by S. Walden
She tore through her drawer until she came across it. Not her sweatshirt but a photograph she had hidden in the bottom, out of sight and mind, until now.
It was a picture of her and her father. She was ten years old. The family had gone to Ocean City, Maryland, one of the rare vacations they took. It was the first time Clara had ever been to the ocean. She could recall the tiny motel room with two double beds. It was dank and dingy and smelled of seaweed. And she loved it. She never thought she could love the smell and stickiness of saltwater so much, the constant wind that whipped her hair in her face, irritating and delicious all at once.
She gazed at herself holding her father’s hand. He was smiling into the camera, but she remembered his impatience. He wanted the picture taken so that he could take Clara out into the water for the first time. He was bronze, and his blond hair almost looked white under the glare of the sun. He squinted and revealed a brilliant smile. He was handsome, and he knew it.
“Now, don’t be afraid,” he said to her. She clutched his hand. “I won’t let go.”
And he led her into the sea, little by little, laughing when she squealed as the waves broke and slapped her shins.
“I like it, Dad!” she screamed above the noise of the water.
“Do you want to go farther in?” her father asked.
“No!” she said. “Not yet. I want to stay right here.”
She tried to jump over the next wave, but she couldn’t go high enough. It slapped against her legs once more, and she laughed. She kicked at the water then jumped up and down when she saw a school of minnows darting towards her.
“Dad!” she said pointing at the fish. “Look!” She tugged on his arm and lifted her face to him. He was staring in the opposite direction, and she peered around his body to see. A woman was approaching. A young thing shimmering with sun-kissed skin. She wore a black bikini that hugged her curves, her breasts bouncing ever so slightly as she walked. She strolled by them from behind, and Clara watched as her father’s gaze followed her, whipping his head around to continue staring as she headed down the beach.
As though hearing Clara for the first time, he said in a distracted sort of way, “What is it, honey?”
“The fish” stuck in Clara’s throat. She couldn’t say it and thought it was unimportant next to the woman in black.
“Nothing,” is what she did say, and her father released her hand. She froze in the water, no longer liking the way the waves smacked her legs when she wasn’t holding on to him.
“I’m going for a short walk, Clara,” he said. “You stay here with your mom and sister.”
She watched him walk away, paralyzed in the water, fearful of the waves and the fish and other things lurking beneath the soft sand.
It was the one bad memory from that trip, and she had the picture to remind her.
Clara stared at the picture, laughing derisively. “Of all the pictures to keep,” she said out loud.
She felt a surge of anger at her father, remembering the way he looked at the woman, wondering absurdly if that was the woman he left her mother for. She ripped the picture in half and her anger eased. But it wasn’t enough. She strode to the living room and threw the pieces in the fire watching as they curled up into themselves until they disappeared. She didn’t know witchcraft, but she hoped her father could feel his face burning. She hoped he was crying out in pain.
She sank down beside the flames shivering violently. She could not make sense of it, of him. She never could. Once she was old enough to see what he was doing—his eyes constantly darting all around him—she felt nothing but confusion. Her mother was beautiful. The most beautiful woman Clara had ever seen. She was clever and vivacious and spontaneous. She was creative. She was smart. She was capable and independent. Why was she not enough for him?
And then Clara considered the unsettling idea that perhaps she was too much for him. Maybe because she could do everything he felt useless. Maybe he was jealous of her and wanted someone who depended on him. Someone who was lost without him. Clara snorted. If only he knew how much she did need him. He wasn’t around to see the aftermath. Her slow and steady descent into depression. The tears she shed for him. She did need him—had always needed him—and she was a fool for not showing him that. And he was a fool for not seeing it.
Clara never did get her sweatshirt. She was afraid to go back into that drawer believing she would find another picture to remind her of her father when all she wanted to do was forget.
***
“Why can’t we stay here?” Beatrice asked. She clutched her teddy bear close to her chest.
“Grandmom needs our help, Bea,” her mother replied. “She’s all alone and wants us to come and live with her.”
“But she’s so far away,” Beatrice complained.
“She’s just on the other side of town,” her mother said. “She’s not that far.”
“We’ll have to go to another school, won’t we?” Clara asked.
Their mother averted her eyes. “I’m sorry girls,” she whispered.
“I don’t want to!” Beatrice cried. “I want to stay with my friends!”
Clara swallowed.
“You’ll still see your friends,” their mother said. “Maybe not as much, but I’ll make sure you still see them.”
Clara listened as Beatrice sniffled into the head of her teddy bear. Her mother slunk out of the room, and she followed leaving Beatrice alone to cry out her frustration.
“Why are we really moving?” Clara asked when they reached the kitchen. “Grandmom doesn’t need our help.”
Her mother turned around and sighed. “I can’t afford to live here,” she said. She looked Clara square in the face. “Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Clara replied.
She only had one friend at school, but she was her best friend. Clara knew how it would go. They would try to see each other every weekend, but then it would change to every other. And then it would change to every once in awhile. And then it would stop altogether. Clara panicked at the idea. She didn’t want to start all over at a new school. She knew her limitations —how painfully shy she was—and couldn’t imagine trying to make a new friend.
