Clara pulled out a package of two peanut butter chocolate cakes, unwrapped it, and handed one to Beatrice. She took it, the chocolate already melting on her fingers because of the heat from the stove.
The girls stood in the kitchen eating their cakes, neither one talking. Clara took her time with hers; Beatrice gobbled hers up in three bites. They licked the chocolate from their fingers and listened as the tea kettle whistled. Clara removed it and walked to the bathroom. She poured the water in the bath wondering how a TastyKake could be such a powerful ameliorant.
Beatrice chatted about her job over dinner. She took the bus home directly after school each afternoon and biked over to Oak Tower Trail on the days she walked her “clients.” She liked referring to them as clients. She said it made her sound like a real businesswoman.
There was Penelope, a Cairn Terrier who enjoyed jumping all over Beatrice and barking her brains out during their walks. Mrs. Peterson’s Miniature Schnauzer, Duke, was spunky and loveable. He pulled on the leash occasionally, but Beatrice said she didn’t mind. He was too small to drag her anywhere. And Mrs. Levine’s Boston Terrier, Brutus, liked to lick Beatrice all over her face and then promptly fart.
“What?!” Clara asked that evening, laughing while she stirred their clam chowder in a pot on the stove.
“That’s what they do,” Beatrice explained. “Boston Terriers fart. You see, they have these scrunched up faces, and when they eat, they inhale a lot of air. It’s got to come out some way.” She paused and then made a farting noise causing Clara to double over with laughter. “I looked it up on the school computer. They’re called Brachycephalics.”
“Brachycephalics, huh?” Clara said amused. “Did you have to ask someone how to pronounce that?”
Beatrice looked deeply offended. “I can sound out words, Clara.”
“I’m sorry,” Clara said smiling. “Please continue.”
“So anyway,” Beatrice went on, “dogs with squished up faces are called Brachycephalics.”
“Interesting,” Clara replied spooning soup into bowls. She splurged at the grocery store and bought Cheez-Its to go with the soup because they were her favorite snack and she seldom got to eat them. She made sure to use a coupon, though, that she had clipped from the newspapers she took from the residents’ recycling bins on Oak Tower Trail. She discovered by accident the coupon flyers in the newspapers one evening when she was organizing the papers on the kitchen floor. There were loads of them left in the papers carelessly. Wasted money, Clara thought, but then why would the residents of Oak Tower need to use them?
She spent the rest of that evening clipping and organizing her coupons, stashing them greedily in a recipe box she found in a kitchen cabinet. She had entered a small room in heaven when she came across the Cheez-Its coupon. She could justify buying a box, and she squealed with glee.
“I’m glad you like your job, Bea,” Clara said, opening the box of crackers and pouring a small amount on the table beside her soup bowl.
“I really do, Clara,” Beatrice replied. She grabbed the box and dumped a liberal amount of crackers on the table.
“Bea, those are expensive,” Clara pointed out, but she knew she wanted to eat the whole box and figured that since she splurged at the grocery store even with a coupon, she could afford herself the same pleasure at the dinner table. “Oh nevermind,” she said, and grabbed the box. She shook it and watched a stream of goldeny-orange crackers pour forth, collecting in a generous hill next to her soup.
“Do you like your job, Clara?” Beatrice asked between spoonfuls of soup.
“It’s okay,” Clara said. “I just stand behind a register most days and ring up clothes. I like to look at them.”
“Does it make you wish you had them?” Beatrice asked, slurping her soup.
“Bea, don’t do that. It’s unmannerly,” Clara said. She thought that perhaps this was something a mother would say.
“But it’s just us,” Beatrice argued.
“It doesn’t matter. You should have good manners whether you’re alone or out in public,” Clara explained. She was careful to make no sound with her soup when she drank it off the spoon.
Beatrice ignored her as she munched on a Cheez-It. “Does Evan ever talk to you at school?” she asked suddenly.
Clara tensed immediately. “Why would he?”
“I don’t know. He came to talk to you at Open House,” Beatrice said. “Is he your friend?”
Clara laughed bitterly. “No, Bea. He’s not my friend.” She shoved a cracker in her mouth.
“Do you have any friends at school, Clare-Bear?” Beatrice asked.
“Why are you asking me that?” Clara said feeling the beads of sweat prickle her underarms. She didn’t like where this conversation was going.
“Because you should,” Beatrice replied. “And that’s what you wished for.” She picked up her bowl and tilted it to her lips draining the last of its contents.
Clara stared at her mountain of crackers. She had forgotten that she wished for a friend back in the springtime when she and Beatrice sat among the honeysuckle vines.
“You don’t need to worry about whether I have friends,” Clara said looking at her sister. “Worry about yourself.”
Beatrice grunted. “I think you should be friends with Evan,” she suggested. “He’s nice, and he’s cute.”
“Bea,” Clara said. She couldn’t help grinning. “I thought you didn’t look at boys that way.”
“I don’t,” Beatrice said. She walked her bowl over to the kitchen sink. “I mean, I don’t care about boys, but I can still appreciate when they’re handsome.”
Clara burst out laughing.
“What?” Beatrice asked.
Clara finished her soup and carried her bowl to the sink. “Nothing,” she said shaking her head and looking down at her blond-haired sprite of a sister.
“You wished to fall in love, too,” Beatrice went on. A mischievous smile played on her lips.
“Bea . . .”
“I’m just saying,” Beatrice replied shoving the sink stopper in the drain and turning on the faucet. She filled the basin with cold, soapy water. “I’ll wash. You dry.”