Honeysuckle Love (12 page)

She got dressed and went through the house in search of dirty laundry. She tried to go to the laundromat early Saturday mornings right when it opened to avoid the crowd. It was not her idea to spend hours there waiting for machines to open. Plus, the people who frequented the mat were strange, and she preferred to get in and out as quickly as possible.

She headed into Beatrice’s room and hunted around for anything that looked like it needed washing. Once the basket was full, she made her way to the front door. She opened it to find Ms. Debbie standing there, her hand balled in a fist and poised, ready to knock. Ms. Debbie noted the basket in Clara’s arm and shook her head.

“Not right now, Clara,” she said, pushing her way into the house. Clara backed away from the door and set the basket down. She was about to address her neighbor when she heard a truck pull up in front of the house. Ms. Debbie stood in the doorway as though she were expecting something. Clara was unsure why, but she felt safer standing at a distance, far on the other side of the living room.

A man walked up to the front door and began a pleasant conversation with Ms. Debbie. Clara heard the words “church” and “charity” and thought that the two together didn’t sound half bad. In fact, she liked the way they sounded. She had the brief, exhilarating thought that donations were coming their way. A month and a half ago she would have scowled, would have been too proud to take anything from anyone, but she had learned in her desperation to be humble. To be poor and to beg. She walked up to stand next to her neighbor at the door.

“I’m watching the girls while their mother is away,” Ms. Debbie explained, her bulky frame taking up most of the doorway so that it was impossible for the church representative to see inside. Her lies were silky smooth, and Clara wanted to hug her for them. “I know Ms. Greenwich would show you all the gratitude in the world if she were here. It is so good of you to think of this family. These are such good girls!”

“Well, you know as well as I that the church loves to give all year round. Not just at holidays. We want you to know we care about you,”—he looked at Clara as he said this—“and Ms. Greenwich is always welcomed to service with her daughters,” he concluded looking at Ms. Debbie.

“So kind,” Ms. Debbie replied. “I’ll let her know.”

Clara smiled sweetly. The church representative chucked her under the chin then turned to the truck parked on the street in front of the house. He waved and two men emerged. They walked to the back and started unloading paper bags filled with groceries. Clara’s mouth watered instinctively at the thought of all that food. Something her precious money didn’t have to buy because there were still nice people in the world who wanted to do nice things for others.

She didn’t notice the men as they made their way up the concrete walkway. She was in the middle of a conversation with the church representative. But then she heard the familiar voice and her heart exploded.

It was him.

She froze in fear. She thought that maybe she could turn invisible if she held perfectly still.
Don’t move a muscle
, she thought desperately, and watched him climb the steps to the front porch, face fixated on something in the bag he held. He placed it by her feet and only then looked up. His eyes met hers, and she could think of nothing to do or say. The humiliation permeated every part of her body making her eyes well up with unwelcome tears.
I’m nobody, I’m nobody, I’m nobody
, she thought frantically believing she could push the words onto him silently. She thought absurdly that she could make him hear them and believe them, not recognize her, or at the least, not care.

He smiled down at her, a smile that said, “It’s okay. No big deal.” She wanted to return a smile, but she suddenly felt her heart fill up with malice. She turned her face away, hot with shame and resentment. She couldn’t bear being so close to him, couldn’t bear the thought of accepting charity he carried in a brown paper bag up the porch steps for her. She excused herself and went inside to hide behind the curtain covering the living room window.

She pulled the curtain aside, making sure to conceal her face as best she could, and watched as Evan walked away from the house towards the truck. Her eyes stung as she watched him climb into the passenger side and fasten his seatbelt, then stare back at the house taking in the details of the worn and rotted siding, the unkempt lawn, the chipped paint on concrete steps leading up to a dilapidated front porch. She thought that he was taking mental notes. Notes that would remind him to never speak to her at school again.

***

“Hi Clara,” he said approaching her the following Monday. She looked from left to right. “You’re the only Clara I’m talking to,” he said, and then chuckled. She shrugged and gave him a noncommittal smile.

“Hi,” she managed. She wanted to leave.

“I was wondering what you’re doing this weekend,” Evan said. “I thought if you weren’t busy, maybe we could go for frozen yogurt or something. That seems to be the thing right now—yogurt. Fancy yogurt. I don’t know. Those frozen yogurt bars with all the flavors and toppings and everything?” He suddenly felt nervous. She wasn’t saying anything but instead looking at him like he was an idiot. “You know what I’m talking about?”

“I don’t eat fancy yogurt.” Her heart tightened as the words came out. She didn’t mean to be nasty about it, but she was sure she came across that way.

Evan knew what she meant. He also decided that he wouldn’t be deterred.

“I know you don’t eat fancy yogurt,” he said. “I’m asking if you’d like to.”

He held her gaze, unwilling to allow her to make him feel foolish for his offer.

“Why?” she asked. She started getting angry.

Evan thought that any boy in his situation would have simply said, “Whatever,” and left, but he also understood her resistance. He knew where it was coming from. He knew she was angry that he saw where she lived, but it wasn’t intentional. He did charity runs all the time. How was he to know that he would be delivering food to her house over the weekend?

“I thought it would be fun,” he said.

“I have to babysit my sister,” Clara answered. She wished he would tell her to piss off and then walk away.

“Well, Beatrice can come too,” Evan offered.

Jesus with this guy
, Clara thought.
Why can’t he just leave me alone?

“I’m not sure,” Clara said. She shifted her book bag to the other shoulder.

“I can come and pick you up,” Evan offered. He saw the abrupt change on her face. It went from uncertainty to deep embarrassment in a second.

