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.