She felt the transfer of power, but it wasn’t the same as when they sat talking in the cafeteria. This power was dangerous and reckless. She could do anything with it, and a violent shudder coursed through her at the thought of it. She thought she could make him come undone if she reached out to touch his arm. A shock. A jolt into another universe. What would be his response? Would he throw her over his shoulder like a barbarian and take her to his room? Would he tear her clothes off and then tear into her like a starving wild beast? What could she do with that touch, that power that flowed through her? She thought she could make him do anything. Bow down to her. Crawl behind her. Kiss her feet after she kicked him with them. For that moment she was Bathsheba Everdeen, and the wicked smile returned, playing on her lips in a cruel way that made him impossibly hard and impossibly frustrated.
“Stop thinking whatever you’re thinking and go,” he ordered, grinning painfully.
“Okay,” she said.
***
“Mr. Brenson says I have a singing career on my hands, Clara!” Beatrice screamed in the car.
“Bea, take it down a couple of notches,” Clara said. She wasn’t focused on her sister at all. All she could think about was Evan’s lips on her, the tingling she’d never felt before, the desire for him so great that it made her body feel like jelly.
“I’m the best singer in the whole school!” Beatrice went on as loudly as before.
“Well, I already knew that,” Clara replied.
Beatrice walked around the house constantly singing, and Clara loved it. Her sister’s voice was soothing and sweet. She remembered back to her birthday. Beatrice was the only one who sounded good singing Clara’s birthday song, but it was hard to hear over Ms. Debbie’s screeching notes and Evan’s voice completely lost to the song’s melody. Beatrice definitely had the gift of song, and Clara’s heart swelled with pride for her sister. She couldn’t wait to watch her on stage in a few weeks.
Ms. Debbie was standing on her front porch waving at the girls as Clara pulled into the driveway. Clara wondered if it was coincidence that Ms. Debbie was outside at the exact moment they came home or if she was waiting for them. More likely the latter, Clara decided, and she didn’t want to go through another tug-of-war conversation with her neighbor about electricity.
“Ms. Debbie!” Beatrice yelled as she climbed out of the car. She ran over to her neighbor to tell her about play practice.
Clara hung back collecting book bags and a few groceries from the trunk. She waved to Ms. Debbie then bolted into the house. She was tempted to lock the door, but she’d lock out Beatrice.
She plopped everything on the living room floor and withdrew the few grocery items from the plastic bag. She planned to make BLT’s for dinner, and walked into the kitchen to light candles and heat the stove. It had become so habitual that Clara wondered if paying off the electric bill even mattered anymore. The only real difficulty came about at night when the cold set in, a piercing chill that caused the girls to shake violently, hold each other in a cluster ball of goose bumps and chattering teeth. They practically slept on top of the fire.
Thankfully Beatrice came inside without Ms. Debbie. Clara let Beatrice watch the sizzling bacon while she sliced a fat beefsteak tomato.
“Will you sit with Evan at my play?” Beatrice asked, keeping her eyes glued to the juicy slices of meat hissing in the pan. She licked her lips.
“I didn’t think about it,” Clara responded. The thought alarmed her. She really didn’t want to sit with his family, introduce herself and then have to lie about why her parents weren’t there. “A cruise,” she could hear herself saying, and Evan looking at her in disbelief.
“I probably won’t,” Clara decided walking over to the stove. She flipped the pieces over and listened as the hissing registered a higher, more urgent note.
“Why not?” Beatrice pressed. “He’s your boyfriend now.” She giggled with glee as she looked up at her sister. She suddenly flung her arms around her sister’s waist, Clara’s hand outstretched to keep the greasy spatula away from Beatrice’s face. “Oh Clara! I just knew you two would become boyfriend and girlfriend!
“Oh you did, huh?” Clara asked smiling.
“Oh yes!” Beatrice continued. “Evan is so in love with you. He has a passionate spirit like me, remember? Remember he said so?”
Clara nodded, her brain stuck on the word “love.”
“Are you going to marry him? I hope that you do, Clara. I want you to marry him.”
Beatrice looked up at her sister, her large blue eyes sparkling with the hope that children have for a magical future where anything is possible and is always underlined with happiness. Clara looked down at Beatrice.
“I’ll think about it,” she said, and took the bacon off the stove.
Chapter 13
Beatrice’s play was at seven o’clock. Three days before Thanksgiving. Ms. Debbie insisted they have dinner with her. In fact, she required that they stay the entire day and night, and for the first time, Clara did not argue. She couldn’t pass over the offer of a roasted turkey with all the trimmings, and she certainly wouldn’t make Beatrice go without it. Clara found it strange that her heart ached more for her mother during this holiday than her own birthday.
She never remembered a Thanksgiving when her mother wasn’t in the kitchen cooking. The smells—the delectable smells of onions and celery sautéing in the pan. Rich oysters frying. Oh, the oysters, Clara remembered. Mixed into the homemade stuffing. She would always hunt for them with the serving spoon when the stuffing was passed, her mother yelling at her to leave some for others. The oysters were a rare, expensive treat. Something Clara only saw on the table at Thanksgiving and Christmas.
She could see her mother in an apron looking pretty and important. It was important, the things her mother did in the kitchen, because she was feeding them. A basic human need met with love and skill. This year, it would be Ms. Debbie in the kitchen, hustling about, sautéing and frying and roasting and baking. Clara demanded she help, and Ms. Debbie did not argue.
“I was going to ask for your help anyway,” Ms. Debbie said as she, Clara, and Beatrice drove to the school that evening.