“I’d rather you not,” Clara said quietly. “I’m going to be busy. I don’t think I can go.”

She turned to leave and he caught her arm. It surprised her, and she jumped. He’d never touched her before—not deliberately—not like when he accidentally ran into her at Beatrice’s open house. She felt trapped between wanting desperately for him to let go and hold on to her at the same time.

“I’d really like you to go, Clara,” Evan said. “You can bring along your little sister. It’s okay.”

Clara wouldn’t look at him as she said it. “I don’t need you to feel sorry for me. Please let me go.” But she didn’t think she meant it. She thought she wanted him to go on holding her.

Evan tightened his grip on her arm and forced her to turn around and look at him. Now she did want him to let go. She felt the deep red stain on her cheeks, a tingling burning, and she knew he saw it.

“I don’t feel sorry for you,” he said.

“Oh really? I saw that smile you gave me the other day outside of my house. It was full of pity. You felt sorry for me,” she replied hotly.

“I smiled at you to be friendly,” Evan replied releasing her arm. She breathed relief.

“Friendly? You don’t even know me. You’ve talked to me a handful of times,” Clara snapped.

“I don’t think it’s fair to say I don’t know you,” Evan said. “I do know some things about you.”

“Yeah. Like the fact that I’m poor,” she spat.

Evan took a deep breath. “I was going to say that I know you love to read.”

“Uh huh,” Clara replied. “And where’s my bookmark, by the way?” she asked angrily.

Evan ignored the question. “But I’d like to learn more things about you, Clara. I want to talk to you more, but you won’t even give me the chance.”

“Because it’s weird, okay?”

“What’s weird?”

Clara didn’t want to say it out loud—that she felt inferior and would always feel inferior around him because he had money and she could barely afford soap. She felt she shouldn’t have to explain it to him, that he should understand intuitively and be a gentleman and leave her alone.

“Just forget it,” she mumbled. “I have to go to work.”

“Okay,” Evan said. “I’ll come over to your house Saturday around two.”

Clara was already walking away when she froze.

“No,” she said not looking behind her. “I’ll be busy.”

“You can take a frozen yogurt break,” Evan said. “It doesn’t take long to eat frozen yogurt.”

She turned around and looked at him. She heard the sound of his cell phone buzzing in his pants pocket.

“Someone’s calling you,” she said.

“It’s unimportant,” he replied smiling. “Right now I’m talking with you.”

As much as she tried to push it down, the overwhelming rush of giddiness filled her heart to bursting. How? How could her emotions change so abruptly—that she could go from feeling ashamed and angry to exhilarated in an instant? She knew she shouldn’t let him in. She still couldn’t understand why he was so insistent. But she couldn’t deny the way her heart felt in that moment, like her mother had come home and her sister had cute clothes to wear to school.

“Okay,” she said.

“Okay?” He beamed. “You’ll let me take you?”

She nodded. “I really do have to go now. I can’t be late for work.”

“I’ll walk you to your car,” Evan offered.

“All right,” Clara said. She didn’t have the strength to fight him. The giddiness in her heart also made her weak, and she thought that if he asked to pick her up and carry her to her car she wouldn’t resist.

They walked together out of the school building. They passed by several students who stood staring, a few waving at Evan once he addressed them.

“People think it’s weird that you talk to me,” Clara said. She couldn’t believe her boldness.

“I can’t imagine why,” Evan replied. He waved to his friend Chris who was sitting at a picnic table with some girls.

“I can,” Clara said.

“Well, I really don’t care about those other people, Clara,” Evan said once they reached her car. “And neither should you.”

“Brittany started a nasty rumor,” Clara blurted. She wanted it out in the open.

“I know,” Evan replied. “And no one cares.”

“Right,” she said unconvinced.

“It’s true, Clara,” Evan insisted. “No one pays any attention to her. She’s just mean and hateful. No one cares what she says.”

“She likes you,” Clara said.

Evan thought for a moment. “Well, that’s just too bad because I don’t like her.”

Clara wanted to ask him if he liked her. If that was the reason he kept coming around to talk, to sit with her. If that was the reason he asked her to go get yogurt with him. But she couldn’t. Instead, she climbed into her car and shut the door. She started the ignition, rolled down her window, then looked up at him. He was smiling down at her.

“I’m not giving back your bookmark, Clara,” he said.

She wanted to cry for feeling so frustrated. It was anger at having no control over the way he made her feel. Embarrassment for her poverty. Giddiness for the attention he paid her. It was . . . sexual. She wanted him to say it again.
“I’m not giving back your bookmark, Clara.”
She felt her heart pumping overtime underneath her breast and feared that he could see it. She had to get out of there, afraid of what she would say or do if she stayed. As though he sensed it, he leaned in, resting his forearms on the car door, inches from her face. She tensed at the closeness.

“Is it all right that I keep your bookmark, Clara?”

He was teasing her, and she knew it. She searched frantically for some witty reply, but she had none. All she could think about was his body hovering over her, his face so near, and she wanted to at once smack him and draw him close to her to kiss him.

“I’m taking care of it,” he went on, tormenting her gently. “It’s right in the middle of my physics book. I just opened my book wide and placed it right in.”

He grinned, knowing what he was doing to her, knowing he was being completely inappropriate, wanting to kiss her right then for the deep red he painted over her soft cheeks.

She couldn’t stand it. “It’s just a stupid bookmark!”

Evan stood up again, and she let out all of the air she didn’t know she was holding.

“It’s not stupid to me,” he said thoughtfully.

What the hell are we talking about?
Clara wondered. She didn’t think it was about a bookmark anymore, and she knew it was time to leave.

“I have to go,” she said.