She was scared. She had come to depend on Ms. Debbie and didn’t realize it. For all of Clara’s insistence to provide for and protect Beatrice on her own, she needed her neighbor, and a new fear crept into Clara’s heart. The fear of sole responsibility. There was no adult now, only her, and she was terrified the panic would return, the darkness that almost snared her, the despair that robbed her of her will to fight. It was only temporary, but she remembered going days without washing her hair. She couldn’t remember how she snapped out of it—she thought the voices told her to—but she dreaded the day those feelings of hopelessness returned. She knew deep in her heart they would because she got that from Mom, Beatrice had said. She instinctively placed her hand on her scalp, massaging it with her fingers, feeling around for any oil. She never wanted to feel that again.
The pastor said a few words, and then Ms. Debbie was lowered into the ground. Beatrice turned to Evan who wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, letting her spill her tears all over his suit jacket. Clara watched the scene as though it was a movie and she was part of the theatre audience, separated by the screen, unable to grasp the magnitude and finality of what was happening because she was not a character in it. She was on the outside watching, fingers in her hair searching for oil.
***
Florence approached Clara at her locker.
“I think it’s great you’re dating Evan,” she said abruptly. Florence was odd that way. Sometimes good with social skills and then sometimes apparently absent of them.
“Thank you,” Clara replied smiling.
“It gives the rest of us hope, you know?” she said.
Clara didn’t know what to say.
“I mean, not that we all have to date popular guys or anything, but just the fact that we’re seen, you know?” she went on. “I mean, I doubt I’m seen, but you know what I’m saying.”
Clara nodded.
“Speaking of,” Florence said looking past Clara down the hall.
“Hey, Clara,” Evan said. “Hey, Florence.”
Florence’s mouth dropped open. She stood for a second staring at him, unable to locate the words that were usually easy for her to find, graceful or not.
“How the hell do you know my name?” she asked.
Evan smiled and shrugged his shoulders.
“Did Clara tell you?” Florence asked.
“No.”
“Did anyone tell you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Do you know everybody’s name here?”
“No.”
“Damn,” Florence said.
Clara grinned.
“I was telling Clara that I’m glad you two are dating,” Florence said after a moment. “I told her it gives all us nerds some hope.”
Clara sighed patiently wishing Florence would understand when not to talk.
“You’re not a nerd,” Evan said. He sounded completely genuine.
“Well, a dork then,” Florence corrected.
“Or that,” Evan replied.
Florence considered him. “You’re all right, Evan,” she assessed, and Clara laughed.
“Thank you, Florence.”
“See you in science, Clara,” she said then walked off.
***
Clara rummaged through her bottom drawer for a sweatshirt. She already had on two camisoles and a long-sleeved T-shirt, but she was freezing. She had gone into the living room three times to stoke the fire, but no matter the size and heat of the flames, she could not warm the chill deep within her bones. It ached, threatening to take up permanent residence, and she was frantic to get it out.
She tore through her drawer until she came across it. Not her sweatshirt but a photograph she had hidden in the bottom, out of sight and mind, until now.
It was a picture of her and her father. She was ten years old. The family had gone to Ocean City, Maryland, one of the rare vacations they took. It was the first time Clara had ever been to the ocean. She could recall the tiny motel room with two double beds. It was dank and dingy and smelled of seaweed. And she loved it. She never thought she could love the smell and stickiness of saltwater so much, the constant wind that whipped her hair in her face, irritating and delicious all at once.
She gazed at herself holding her father’s hand. He was smiling into the camera, but she remembered his impatience. He wanted the picture taken so that he could take Clara out into the water for the first time. He was bronze, and his blond hair almost looked white under the glare of the sun. He squinted and revealed a brilliant smile. He was handsome, and he knew it.
“Now, don’t be afraid,” he said to her. She clutched his hand. “I won’t let go.”
And he led her into the sea, little by little, laughing when she squealed as the waves broke and slapped her shins.
“I like it, Dad!” she screamed above the noise of the water.
“Do you want to go farther in?” her father asked.
“No!” she said. “Not yet. I want to stay right here.”
She tried to jump over the next wave, but she couldn’t go high enough. It slapped against her legs once more, and she laughed. She kicked at the water then jumped up and down when she saw a school of minnows darting towards her.
“Dad!” she said pointing at the fish. “Look!” She tugged on his arm and lifted her face to him. He was staring in the opposite direction, and she peered around his body to see. A woman was approaching. A young thing shimmering with sun-kissed skin. She wore a black bikini that hugged her curves, her breasts bouncing ever so slightly as she walked. She strolled by them from behind, and Clara watched as her father’s gaze followed her, whipping his head around to continue staring as she headed down the beach.
As though hearing Clara for the first time, he said in a distracted sort of way, “What is it, honey?”
“The fish” stuck in Clara’s throat. She couldn’t say it and thought it was unimportant next to the woman in black.
“Nothing,” is what she did say, and her father released her hand. She froze in the water, no longer liking the way the waves smacked her legs when she wasn’t holding on to him.
“I’m going for a short walk, Clara,” he said. “You stay here with your mom and sister.”
She watched him walk away, paralyzed in the water, fearful of the waves and the fish and other things lurking beneath the soft sand.
It was the one bad memory from that trip, and she had the picture to remind her.
Clara stared at the picture, laughing derisively. “Of all the pictures to keep,” she said out loud.