Honeysuckle Love (5 page)

“No Clara,” Beatrice reprimanded. She slapped her sister’s hand.

“Ouch!” Clara replied indignantly, but Beatrice ignored her.

“Three wishes first, Clara. You know the rules,” Beatrice said.

Clara drew in her breath and exhaled slowly.

“I’ll go first,” Beatrice said. “I wish that Mom would be happy again.” She promptly plucked a flower and sucked the juices from its base.

“You took my first one,” Clara said.

“Make up another,” Beatrice replied. “You’ve got to have a million wishes in your head.”

“Fine,” Clara said. “I wish for school to be over soon.” She reached for the flowers.

“No, Clara,” Beatrice said. “It has to be something important and special. A wish you’ve thought about and care about. You know the rules,” she stated for the second time.

Clara sighed. “Fine. I wish to make a nice friend at school next year.” She waited a moment, but Beatrice did not object, so she reached for a flower, plucked it, then drained it of its silky sugar.

“Are you excited about being a junior next year, Clare-Bear?” Beatrice asked.

“I suppose,” Clara responded. She didn’t want to sound pessimistic in front of Beatrice, so she tried for a happy note. “Actually, I’m really excited about it.”

Beatrice smiled. “I wish Jenna would let me borrow her pink sweater,” she said, and drained another flower.

“And
that’s
important?” Clara asked raising her brow.

“Yes,” Beatrice said in all seriousness. “Yes Clara, it is.”

Clara grinned and nodded. “I wish I could have trendy clothes,” and down went the sugar liquid.

“I wish to get the best grades in the class this year and next,” Beatrice said. She tilted her head back and drank down the nectar. “I don’t think that will be hard, though. I’m extremely smart.”

“I know you are,” Clara replied. She paused for a moment, a flash of the green-eyed boy jarring her thoughts, eliciting a soft “oh my” from her lips.

“Clara, your last wish,” Beatrice said impatiently.

“I wish to fall in love,” Clara said so softly that she was sure Beatrice couldn’t hear. But Beatrice did hear, and she grinned at her sister.

“Well, I’ll drink to that,” she said, handing Clara a flower. They sucked the nectar together then began their work on the rest of the flowers.

Chapter 3

They made it until Wednesday before the power was shut off. Beatrice was in the middle of listening to the radio—happy tunes this time—and Clara was blow-drying her hair. It was evening time, and when the lights went out, the house was cast in that eerie darkness where objects are still recognizable but look strange and foreboding. Clara turned to the bathroom door and saw Beatrice standing in the doorway. The girls stared at one another. An unspoken fear passed between them, and then Beatrice made a decision.

“We’re camping out and we need some candles,” she said.

“That’s right,” Clara replied, unplugging the dryer and feeling her damp hair. She pulled and twisted it up, jabbing pins in it haphazardly. “Candles it is.”

She followed Beatrice into the living room and settled on the couch next to her. Beatrice shoved tapered candles in small holders she had found poking about the drawers in the kitchen.

“Let’s just light three,” Clara suggested. She knew it was important to conserve.

She allowed Beatrice to spark the match and cringed at her sister’s enthusiasm.

“You’re acting like a pyro,” Clara observed as she watched Beatrice grin when the match end lit up. She held it up to her face, and Clara watched as the flame danced in her eyes. She looked like a witch in training.

“Light the wicks already,” Clara said shivering involuntarily.

The three candles were satisfactory in giving the girls enough light to complete their homework.

“The milk should be fine tomorrow morning,” Clara said. “Just don’t open the refrigerator until then.”

“Okay,” Beatrice replied. “What do we do after that?”

Clara sighed. “Powdered milk, I suppose.”

“Gross,” Beatrice said, sticking out her tongue.

“Well, we can always get to school early for breakfast.”

“Maybe.” Beatrice shrugged.

They worked in silence for awhile until Beatrice put down her pencil. “All done.”

“Would you like me to check it?” Clara offered, placing her pen behind her ear.

“What for? I know it’s all correct,” Beatrice said.

“Naturally,” Clara replied. She looked around the darkened room and sighed. “Now what?”

“Are you kidding?” Beatrice asked. “We tell ghost stories, that’s what!”

“Bea, I don’t know,” Clara said. “You know I don’t like scary stuff.”

“Clare-Bear, what’s scarier than having no electricity? Know what I’m saying?” Beatrice asked. She smiled, and this time it didn’t look wicked as before when she struck the match.

“Fine, but I haven’t got any to tell,” Clara said.

“That’s okay because I do,” Beatrice said. “Wait right here. I’m going for the flashlight!”

Clara objected, but Beatrice already grabbed a candle and made her way to her bedroom leaving Clara alone. Just in the few short seconds it took to retrieve the flashlight, Clara broke into anticipatory goose bumps. She watched the flickering of the two candles on the coffee table and shivered again.

“Okay,” Beatrice said, returning and settling on the floor opposite her sister. “We need mood lighting,” and she flicked the switch on the side of the flashlight. She held it under her chin and grinned. “This story is not really a ghost story. But it’s a scary story. Do dee do,” she sang, trying for a scary-sounding tune.

“Oh good grief,” Clara said flippantly, but she grabbed the blanket thrown carelessly over the back of the couch and pulled it up and around her.

“Stacy was driving home from a party one night,” Beatrice began. “It was late. The roads were very dark. And she was out in the country.”

“Of course she was out in the country,” Clara interjected.

“Clara, I cannot tell this story if you’re going to interrupt,” Beatrice said.

“Sorry. Go on.”

“So Stacy was out on the lonely pitch black dark country road driving home from a party. She was all alone,” Beatrice said. She paused for effect. Clara nodded.

