“I think Chinese food might be my favorite,” she said excitedly as Clara scooped a bit of everything on a plate for her.
“And here I thought it was yogurt,” Clara muttered.
Evan chuckled.
“Evan, I want to eat with chopsticks, too,” Beatrice said.
“No, Bea,” Clara said. “We’ll be here all night.”
Evan ignored Clara and pulled two sets of chopsticks out of the bag. He snapped them apart, rubbed them in between the palms of his hands, and gave a set to each of the girls.
“You kind of hold them like you would a paintbrush,” he began, and Clara decided that she really wouldn’t mind sitting at the table with Beatrice and Evan all night.
***
The warmth she felt while Evan was there quickly vanished once his car pulled out of the driveway. She lay in bed that night thinking about Beatrice losing her job, that precious addition to their income, however little, wiped out because of a mistake. Beatrice dropped the leash, and Clara’s hours at work were dropped as well. She learned it yesterday, and she was already looking for a second source of income.
She tried to ignore the panic growing in the center of her chest. She hadn’t heard the voices again, not since that night, but the anxiety pulsed. She tried to will herself to be brave. But she could see no way out of the debt. The plan she had to pay off the electric bill by the end of October now seemed a dream. She simply didn’t make enough money to cover the cost of all the other bills combined. She thought about cancelling her cell phone service, but she couldn’t. She and Beatrice needed a way to stay in touch, and their phones and calling plan were the cheapest of any she researched.
She couldn’t miss a water payment. They could not go without water. She had not even thought about putting any money towards the gas bill. It was foolish of her, she realized now, when they could have been cooking with the gas stove all along instead of roasting during the hot days of the end of summer with the wood stove. And they wouldn’t have to heat water for baths. Why didn’t she pay off the gas bill first?
She didn’t know what she was doing. She didn’t know how to budget her money. She thought she was doing the right thing, working towards paying off the electric bill. Putting some money towards the property tax. A little bit here. A little bit there. But it all looked like she had done nothing. She still owed everyone, interest and late fees accruing like ants on a sliced apple in the grass.
The panic grew and she jumped out of bed. She went to the kitchen and lit a candle. She pulled out the bills and spread them on the table, reading the numbers to herself and trying to determine what she could do. She still owed $187.72 on the electricity. Beatrice’s short-lived dog-walking job had at least helped to pay down some of it. She had barely touched the gas. The total she owed with new interest charges was $102.44. She didn’t bother to look at the property tax.
And then there were other living expenses. Toiletries, food, gas for her car. Her birthday loomed ahead, and all she could think of was the money she would owe for a new car tag.
What do people do to get money fast? she thought. What could she offer?
She thought about stealing. What could she steal? She didn’t know how to do it—what to steal and where to sell it. Could she rob someone? What a ridiculous thought. She had no more gumption than a baby bunny. But Beatrice did. Could Beatrice rob someone? If she instructed her sister, could Beatrice do it?
Clara shook her head violently. She was horrified at the places her mind took her—the desperate thoughts of desperate means because she could think of no other way out. She had to purge the thoughts, the ugliness from her mind and her heart.
She flew into Beatrice’s room in a panic and tore off her comforter.
Beatrice sat up startled. “Clara?” she asked dazed, her voice thick with sleep.
“We have to pray, Bea,” Clara said frantically. “Hurry, get on your knees. Like me, beside the bed. Please hurry!” she screamed as Beatrice sat immobile.
Beatrice scrambled out of the bed and knelt beside her sister.
“I don’t know how to pray, Clare-Bear,” she said, the fear permeating her voice. She had never seen her sister so frightened.
“Me neither,” Clara confessed. “But we have to try.”
The girls folded their hands and bent their heads.
“Dear God,” Clara began. “I . . . don’t know you. I hope you know me.”
Beatrice listened as her sister’s voice quavered.
“I need help,” Clara continued. “I need you to help us in any way that you can. I need you to forgive me for my bad thoughts.”
“What bad thoughts, Clara?” Beatrice interrupted.
“It doesn’t matter,” Clara said quickly. She continued her prayer. “Please bring our mother home. Please help us.”
She cried outright, unable to hide her fear from Beatrice. She wished she could be strong for her little sister, but she didn’t know how. The fear gripped her, and she felt herself melting into the darkness of depression.
“Say a prayer, Bea,” Clara whispered urgently.
Beatrice grabbed her sister’s hands and held them tightly as she talked. “God, this is Beatrice. My sister woke me up to talk to you because you are supposed to help us. I know that I’m not always good. I have bad thoughts sometimes, just like Clara.”
Clara smiled wearily through her tears.
“They’re mostly about Angela who is my best friend but who I’m jealous of because she has things I wish I had.”
Clara felt the rapid beating of her heart slow as she listened to Beatrice’s voice. It calmed her.
“The point is that I know I’m bad, but I would like to be better. I can make a deal with you if you want,” Beatrice went on.
Clara laughed and it surprised them both.
“I will be good if you do the following: bring Mom home, give us more money to pay the bills, and help Clara to not be scared.”
Clara tensed.
“Amen,” Beatrice said.
“Amen,” Clara echoed.