“There’ve been other girls, okay?!” he shouted. “I’m not a fucking monk!”
Clara stared at the floor. She seethed with an anger she knew was unjustified. Yes, his comment was stupid, but she was angry that he’d had other sexual partners, and that wasn’t fair. She knew it wasn’t fair—she didn’t even know him then—but she was infuriated and jealous nonetheless.
“I’ve been with three girls, okay?” he confessed. His blood boiled with words he knew he shouldn’t say, but he was pissed off, so he said them anyway. “And your * tasted better than any of theirs.”
Clara blushed furiously, and then she found her voice. “You’re an asshole.”
“Okay, Clara.”
Her brain took her someplace she didn’t want to go. A place that forced her to consider why a gorgeous, popular senior would want to date her. And then she realized it was because she was an easy conquest. She couldn’t fight him when he pursued her. Couldn’t resist him when he kissed her the first time. Couldn’t say no when he spread her legs and told her what he planned to do to her.
“You don’t care about me at all,” she whispered. “I’m just easy for you.”
Evan had enough. He stood up towering over her and grabbed her upper arm. “If I didn’t care about you, then I would have demanded you return the favor,” he hissed. “But I didn’t do that, Clara. I made you feel good. I wasn’t being selfish. I was showing you how much I care about you. So stop playing the victim. Get over the fact that I was with other girls. I didn’t know you then. So get the fuck over it.”
She yanked her arm out of his grasp. She couldn’t look at his face. Hers burned a deep scarlet, and she knew if she didn’t leave now he would see her cry, and there was no way in hell she was going to let him see her cry.
She walked out of the basement without a word.
***
Beatrice chattered on about her science project and dinner with Angela and her family. Clara was preoccupied, feeling guilty for letting Evan do the things he did to her, wondering if she could still consider herself a “good girl.” She also couldn’t shake his frank words and how they made her face burn with embarrassment. He did make her feel good. Too good, and she couldn’t deny it.
She thought about the chilly house that awaited them and decided she would ask Ms. Debbie about spending the night. It was simply too cold, and the girls slept in misery for the past three days. Even Beatrice, who looked at everything as an adventure and could find the positive in all situations, couldn’t pretend that she liked “camping out” anymore.
Clara turned on to her street and saw the flashing red lights immediately. Beatrice who was slouched in the passenger seat bolted straight up.
“What’s going on, Clara?” she asked.
Clara’s heartbeat quickened. She prayed silently that it was something minor, but the the EMT’s frenzied urgency told her it was anything but minor.
“I’m not sure, Bea,” she said. “Maybe Ms. Debbie just had an accident, like slipping and falling or something like that.”
She parked the car in front of the next door neighbor’s house. She flew out of the vehicle and ran towards Ms. Debbie’s house.
“What’s going on?” she demanded of the first person she saw.
“Who are you?” a short lady asked. “Get back, please.” She brushed by Clara hurriedly.
Beatrice ran up to stand beside Clara. She took her hand instinctively the way children take their parents’ hands when they need to feel protected.
“What’s happened?” Clara replied not leaving the lady’s side. Beatrice was dragged behind her. “What’s wrong?”
“Miss, you need to back up,” the lady said, and looking at Beatrice added, “And take her with you.”
“Jesus Christ, tell me something!” Clara screamed. “I’m her granddaughter! I . . . I was coming over to visit with her tonight. Please, I’m begging you.”
The lady considered her for a brief moment, and then her voice softened. “I’m sorry hon, but your grandma had a heart attack.”
“Oh my God,” Clara gasped. She heard Beatrice let out a quiet sob. “Will she be okay?” Clara asked dazed.
“Sweetheart, she’s dead.”
“I’m cold, Clara,” Beatrice said quietly. She huddled close to the fire wrapped in her winter coat, scarf, and gloves. She pulled her toboggan down over her ears.
“Me too, Bea,” Clara replied, and got up for more firewood. She placed the logs on the weak fire and balled up some newspaper. Once she threw in the paper, the flames shot up, burning hot and angry, and Clara settled herself beside Beatrice to watch the glow.
“She made fantastic pies, Clara,” Beatrice said staring into the flames.
“Yes she did,” Clara replied pulling on another pair of socks.
“She loved the book Evan got you,” Beatrice went on. “She told me Yeats was her favorite poet, too.”
Clara wiped at a tear that snuck out of the corner of her eye.
“I’m cold,” Beatrice said again.
“Put these socks on, Bea. I’ve got plenty of blankets. We’ll be warm if we sleep snuggled really close beside the fire,” Clara said, but there weren’t enough blankets and socks in the world to warm the chill in the girls’ hearts, and Clara knew it.
Chapter 14