Honeysuckle Love (13 page)

“I know,” Evan replied. He watched as she put the car in drive. “I’ll be seeing you, Clara,” he said as she rolled up her window. He looked on as she drove off grinning at his success in rattling her completely. He wanted to give her something to think about, and he knew she would think about it all night.
Good
, he thought.
It’s about damn time she knows it.

***

“Remember what I said, Bea,” Clara said. She was on edge, looking over herself in the tiny mirror that hung askew above the bathroom sink. There wasn’t a full-length mirror anywhere in the house—she couldn’t check herself altogether, but she knew it didn’t matter. None of her clothes looked fashionable or flattering, but she at least wanted her face and hair to look decent. She rubbed at a spot on her cheek.

“I know, Clara,” Beatrice said. “You told me a million times.”

“I just don’t want you asking for every freaking topping at the bar,” Clara said. “Don’t be greedy and don’t say anything ridiculous.”

“I already know what I’m getting, so just chill out,” Beatrice said.

“How do you know what to get?” Clara asked. “We’ve never been before.”

“Josey told me,” Beatrice said. “I told her we were going this weekend and she told me what kinds of things they have.”

Clara rolled her eyes. “Why did you have to talk to Josey about it? Like it’s a big deal going to a yogurt place.” She started feeling anxious and was afraid the sweat would break out on her hands and under her arms.

“It
is
a big deal,” Beatrice argued. “We never get to go. Not even when Mom was here and had a job.”

“Well, I have ten dollars that I shouldn’t even be spending today, so don’t go crazy,” Clara said.

“I already told you that I know what I’m getting. Strawberry yogurt with Oreo cookies and Gummie Bears,” Beatrice said.

Clara looked at her sister. “Oreo cookies and Gummie Bears?”

“Yep. Do you have a problem with that?” Beatrice asked. She raised her blond eyebrows at Clara and cocked her head to the side.

“Not at all,” Clara replied smiling. “I think it sounds perfect.”

She took one last look in the mirror then walked out of the bathroom with Beatrice at her heels.

Clara kept an eye out for Evan’s car. She had no idea what he drove, but it made her feel less anxious to be looking out the window for something. She couldn’t sit idle. There was no television to watch. There were no magazines to flip through. There was no computer to play around on. She couldn’t concentrate on a novel. She had nothing to do but to wait and watch for him.

She told Beatrice to be ready the instant she saw a car pull up. She did not want to invite him in. She didn’t want him discovering that they had no electricity. He would ask questions, want to know where her mother was, and then everything she so carefully guarded would become exposed to him—a stranger. She was wary of his intentions. He wanted to get to know her better, and she wanted to know why.

A Volvo pulled up to the house and parked on the street. She was certain it was him. Joy mixed with intense fear erupted in her heart, causing her hands to shake violently by her sides. She held her breath and waited for the knock. She strained to hear the car door close. Then nothing. She pictured him moving up the walkway and hoped he wouldn’t trip over the cracked concrete. She really needed to take a breath. She thought she heard noises on the front steps. She pressed her ear to the front door to listen. She thought she heard his breath at the door . . .

A loud knock. Her heart leapt into her throat. She exhaled sharply, breathing rapidly for the air that she had denied herself, and rolled her eyes. She was instantly irritated by her reaction. Only then did she notice Beatrice beside her.

“Well?” her younger sister said, hand poised over the doorknob.

“Go ahead,” Clara said, her tone sharp and agitated.

“Don’t act like you’re not excited to go get frozen yogurt,” Beatrice snapped.

“Be quiet, Beatrice.” She was afraid Evan could hear every word through the door.

Beatrice raised her head in defiance and opened the door.

“Hi!” she squealed.

“Hello, Beatrice,” Evan said.

“I’ve decided you can call me Bea. I mean, sometimes I let people call me Bea even if I don’t really know them all that well. But I think that I’ll get to know you pretty well since you like my sister—”

“Bea!” Clara interrupted, her face flushing crimson. She never felt an urge to slap her sister until that moment.

