.

  “Hi, Katy,” Clara said. She closed her locker door softly.

  “I’m really sorry about the mall thing,” Katy said. “I didn’t know.”

  Clara looked at the floor. “It’s okay. I’m sorry for yelling at you in front of everyone. I really embarrassed myself.”

  “I don’t think sometimes,” Katy said. “It’s my fault. I don’t think sometimes about other people’s situations.”

  Clara shrugged.

  “We looked for you,” Katy continued. “We walked around the parking lot forever looking for you.”

  Clara couldn’t hide her surprise. She would have never believed it and felt instantly ashamed for thinking that the three girls were bitches.

  “I wanted you to know that,” Katy said quietly. “We would have never left you alone. How did you get back to school?”

  “I took the city bus,” Clara replied.

  “Oh,” Katy said. She shuffled her feet. “Jen and Meredith wanted to come talk to you, too, but they didn’t want you to think we were ganging up on you.”