Authors: S. Walden
A loud knock interrupted Beatrice.
“Oh Clara! They’ve come to take me away!” Beatrice screamed. “I’m going to jail because Penelope bit that dog!” She clutched at her sister desperately.
Clara rolled her eyes. “Bea, it’s Evan. He brought over dinner,” she said, and Beatrice let her go.
Clara opened the door to find Evan holding two big bags oozing the delicious aroma of Asian cuisine. She was immediately hungry.
“Hi Clara,” he said, and she moved aside to let him in.
He walked to the kitchen and placed the bags on the table. There were lit candles everywhere, but the house was still cast in a yellow glowing darkness. He didn’t like it and meant to ask Clara when they would get their electricity back on, but he refrained from saying anything when he noticed Beatrice’s tear-stained face glimmering in the firelight.
“Beatrice, you look like you’ve had a bad day,” Evan said gently, walking over to sit beside her on the couch.
“It was dreadful,” she replied. “I lost my job.”
“How?” Evan asked.
“I dropped the leash.”
Evan looked over to Clara for clarification, but she only shook her head.
He thought for a moment. “Are you hungry?” he asked Beatrice.
Beatrice shook her head. “I’ll never eat again,” she said dramatically.
“Hmm,” Evan replied. “That’s too bad because I ordered just about everything on the menu.”
Beatrice didn’t reply.
“I don’t know how your sister and I will eat it all,” Evan continued. “I guess we can try, though.”
He walked back to the kitchen with Clara. She set the table and poured them all glasses of water from the sink. She sat down with Evan and waited for Beatrice to join them. She knew Beatrice would. The smell of the Chinese food was too much, even for an emotionally shattered girl who said she’d never eat again.
“Thank you for dinner,” Clara said as Evan unpacked the bags.
“Anytime, Clara,” he said setting the trays of food out in a kind of buffet style. He looked at her and smiled.
They dug in, piling their plates with various flavors of chicken, steamed vegetables, and fried rice. Clara couldn’t imagine how much Evan had spent on it. He brought over eight different trays.
She watched as he picked up a piece of Kung Pao chicken with a pair of chopsticks. He was an expert with them, and she found it fascinating.
“How do you eat the rice with those?” she asked after a moment.
He looked up at her. “You scoop it.” He demonstrated by positioning the sticks slightly apart and then running them through the rice. He lifted his hand to show a neat clump of rice sitting atop the ends of the sticks.
“It’s really an inferior utensil,” Evan said. “But I’ve convinced myself it helps me play guitar better. Fine motor skills or something like that.”
Clara nodded and took a bite of her egg roll.
“Did you have a nice day at school today, Clara?” Evan asked. There was a playful smile on his lips.
“Yes,” she answered, uncertain where he was going with the conversation.
“And did anything special happen?” he pressed.
Clara blushed. “Maybe.”
“So tell me,” Evan said between mouthfuls of vegetables.
“Someone held my hand,” Clara said, not understanding how to flirt, but thinking that she may just be doing it now.
“And did you like it?” Evan asked.
“Yes,” Clara whispered forgetting all about Amy’s ugly face and the remarks made by students as she walked down the hall. “Very much.”
Evan leaned into the table, his voice low and tender. “Well, I liked it too. Very much.”
She felt on fire, like her body lit up and his voice was the spark. She never felt a strong desire to kiss anyone. There was never anyone at school she cared about. But he was different, and she was afraid of herself around him, how he drew her to him with just the sound of his voice. It was deep and hungry for her, and she wanted to lay herself out on the table for him and let him taste her everywhere like something out of a vampire fiction book.
She shocked herself with her thoughts and quickly looked over at Beatrice who was watching them like a hawk.
“Beatrice, you can grieve and still eat,” Clara said, happy for the distraction.
“Can I?” Beatrice asked.
“Yes,” Clara replied, and Beatrice jumped up from the couch and ran over to the table.
“I think Chinese food might be my favorite,” she said excitedly as Clara scooped a bit of everything on a plate for her.
“And here I thought it was yogurt,” Clara muttered.
Evan chuckled.
“Evan, I want to eat with chopsticks, too,” Beatrice said.
“No, Bea,” Clara said. “We’ll be here all night.”
Evan ignored Clara and pulled two sets of chopsticks out of the bag. He snapped them apart, rubbed them in between the palms of his hands, and gave a set to each of the girls.
“You kind of hold them like you would a paintbrush,” he began, and Clara decided that she really wouldn’t mind sitting at the table with Beatrice and Evan all night.
***
The warmth she felt while Evan was there quickly vanished once his car pulled out of the driveway. She lay in bed that night thinking about Beatrice losing her job, that precious addition to their income, however little, wiped out because of a mistake. Beatrice dropped the leash, and Clara’s hours at work were dropped as well. She learned it yesterday, and she was already looking for a second source of income.
She tried to ignore the panic growing in the center of her chest. She hadn’t heard the voices again, not since that night, but the anxiety pulsed. She tried to will herself to be brave. But she could see no way out of the debt. The plan she had to pay off the electric bill by the end of October now seemed a dream. She simply didn’t make enough money to cover the cost of all the other bills combined. She thought about cancelling her cell phone service, but she couldn’t. She and Beatrice needed a way to stay in touch, and their phones and calling plan were the cheapest of any she researched.
She couldn’t miss a water payment. They could not go without water. She had not even thought about putting any money towards the gas bill. It was foolish of her, she realized now, when they could have been cooking with the gas stove all along instead of roasting during the hot days of the end of summer with the wood stove. And they wouldn’t have to heat water for baths. Why didn’t she pay off the gas bill first?