“I’m sorry, Clara,” her mother said quietly. Tears coursed down her face.
Clara stood emotionless staring at her mother. “It’s not your fault,” she said in a dead tone. She wanted to cry, but she couldn’t.
Chapter 15
Beatrice was invited to her best friend Angela’s birthday party on a cold Saturday afternoon. Clara withdrew a little money for Beatrice to get a small gift. They had gone that morning to get Angela a bracelet, something sparkly and fun. Something Clara really couldn’t afford to buy but didn’t want Beatrice showing up at a party without.
“It’s no big deal if I don’t bring a present, Clara,” Beatrice had said as they looked over the assortment of bracelets.
“It is a big deal, Bea,” Clara argued. “You can’t show up to a party and eat food and cake that you didn’t pay for without bringing a gift. It’s rude.”
Beatrice shrugged her shoulders.
“And anyway, it’s a birthday party. You bring a gift. That’s what you do.”
Clara picked up a shiny bracelet with multi-colored jewels on it. “Do you think Angela would like this?” she asked holding it out for Beatrice.
Beatrice took the bracelet and turned it over in her hands.
“Yes,” she said finally. “This is the one.”
Clara made sure to ask for a gift box at the jewelry counter. The girls had no paper at home to wrap it, but Clara did find an old spool of Christmas ribbon in a closet and used the white ribbon to tie up the box. Beatrice handmade the birthday card, and Clara thought that in the end, it was a very nice gift.
With Beatrice gone, Clara found herself sitting on the couch and staring at the bracelet receipt. She looked at the total—$11.74—and wondered about all of the other things she could have bought with that money. Fucking Ang
ela, she thought. Fucking Angela and her fucking birthday party that her fucking mother had to throw.
She slapped the receipt on the coffee table and stared into the empty fireplace. The house was cold, but she couldn’t bring herself to make a fire. She knew she would need to in order to boil water for her bath. She wondered if it even mattered—washing before work. She thought it didn’t.
She was jolted by a knock on the front door. It alarmed her every time, her heart catching in her throat, pounding in her esophagus. Her instinct was to run and hide. For one, knocks didn’t happen that often, so she was always suspicious of them, of who it could be, and two, she didn’t want whoever it was to discover that there was no electricity when she opened the door.
She peered out of the front window and saw him standing there. Her nerves didn’t settle. She was more on edge, uncertain about inviting him in. The last time he was in her house it wasn’t so cold.
Clara opened the door. “Why are you here?”
“I thought I’d come see you on my way to work,” Evan replied.
“But you don’t work anywhere near here,” Clara said. She stood in the doorway barring his entrance.
Evan shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets.
“I know I don’t,” he said. “But I’ve got some time. So are you going to let me in?”
Clara looked behind her and then back at Evan.
“Why don’t we go somewhere?” she offered.
“Clara, it’s cold out here. Will you please let me in?” he asked, and gently pushed past her. He walked into the house and froze.
“Where’s the heat?” he demanded.
Clara shut the door feeling her face grow hot, even though the house was frigid.
She didn’t reply.
Evan turned around and looked at her. “You told me the electricity was back on.”
“Did I?” Clara asked. Evan stared at her and she stared back.
“Clara, it’s too cold, and you can’t live like this,” Evan decided.
Clara was already mad at Angela, and now she had someone standing in front of her to take it out on. “I’m doing the best that I can! I don’t make enough money to pay for everything. I’m trying to find a new job. It’s not so easy. No one wants to work around my schedule, my other job.”
“How much do you need?” Evan asked, and Clara looked appalled.
“Don’t you dare,” she seethed, feeling her eyes well up.
“I won’t let you live like this,” Evan replied. “How much, Clara?”
“I’m not taking money from you!”
“You’ll live in the dark, in the cold, instead?” he asked. “What about your sister, Clara? Think about her.”
“Don’t you dare bring her up!” Clara screamed. “This isn’t your problem! I didn’t ask you to come here! I don’t even know why you’re here. Why don’t you just leave?”
Evan looked around the living room, then walked into the kitchen. The bills were there, splayed out on the table along with Clara’s checkbook. He walked over to the table, and Clara sprinted after him. She tried to gather the papers quickly, but he saw what he needed.
“Get out of my house!” she screamed. She was beyond embarrassed, shaking and sweating. She couldn’t make sense of why she felt she’d been caught.
“Clara, I’m going to pay off your gas and electric bills,” Evan said calmly.
“No!” Clara cried. “I won’t take it!”
“I want you to go directly to the bank after school when I bring you the check on Monday.”
“Stop talking! I won’t take money from you!”
“Yes you will!” Evan shouted. He didn’t mean to, and he didn’t do it because he was exasperated with her resistance. He yelled because he was angry with himself, like he should have known the girls were still living like this, with no heat or lights. With no hot water. My God, he thought, how cold must they have been? He pictured them freezing at night, huddled together under all of the blankets in their house, shivering and scared.