“Suddenly a truck came up behind her and flashed its high beams,” Beatrice said, her voice rising. “Stacy was confused. She slowed down thinking that maybe the truck wanted to pass her, but it didn’t. It slowed along with her, keeping close behind her.”

Clara took a deep breath. Beatrice saw and doubled her efforts to sound panicked.

“They drove another mile or so and the truck flashed its lights again!” she said. “Stacy was beginning to get scared. She didn’t know what to do, so she kept driving home. She thought if she got home, she would be safe.”

“But why would she go home where he could see where she lived?” Clara asked.

“I don’t know,” Beatrice said annoyed. “Stacy wasn’t all that smart. Now will you let me continue?”

“Okay.”

“So Stacy pressed on the gas and floored it. The truck came after her flashing its lights and freaking her out!”

Beatrice shook the flashlight under her face for dramatic effect. Clara didn’t like it.

“She pulled into her driveway and got out of the car. She started sprinting for her front door but the man in the truck caught her! She screamed to high heaven!”

Clara pulled the blanket up under her chin.

“‘Calm down, miss. I won’t hurt you,’ he said. ‘But
he
would have!’” Beatrice said in her most masculine voice. She turned off the flashlight, and Clara could not make out her features. “‘Who?’ the pitiful girl asked, then screamed when a dark figure emerged from the back seat of her car holding a shining knife!”

Beatrice flashed the light on under her face, her eyes wide and wild, her teeth set in a sinister grimace. She looked like an escaped patient from an insane asylum, and Clara let out an involuntary scream.

“Ha ha!” Beatrice laughed. She turned off the flashlight and tossed it on the floor.

“Jesus Christ, Beatrice!” Clara yelled. “How the hell do you make those faces?”

“Isn’t it wonderful? I plan on being an actress, you know,” Beatrice said. She moved to the couch to sit beside her sister. “Were you scared?”

“Yes!” Clara replied, her heart still racing. “Even though your story made absolutely no sense,” she snapped.

“How so?” Beatrice asked.

“First off, how is Stacy going to be blind to the fact that a dark figure is in her back seat? She had to get in the car. How could she not see him?”

“Her car was parked in the shadows,” Beatrice explained.

“Okay then. There’s a detail you left out,” Clara said. “Second, how stupid does a girl have to be to drive home with what she thinks is a crazy person following behind her? Why didn’t she drive to the police station or something?”

“I told you that Stacy wasn’t that bright,” Beatrice said.

“Hmm. What were the high beams all about?” Clara asked. She threw off the blanket as the room warmed from the candlelight.

“Every time the truck guy saw the dark figure rise up out of the back seat, he flashed his lights to scare him,” Beatrice explained. “No one wants to get caught in the act of killing someone.”

“Why would the dark figure slit Stacy’s throat while she was driving? Then they’d both be dead from a car accident,” Clara said.

Beatrice huffed. “Clara, it’s just a stupid story, okay? The point was to make you scream with my scary face, which I did, by the way.”

Clara smiled. “You’re right. You did scare me.”

Beatrice grinned. “Want me to make the face again?”

“God, no!” Clara replied. “Why don’t we play
Sorry!
before bed or something like that?” She was thinking of anything to do that would erase the image of Beatrice’s mental patient face.

“Let’s have a séance instead!” Beatrice suggested.

“Absolutely not,” Clara said. “What is up with you tonight?”

“I don’t know,” Beatrice confessed. “It’s the candlelight or something. I just want to be scared out of my mind.”

Clara rolled her eyes. “Well, I don’t.”

Beatrice snuggled with her sister, placing her head in Clara’s lap.

“Clara?” she said.

“Hmm?”

“You need to live a little bit.”

Clara laughed. “I suppose you’re right,” she replied, stroking Beatrice’s hair and staring into the three dancing flames.

***

Clara was reluctant to go into the cafeteria. But she was hungry. She and Beatrice were already eating too little at home, both afraid of not having any food, so they tried hard not to eat anything at all. They mostly ate sandwiches because they were cheap. Clara did stock up on soups and canned vegetables, and they heated these on the wood stove.

Beatrice complained about the heat. The few blessed days of coolness in the beginning of September did not last. Just when Clara thought the seasons were turning, the blaze of summer came back, angrier this time, one last roar of sizzling heat. With no air conditioning and the stove running, the temperature in the house grew to an unbearable degree driving the girls to strip to their underwear and lie on the kitchen tiles.

“This isn’t my idea of camping,” Beatrice said the previous night. She wiped at her glistening face.

“I know,” Clara said. She lay beside her sister in her panties and bra dabbing at her chest with the shirt she had just taken off. “I made a payment on the electric bill. I could only afford thirty dollars, but it’s something.”

Clara wasn’t sure why she thought every cent she made at work could go exclusively to paying the electric bill. There were groceries that had to be bought, gas she had to put in her car to make it to work, a payment due on her phone bill and water bill. She realized she was also due for an oil change soon. She remembered her grandmother telling her how important it was to get her oil changed.
“Unless you want your car to die,”
she had said, and the words stuck. When her grandmother got too sick to drive, she gave the car to Clara. Thankfully like the house, the car was paid off, and Clara needed only to worry about maintenance and the gas to put in it.

Beatrice let out a long sigh. “Let me go to work and help you, Clara.”

Clara smiled. “Bea, you aren’t old enough to work.”

“Yes I am,” Beatrice argued. She pulled up her tank top to just below her chest and rolled over on her stomach feeling the hard, cool tiles on her warm skin.

“Legally, you aren’t,” Clara explained. “Where on earth do you think you’d find a job?”