“What?” Beatrice asked turning to look at Clara. “He invited you out. I thought that meant he—”

“Stop talking,” Clara demanded.

Beatrice turned back to Evan. “My sister says I talk too much.”

“Well, I like people who talk a lot. It means they’ve got something to say. And that means they’re always thinking,” Evan replied. He winked at Beatrice, drawing a giggle from her.

“So
do
you?” Beatrice asked, a wicked grin plastered on her face.

Evan smiled. He knew what she was asking but decided he wanted her to be more specific. He enjoyed watching Clara squirm. She was adorable standing there flustered.

“Do I what?” he asked, feigning confusion.

“Do you like my sister? Is that why you invited her to go get yogurt?” Beatrice replied.

“Beatrice Greenwich!” Clara yelled. Her crimson face turned an even darker shade.

Evan decided to pretend Clara wasn’t standing there.

“I do,” he answered Beatrice. “And that’s exactly why I invited her to get yogurt with me.”

Clara was beside herself. She couldn’t ignore the explosion of feelings inside her heart and mind: humiliation and anger and delicious warmth.

“Well, I expect you to be nice to her,” Beatrice said. “
Always
,” she emphasized pushing past Evan and walking towards the car parked at the street. “I mean it, Evan!” she called behind her. “Now unlock these doors and let’s go!”

“I . . . I’m mortified,” Clara whispered.

“Why?” Evan asked. “There’s nothing like a direct person to get it all out there front and center. I like it. And I like you. Is it okay that I tell you that?”

Clara turned the purple shade of the fat heirloom tomatoes her grandmother used to grow in the back garden.

“Are you going to answer me?” Evan pressed. She heard a smile in his voice and wondered how smiles could have tones.

“Yes,” she said quietly, looking at her shoes. “It’s okay that you tell me.”

“Good,” Evan replied. “Are you ready?”

She nodded and they made their way to his car. Beatrice was hanging around outside the back door waiting impatiently.

Evan knew he made Clara feel uncomfortable, and he couldn’t deny the gentle power he felt making her flush, making her squirm in discomfort. He thought he should be ashamed to like that feeling, but he wasn’t. He looked down at her hand as they walked. What would she do if he took it? Just like that? Entwined his fingers with hers before she had the chance to pull away? He looked at her face again and decided against holding her hand. It would be too much too soon.

“Move,” Clara hissed at her sister once she approached the car. “I’m riding in the back.”

“Are you mad at me?” Beatrice asked.

“No, Beatrice. I’m not mad at you,” Clara snapped, but it was a lie, and she was sure that Beatrice knew it.

She climbed into the back of the car as Beatrice sat down tentatively in the front passenger seat. Beatrice looked over at Evan who shook his head slightly, then she mimed locking her lips and throwing away the key.

“Clara, are you comfortable back there?” Evan asked. He turned to face her, a playful smile on his lips, and she replied with a grunt. “All right then,” Evan said, chuckling as he started the car.

Evan asked Beatrice a flood of questions about school as he drove the girls to YoTreats. Beatrice answered happily enough, making sure to avoid any topic related to Clara. She knew she was in trouble, and she wished she could make Clara forgive her for being so outspoken. It wasn’t her fault she tried to tell Clara again and again. God
made
her that way.

“Oh, is that the case?” Clara had asked her months ago after she discovered that Beatrice told her best friend that their mother wouldn’t come out of her bedroom for three days straight because she was “sad.”

“That’s exactly the case, Clara,” Beatrice replied. “Exactly.”

“You told me you didn’t believe in God,” Clara said flatly. She crossed her arms over her chest and waited for an answer. She knew Beatrice would have one.

“Well . . . perhaps I was too quick with that decision. Perhaps God does exist. He would have to if he made me like this.”

