“We heat water.” Clara lowered her eyes. “Please don’t call them,” she said softly.
“Call who?” Ms. Debbie asked. Her fat face glistened with sweat.
“The state,” Clara said. “I’m working. I’m working to pay off the bills, and Beatrice and I are doing fine. We don’t want to leave. I’m begging you. Please don’t call.” Her eyes filled with tears.
“Clara, I’ve no intention of calling the state,” Ms. Debbie said. ‘They’ve got their hands in enough of our business already. But I am concerned about you not having electricity. I don’t know how I feel about you lighting fires in this house.”
“I’m responsible,” Clara argued.
Ms. Debbie thought for a moment. “I know it. I wish you didn’t have to be so responsible.”
“I’m working too,” Beatrice offered. “I walk dogs.”
“And where do you walk dogs?” Ms. Debbie asked. She smiled at the young girl.
“Oak Tower Trail,” Beatrice answered.
“Well, I imagine that’s a lucrative business,” Ms. Debbie said.
“What does ‘lucrative’ mean?” Beatrice asked.
“Profitable,” Ms. Debbie explained. “It means I’m sure those people pay you well.”
“Oh, they do!” Beatrice said grinning.
Ms. Debbie stood up suddenly. “Come on,” she ordered. “We’re going to my house for breakfast.” She waddled towards the front door.
“Ms. Debbie, we don’t want to be a bother,” Clara said.
“Nonsense. When was the last time you had pancakes, Beatrice?” Ms. Debbie asked.
“A million years ago!” Beatrice squealed running for the front door.
“Ms. Debbie—”
“Clara,” Ms. Debbie interrupted. “We are going to my house for breakfast and to discuss the logistics of this new living arrangement. You will not argue with me. Now let’s go.”
“Let’s go, Clara,” Beatrice piped up.
Clara nodded and followed Ms. Debbie and her sister out the door.
“I think you girls should live with me for a little while,” Ms. Debbie said as the three sat at her kitchen table eating pancakes with strawberry syrup and bacon. Beatrice downed her glass of milk and asked for another.
“No, Ms. Debbie,” Clara replied. “It’s really kind of you but we prefer to stay in our house.”
“Clara, you’re living in the dark!” Ms. Debbie pointed out.
“No, we’re camping,” Beatrice said. She rolled a piece of bacon up in her pancake and ate it like a fajita.
“Clara, what will you do when it gets cold?” Ms. Debbie asked.
“We’ll have the electricity back on by then,” Clara said.
“Where are you storing your cold items?” Ms. Debbie asked.
“We don’t have any,” Clara said. “We keep canned goods.”
“Beatrice isn’t drinking milk? She needs milk Clara,” Ms. Debbie said acting as though Beatrice was just an infant.
“We eat at school,” Clara said. “Breakfast and lunch. She gets her milk, Ms. Debbie.”
Ms. Debbie looked a little less perturbed. “And bathing? Washing clothes?”
“We heat water to wash,” Clara said. “We told you this, Ms. Debbie. And I take the dirty clothes to the laundromat.”
“It’s absolutely insane,” Ms. Debbie said. She looked at the girls sitting across from her. “Here is how it will happen,” she said firmly. “You will continue with this ridiculous arrangement until the weather turns cold. If your electricity is not back on, you will come and stay with me at night so that I don’t go over to your house one day and find two ice blocks with girls in them!”
Her eyes were wide and commanding.
“You will come to my house every Sunday afternoon for lunch and once a week for dinner.”
“Ms. Debbie,” Clara began.
“Clara Greenwich, I’ve had about enough out of you!” Ms. Debbie said. She breathed deeply, a long ragged breath that rattled in her chest.
Clara promptly closed her mouth.
“That’s the arrangement,” Ms. Debbie said. She got up from the table and lumbered to the kitchen sink. “Period.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the girls said in unison.
***
“Interested in joining a book club?” Florence asked as the girls sat in science class balancing equations.
“Are you in one?” Clara replied.
“No, but I figured I should read more,” Florence said. “We could start one. You could lead it since you read all the time.”
Clara considered the suggestion. A book club. But then who would join?
“Who would join, Florence?” Clara asked, moving on to the next problem.
“I don’t know,” Florence said. “We could put up some flyers on the bulletin boards.”
“And where would we have it? How often would we meet? Who would decide on books and discussion questions?”
“I don’t know, Clara. I haven’t figured out the details,” Florence said annoyed. “Maybe we could meet at your house if you led the group.”
Clara tensed. She wasn’t really interested in a book club anyway, but now she definitely thought it was a bad idea.
“Who has time to read more than what we’ve already got to for English class?” Clara asked as she thought of more questions to discourage Florence.
“Oh my gosh. I don’t know,” Florence replied. She placed her pencil on the table and looked towards the classroom door. A book club suddenly seemed like too much work. “Perhaps not a book club,” she said, and Clara smiled relieved. “But we need to be doing something.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re supposed to be doing things in high school besides just going to school,” Florence explained.
Clara caught herself. She was about to say that she had more than enough to keep herself busy without adding clubs and after-school activities to the list.
“Like what?” Florence would undoubtedly ask.
“Oh, I don’t know. Things like being a standin mother and breadwinner for my sister since my mom ran away. Things like that,” Clara would respond. And then she could see Florence’s eyes go as big and as round as saucers.
“Why should popular kids get to do everything?” she heard Florence ask.
“Because they’re popular,” Clara replied. “And they’re not joining book clubs, I can tell you that.”