“Clara, I . . .” but there were no words because he knew whatever he said would not make it right. He feared it would never be right again.
“You knew about my dress,” she said turning to face him. His heart stopped beating when he looked at her. He was sure of it. He could see her pain, and it made him sick to his stomach. The tears poured down her face.
He didn’t reply.
“You knew about my dress!” she screamed and she came at him, tight fists beating his chest as he stood there knowing he deserved to take it, wincing at every blow.
“I HATE YOU!” she cried into the blackness of the night.
He put his arms around her and she pushed back.
“Don’t fucking touch me!” she seethed. “You humiliated me. Did you mean to do it? Did you mean to make me look like an idiot in front of everyone?”
“God no! Clara, please!” he pleaded. “I didn’t know. I wasn’t sure about the dress. I didn’t know what to do. I messed up.”
“You didn’t know what to do?!” she screamed. “You fucking tell me I’m wearing your ex-girlfriend’s old dress, that’s what you do!”
“Do you understand what an impossible situation that was for me?!” he asked. “I tell you, you’re humiliated. I don’t tell you, you’re humiliated. I lose either way! You’d never want to see me again.”
“Oh my God!” she yelled. “So you take me to prom to be humiliated in front of dozens of people instead of letting me be embarrassed in the privacy of my own home?”
“I wanted to take you to prom,” he said lamely. “I . . . I wanted more time with you.”
She couldn’t comprehend the words.
“You are SELFISH!” she screamed.
She turned away from him, letting herself sink into the sobbing—low, mournful sounds that made her chest hurt.
She wanted to pay him back, to make him hurt as much as he hurt her. What could she do, say to make him cry as she cried? And then the memory flashed in her mind.
“I fucked someone.” She wheeled around to face him.
He stood there momentarily confused.
“That’s right. I fucked someone.” She let out a quiet moan.
“What are you talking about?” Evan said, bewildered.
“I needed money. So I fucked a man for it.”
She watched his face twist from shock to grief to anger. Fury.
“I needed to pay the property tax. I needed money.” Clara trembled as she revealed her betrayal.
“And you want to scream at me about humiliating you at a goddamn prom?” he asked quietly.
“Oh, that’s right. Go ahead and feel better about yourself. Now that you know I cheated on you,” she spat. “Now that you know I’m a whore. I did what I had to do to survive.”
Evan’s anger exploded. “Why didn’t you just fuck me, Clara? I would have given you the money.”
She stumbled backwards as though the words were an actual physical blow.
He couldn’t believe he said them. He didn’t mean them, could never mean them. He wanted to apologize immediately, but he couldn’t.
She took a deep breath. “I wanted to tell you,” she said quietly. “Not like this. I wanted to tell you and apologize to you. I’m ashamed of what I did. I tried to push it down. To forget it happened.” She looked at him, her face streaming with fresh tears. “But I don’t want to apologize to you anymore. I’m not sorry for it. And I’m glad I never gave myself to you. I can’t believe I was going to let you do it tonight.”
Evan stared at her wondering if she could see the tears at the corners of his eyes.
“I’ll never give myself to you,” she whispered.
He searched for a cruel and crushing reply. “I don’t want you, Clara.”
She looked at him for a half moment, then turned her back on him and started walking.
“You can’t walk home, Clara,” Evan said. It was emotionless, like he didn’t really care either way. He was stunned into indifference.
She continued walking into the darkness of the night. He stood and watched her train drag down the dirty road, fading farther and farther away. He snapped out of the indifference and ran after her.
“You can’t walk home,” he said angrily, catching up to her and grabbing her hand. He pulled her along forcefully to his car. She dug in her heels, resistant, screaming at him to let go. He yanked open the passenger door and shoved her in then slammed it closed. She opened it and tried to get out.
“Stay in the motherfucking car, Clara!” he shouted inches from her face, and she did not recognize him.
He slammed the door again, and she cowered back into her seat afraid of him. She watched him walk around the front of the car, her body jumping at the sound of his door opening. He climbed in and started the ignition.
They drove in silence except for the sounds of Clara’s soft cries. When he pulled into her driveway, she stumbled out, walking like a drunkard to her front door. She didn’t look behind her but heard him pull out on to the street and drive off into the night.
Chapter 23
Her mother made her get up. Get up get up get up, she heard from the muted, grainy distance. The words irritated her like a fly that buzzes about the head, and she wanted to swat at it. The covers were thrown back, her body pulled up to a sitting position, a face shoved into hers.
“I know you’re hurting, Clara,” her mother said gently.
She felt arms go around her. She thought she should like the feel of them, but in that moment they felt like a trap, and she wriggled helplessly, frantically, until her mother let go.
“I’ve made an appointment for you to see someone,” her mother said. “A doctor.”
Clara didn’t understand what Ellen was saying. She thought she was sick, but she didn’t have a sore throat. Her head didn’t hurt. She wasn’t running a fever. And then she thought that maybe it wasn’t her body. It was her brain. Coughing up ludicrous ideas, suggesting that she run away and hide under rocks. But she needed to make some minor adjustments first.