Clara wanted to wring her sister’s neck. Instead she bent down until she was eye level with her. She made sure to emphasize every word. “Stop telling Angela about our business. Do you understand me?”

Beatrice nodded slowly. She crossed herself then scrunched up her face letting out a few pitiful whimpers.

“For God’s sake, Bea. Stop trying to make yourself cry. I don’t believe your contrition for a second,” Clara snapped. “And what’s with crossing yourself? You’re not even Catholic.”

Beatrice relaxed her face and looked up at her sister. “What’s ‘contrition’?”

“Regret. Remorse,” Clara explained.

“Contrition,” Beatrice said to herself. “Very romantic. I’ll have to remember that.”

“Remember this,” Clara warned. “Stop running your mouth or you’ll be sorry.”

“I’ll try, Clare-Bear. I’ll really try.”

Clara scowled, her brain split between remembering the “contrition” episode and listening to the conversation up front.

“You certainly have some lofty academic goals this year, Bea,” Evan said pulling into a vacant spot.

“Yes I do,” Beatrice replied. “But let me tell you something, Evan. I’ll achieve every one of them.”

Evan nodded and reached over to unbuckle her seatbelt. “This gets stuck a lot,” he explained when Beatrice tried to shove his hand aside to unbuckle herself. “And I know you’ll achieve them. You’re going to be our first female president.”

Beatrice’s eyes lit up, and she grinned like a little fiend. “Now
there’s
something to consider,” she said.

Clara had not spoken the entire car trip, and YoTreats was twenty minutes from her house. She sat miserably in the backseat wondering why she even agreed to go. She was angry at being humiliated by her sister and teased by a boy who knew nothing about her. She felt the unspoken, unwanted transfer of power, the giving over of her control to him, and she hated it. She was at his mercy emotionally, and she wanted to cry and scream because of it. He held her with a look, trapped her with his smile, pinned her with the low rumble of his voice. She didn’t like feeling her power slip away. Perhaps she never had it in the first place, she thought.

“Clara?” Evan asked. He had opened the car door for her and was waiting for her to exit.

“Sorry,” she replied tersely and scrambled out. He caught her arm and pulled her close. He looked over at Beatrice who had already walked into the shop.

“Don’t be mad,” he said softly.

“What makes you think I’m mad?” Clara asked. She tried to sound aloof, but Evan knew better.

“You didn’t say a word on the drive over here. You’re mad at your sister for being so direct, and you’re mad at me for engaging her.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Clara said, jerking her arm out of his grasp.

“Oh, get real,” Evan replied. “I told you I liked you. You said it was fine that I said that, but clearly it’s not.” He waited for her to answer.

“I . . . I’m confused. You shouldn’t have said it. Not in front of Beatrice,” she said. She was flustered, smoothing the front of her shirt for something to do.

“Why? Is she not supposed to know?” Evan asked.

“It’s the way you did it!” Clara blurted. “It was humiliating.”

Evan sighed. He watched as Clara nervously tucked her hair behind her ear. He wanted to do it for her. “You’re right, and I’m sorry. I was just teasing you, Clara.”

“I don’t like to be teased,” she replied hotly. She turned her face away. She imagined she sounded like a bratty child.

“I’m sorry,” Evan said. “I really am.”

Clara said nothing. She wouldn’t tell Evan what she really felt. She felt left out, like a child who wasn’t invited to play with the group at recess. She envied the rapport that developed so naturally and quickly between Evan and Beatrice. She wished she could be clever around him, but she was never the sister who had the words. Beatrice always had the words, and Clara felt like the stuttering, foolish older sister whom Beatrice had to spoon feed in private.

She felt caged in her social awkwardness. She searched wildly about for the key to her escape, but there wasn’t one. All she could do was look at Beatrice from behind the bars, watch the wise and clever girl do and say all the things she would never be able to but wished she could.

“Clara?” she heard Evan ask from far away. She snapped back to the present, looked at Evan, and tried for a genuine smile.