She didn’t know what she was doing. She didn’t know how to budget her money. She thought she was doing the right thing, working towards paying off the electric bill. Putting some money towards the property tax. A little bit here. A little bit there. But it all looked like she had done nothing. She still owed everyone, interest and late fees accruing like ants on a sliced apple in the grass.
The panic grew and she jumped out of bed. She went to the kitchen and lit a candle. She pulled out the bills and spread them on the table, reading the numbers to herself and trying to determine what she could do. She still owed $187.72 on the electricity. Beatrice’s short-lived dog-walking job had at least helped to pay down some of it. She had barely touched the gas. The total she owed with new interest charges was $102.44. She didn’t bother to look at the property tax.
And then there were other living expenses. Toiletries, food, gas for her car. Her birthday loomed ahead, and all she could think of was the money she would owe for a new car tag.
What do people do to get money fast?
she thought. What could she offer?
She thought about stealing. What could she steal? She didn’t know how to do it—what to steal and where to sell it. Could she rob someone? What a ridiculous thought. She had no more gumption than a baby bunny. But Beatrice did. Could Beatrice rob someone? If she instructed her sister, could Beatrice do it?
Clara shook her head violently. She was horrified at the places her mind took her—the desperate thoughts of desperate means because she could think of no other way out. She had to purge the thoughts, the ugliness from her mind and her heart.
She flew into Beatrice’s room in a panic and tore off her comforter.
Beatrice sat up startled. “Clara?” she asked dazed, her voice thick with sleep.
“We have to pray, Bea,” Clara said frantically. “Hurry, get on your knees. Like me, beside the bed. Please hurry!” she screamed as Beatrice sat immobile.
Beatrice scrambled out of the bed and knelt beside her sister.
“I don’t know how to pray, Clare-Bear,” she said, the fear permeating her voice. She had never seen her sister so frightened.
“Me neither,” Clara confessed. “But we have to try.”
The girls folded their hands and bent their heads.
“Dear God,” Clara began. “I . . . don’t know you. I hope you know me.”
Beatrice listened as her sister’s voice quavered.
“I need help,” Clara continued. “I need you to help us in any way that you can. I need you to forgive me for my bad thoughts.”
“What bad thoughts, Clara?” Beatrice interrupted.
“It doesn’t matter,” Clara said quickly. She continued her prayer. “Please bring our mother home. Please help us.”
She cried outright, unable to hide her fear from Beatrice. She wished she could be strong for her little sister, but she didn’t know how. The fear gripped her, and she felt herself melting into the darkness of depression.
“Say a prayer, Bea,” Clara whispered urgently.
Beatrice grabbed her sister’s hands and held them tightly as she talked. “God, this is Beatrice. My sister woke me up to talk to you because you are supposed to help us. I know that I’m not always good. I have bad thoughts sometimes, just like Clara.”
Clara smiled wearily through her tears.
“They’re mostly about Angela who is my best friend but who I’m jealous of because she has things I wish I had.”
Clara felt the rapid beating of her heart slow as she listened to Beatrice’s voice. It calmed her.
“The point is that I know I’m bad, but I would like to be better. I can make a deal with you if you want,” Beatrice went on.
Clara laughed and it surprised them both.
“I will be good if you do the following: bring Mom home, give us more money to pay the bills, and help Clara to not be scared.”
Clara tensed.
“Amen,” Beatrice said.
“Amen,” Clara echoed.
The girls looked at one another.
“Do you feel better, Clara?” Beatrice asked releasing Clara’s hands. Her eyes were large and round and expectant. Clara knew Beatrice needed her to say “yes.”
“Yes, Bea. Thank you.”
Clara went back to her room. She lay in bed thinking she should feel better. She had talked to God, and for some reason, she thought she should feel a peace about that. She thought she should hear him say something to her, guide her in the right direction, or at least give her a hint. She waited, but the fear still lingered in her chest. The peace was not there. God’s voice did not echo in her room.
She thought that maybe God expected her to discover the solution to her problem on her own, and that was why he was silent. She searched her brain remembering a woman she saw once when she was riding in the car with her mother. It was years ago, and they were traveling down a street in downtown Baltimore and had come to a stop at the intersection. Clara saw the lady wrapped in a skin tight red dress and sporting tall heels. She hung around the intersection, head swiveling from side to side as though she were searching for someone.
“Is she looking for a ride?” Clara asked her mother.
“Something like that,” her mother replied.
“Happy birthday, Clara!” Beatrice squealed running into her sister’s arms.
“Thank you, Bea,” Clara said hugging her.
She wondered, though, how happy turning seventeen really was. For any normal teenager not experiencing her trials, turning seventeen was probably a big event. They would most likely go out to eat. Definitely celebrate with a birthday cake decorated with those twisty yellow, blue, and pink candles she loved. And she was positive there’d be a few special gifts. Clara’s gift came folded in an envelope marked “Dated Documents Enclosed.” A few days after receiving the letter, she treated herself to an emissions test and new car tag.
Happy fucking birthday
, she thought as she looked at the ten dollars remaining in her checking account.
“I did a good thing and a bad thing for your birthday,” Beatrice said.
Clara furrowed her brows.
“Remember that money you told me to spend at the movies on my ticket and snacks?” Beatrice asked.
“Yes,” Clara replied.
“Well, Josey’s mom paid for everything, so I kept the money to buy you a birthday present,” Beatrice said. “Are you mad? I know I probably should have given it back to you to pay a bill or something.”
Clara couldn’t believe her instant tears and averted her eyes to hide them from Beatrice. She walked over to her book bag and pretended to look for something.