“What are you doing?” Evan asked Clara, his tone slightly annoyed. He looked at the girl behind the register. “I’ve got these,” he said waving a hand between Clara’s yogurt and his. “And hers,” he said pointing over to Beatrice.
“I can pay for my own yogurt,” Clara said softly, her face going pink with embarrassment and flattery.
“I know you can,” Evan replied pulling out his wallet. “But I invited you.” He handed a twenty dollar bill to the girl who grinned while listening to the exchange. Clara wondered how many twenty dollar bills Evan had in his wallet. She shook her head instantly, ashamed of the thought, but she couldn’t deny his nice clothes, his nice car. She wondered what his parents did for a living. Evan seemed well off—not rich, but certainly comfortable.
“Thank you for the yogurt,” Clara said. She and Evan walked over to join Beatrice who was already halfway done with hers.
“Thank you for the yogurt, Clara,” Beatrice said sweetly. “It’s really good!”
“Don’t thank me,” Clara replied. “Thank Evan.” It was the first time she said his name out loud in front of him. He liked the way it sounded on her lips, in her mouth.
Evan sat down across from Beatrice and observed her cup. “I believe I have one extra topping,” he said. “So I guess I won.”
Beatrice leaned over and counted the toppings on his yogurt. Evan was right. She sat back and grinned.
“I let you win,” she said. “If I would have added one more, then the entire mixture of flavors would have been off. You see?”
“I see,” Evan replied. He looked over at Clara, and this time she smiled at him, a warm genuine smile.
“Thank you for my yogurt, Evan,” Beatrice said.
“Anytime, Bea.”
***
Clara lay on her bed that evening feeling the tears run down the sides of her face to pool inside her ears. She didn’t wipe at them; she didn’t care. She was no longer upset with Beatrice and felt mildly guilty for snapping at her so angrily. She knew Beatrice loved her fiercely, and in the only way her sister knew how, she saw fit to make certain Evan would love Clara just as fiercely. That was if he decided to love her. It was sisterly devotion, and Clara wished now that she could have appreciated it then. She wished, too, that she wasn’t so terribly shy and embarrassed all the time.
She never had anyone interested in her before, and she didn’t know how to act. She didn’t even know if she was allowed to like Evan or to let him like her. Why did he like her? She couldn’t understand. There was nothing special about her. She was just a quiet girl who walked the halls of school like a ghost. No one ever paid any attention to her. She was a nobody, and she didn’t mind it. It was easier to cope with her anxiety that way.
But it was more than just feeling invisible. Everything changed in the house once her mother vanished. Clara was the parent now, the breadwinner, the one responsible for keeping Beatrice fed and clothed and happy. She found herself in the precarious position of having to watch her back. She couldn’t let anyone get too close for fear of their discovery. What if Evan learned that their mother was gone? What if he notified officials and the girls were taken away? Or worse, split apart? She couldn’t imagine that scenario; it seemed ridiculous and over-the-top—like something in a TV crime drama—but it could happen.
Clara forced herself to confront the realization: She couldn’t let Evan in. She simply couldn’t, at least not now. She had to do that for Bea. She had to protect Bea. Evan would have to go away. She would reject him. She wouldn’t talk to him, wouldn’t let him invite her places. Wouldn’t let him be nice to her. She would ignore him, pretend he didn’t exist. He might be hurt, but there were plenty of girls at school who would gladly mend his broken heart. All too happy to nurse him back to emotional health with their kisses and sweet words. She thought of Brittany and scowled.
Clara rolled over and buried her face in her pillow. The despair that she tried hard to keep out found its way in, sliding through the cracks and tears of her feeble heart. Curling around her core and choking her. She let out a muffled sob, only realizing then that it was the first time she cried hard and didn’t care if Beatrice could hear.
Chapter 8
She did everything to fight it. She tried to be reasonable. He’d seen her house. He didn’t care. He took them for yogurt. He said he liked her. But the sinking. She fought and fought, but the sinking started anyway. It was a new feeling she’d never experienced. Like her heart was plunged in ice water, and she thought it would stop altogether and she would die.
She researched it at the library. She remembered what Beatrice said: “You get that from Mom, you know.” The panic ached in the middle of her chest, and she couldn’t breathe right. She took long, ragged breaths but couldn’t breathe. She read the words on the computer screen: Depression typically sets in anywhere from the ages of 15 to 35. Symptoms include but are not limited to fatigue, loss of interest, fear of the unknown, anxiety, thoughts of worthlessness, thoughts of suicide . . .
Clara logged off the computer immediately. She would not allow herself to believe it. Yes, she felt funny, but then she always felt funny. She looked down at her hands. They shook ever so slightly. They’d never done that before, not when she was alone.