He should have known that Clara was lying to him. She always had an excuse for his not coming over. They always went to his house or out somewhere. On the rare occasions when she allowed him to pick her up, she was always waiting for him, hurrying out of the house before he even made it up the walkway to her front door. He felt stupid, only now seeing the obvious signs. He should have known, and he meant to pay for his ignorance.
“It’s not your responsibility to help me.” Clara was crying and angry with herself that he saw her crying. Again.
He looked down at her clutching the bills to her chest, shoulders slumped and defeated.
“I’m not trying to make you feel helpless, Clara,” he said gently. “Or embarrassed. I care about you and Bea. I can’t walk out of this house knowing that I didn’t help you. I cannot allow you to live like this. And I won’t.”
Clara drew in a ragged breath. “It was going to be fine,” she whispered. “We were going to stay with Ms. Debbie.”
The thought of Ms. Debbie was too much. Saying her name broke Clara, and she let out a strangled sob.
“I miss her,” she cried. “She was so pushy and she got on my nerves constantly and she loved us so much.”
Evan put his arms around his girlfriend and let her cry into his chest.
“I feel guilty because she bought me those earrings and she didn’t have any money,” Clara went on. “But she loved us and wanted us to live with her because she had a good heart. And I kept pushing her away because of my pride and desire to prove I could do it on my own. But I can’t. I’m so tired. I can’t do it.”
Evan squeezed her. “You don’t have to do it by yourself,” he said, kissing the top of her head.
She looked up at him, her eyes swimming with tears, a look of determination on her face.
“I’ll pay you back,” she said, her voice shaking. “I will.”
“No you won’t,” Evan said.
“Please let me,” she begged.
“No, Clara,” he replied, wiping away her tears.
“Please,” she whispered, unable to continue fighting.
“No, Clara,” he said softly, and kissed her lips.
She shivered from his touch and from the chill in the room. He pulled her close, her body stretched tightly against him as her arms went around his neck. He kissed her with urgency, feeling that masculine urge to take care of, to protect. He crushed her to him as he kissed her harder, thinking that he wanted to take care of her. Forever.
***
Clara walked into her bedroom and switched on the overhead light. She squinted against its brightness—too bright, she thought—and promptly turned it off. She heard the familiar click of the heat turning on, rumbling low throughout the house, snaking its fingers through the ducts and out the vents, spreading and warming the tiny rooms of her home.
Clara struck a match and lit a candle. She set it on her nightstand then sat down on her bed. She looked up to find Beatrice standing in her doorway.
“I don’t like my light either, Clare-Bear,” Beatrice said. “But I do like the heat.”
Clara smiled and patted the space beside her on the bed. Beatrice walked over and plopped down.
“How did you manage it, Clare-Bear?” Beatrice asked. “And hot water, too?”
Clara wasn’t sure she should tell Beatrice, but she also knew she couldn’t lie. Beatrice would know immediately and then feel hurt by Clara’s deception.
“I have a very nice boyfriend,” Clara said finally.
Beatrice sat silent for a moment.
“It was hard for me to take money from him, Bea,” Clara said. “But he insisted, and I couldn’t argue. Well, I couldn’t keep arguing.”
Beatrice leaned into Clara and rested her head on her sister’s shoulder. “Will you have to pay him back?”
Clara sighed softly. “No, Bea. He won’t let me pay him back. He was pretty adamant about it.”
“What does ‘adamant’ mean?” Beat
rice asked.
Clara grinned. “You just can’t stand not knowing a word, can you?” she teased.
“Just tell me, Clara,” Beatrice replied, hungry for the word’s meaning so that she could store it away to use at the first opportunity.
“It means firm. Unrelenting,” Clara explained.
“I’m adamant about getting to school on time,” Beatrice said, trying out the word.
“You got it,” Clara said wrapping her arm around Beatrice’s waist.
“Clara?”
“Hmm?”
“You have a very nice boyfriend.”
They baked chicken in the oven and had a salad, and Clara put the leftovers in the refrigerator. She kept checking the refrigerator’s temperature by making excuses that she needed to get something out of it.
“Stop it, Clara!” Beatrice demanded. “The refrigerator works. And anyway, you’re wasting electricity when you keep doing that.”
Clara grinned and closed the door. “You’re absolutely right.” She walked over to sit with her sister at the kitchen table.
“Guess what?” she asked.
“What?”
“I got another job,” Clara said.
“Oh Clara!” Beatrice squealed. “I’m so very happy for you!” She thought for a moment. “Not happy that you have to work more, but that you got a job because you wanted another one.” She paused. “Not that you necessarily wanted another job, but I know you need it.”
Clara laughed. “It’s okay, Bea. And yes, I’m excited about it.”
“Where will you be working? Beatrice asked.
“Down the street, actually,” Clara said. “At the grocery store.”
“Oh my!” Beatrice’s face lit up. “Do you get a discount?!”
“No, Bea,” Clara said. “But that would be amazing.”
Beatrice’s face fell ever so slightly. “Well, you can’t have it all,” she said, and Clara laughed.
“Bea?”
“Yes, Clara?”
“What would you like for Christmas this year?” Clara asked.
“Nothing, Clara,” Beatrice lied.
