Page 9 of Diners, Damsels & Wolves

Nine

Clarissa

C overed in flour and eyes drooping, Clarissa put the filling in the last pecan pie. Arranging the nuts on top, then put the cover on. Pulling out the roll of date stickers, she filled them out and stickered each pie.

“All done?” Marissa called from the sink. To save time, she started the cleanup while Clarissa finished the last flavor.

“Yup.” She placed the last sticker.

Marissa came over to inspect. A formality rather than a criticism. “Good job, stick ’em in the freezer. I’ll start cleaning up the last of this.”

In the freezer, she placed them as fast as possible. On any other day, she would linger in the icebox, enjoying a quick break while it momentarily cooled her off. Today she had a chill she couldn’t shake. She had a hunch it had less to do with the weather and more to do with Rachel’s outburst last night.

She was beginning to worry that even if she did hire a home aide, it wouldn’t be enough. Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself to take it a day at a time. It was all she had the capacity to do at the moment.

Back in the kitchen, she helped Marissa put away ingredients and sanitize the workstation.

“Alright, I’ll see you Sunday morning!” Marissa waved and ducked into her jacket.

Clarissa clocked out and stood there with her purse and hoodie. If she was being honest, she was afraid to go home. Rachel’s bad days were rarely isolated. She didn’t want to have to call Greg again because she’d been locked out. Where else would she go?

She didn’t get paid until tomorrow so she couldn’t go to Andy’s and pay off her car. She couldn’t go to the grocery store, and she was dangerously low on gas, so going for a drive down the back roads was out of the question. Swallowing her fears, she went to her car.

Even if she delayed, she’d have to go back eventually. Better to get it done now.

Parking the car in her usual spot, she stared at the double-wide. Nestled into a small patch of trees on the edge of their poor neighborhood, it was a dreadful eyesore. The cheap siding was turning green and parts of it were pulling away from the main structure. The once-brilliant-blue shutters and door were dingy and chipped. The front steps were uneven and falling apart. The roof was littered with rotting debris. Last time she tried to climb up there and clear it off, she’d fallen and twisted her ankle.

She hated the damn thing. She also loved it.

After the fire, she was terrified and alone. Spending months in the hospital, the scent of antiseptic and burned flesh never left her. The feel of the gauze over her tender flesh, how it itched and stung. She couldn’t move her arm, neck, or torso for weeks without wincing in pain.

She attributed a lot of her quirks to the time she spent in the hospital. Needing to constantly wash her hands and sanitize everything. Being picky about the texture of the cloth touching her skin.

Rachel came to see her in the hospital every day, and when Clarissa was moved out of ICU, she slept in her room. The hospital was five hours away from Fairville, where her parents’ house used to be.

Clarissa had appreciated the company, though her aunt felt like a stranger to her. After moving in with Rachel, it took a long time for her to feel at home. Her aunt did everything in her power to make this double-wide her home.

It used to symbolize how far they’d come together. Now it slowly rotted into disarray, just like their lives.

With a heavy heart, she went up to the door, unlocking it and cautiously pushing it open.

Rachel sat at the kitchen table, reading. She glared up. “Who are you and why do you have a key to my house?”

“Greg sent me,” she said. “He wanted me to check in on you and stay here to keep an eye on things.”

“Oh.” Her brow furrowed. “Like a maid? Well, in that case, you’ve got a lot of work to do! This place is filthy.”

“I’ll get right on it.” She took off her hoodie and shoes. Thankfully she didn’t need to wear her regular uniform today, so she was already wearing her comfy jeans and a tank top, with her hair pulled into a bun. Clarissa didn’t think she would be able to convince Rachel she was allowed in her own room right now.

“Did you eat?” she asked.

“I know how to feed myself,” Rachel snapped.

So, it was going to be one of those days. Ignoring the snip, she finished picking up the mayhem from the night before. After vacuuming, mopping, and scrubbing the bathroom, she set off to tackle the kitchen without Rachel so much as looking up at her.

“Why did Greg send you?” Rachel demanded out of the blue.

“He wanted me to help you out,” she said. “He thought it would be nice if you had some company out here.”

“He thinks I don’t know how to take care of myself?” Rachel accused. “He thinks I don’t know how to clean my own house?”

Clarissa’s phone buzzed.

“No, he just thought it would be nice if you had some help.” Her phone buzzed again; she went to check it. She hadn’t even unlocked it when a mug crashed into the cabinet by her head. She whipped around to see Rachel on her feet, glaring at her.

“You’re lying!”

“What?” Clarissa gasped.

“You’re lying, Greg didn’t send you.”

“Why would I lie about that?”

“You’re a spy. You’re working for them. You’re trying to hunt me down, you want to burn me like you burned my brother!”

“No, I’m not here to hurt you, Rachel.”

“Prove it!”

“H-how? Do you want me to call Greg?”

“What have you done to him? Where is he!”

“I-I don’t, I didn’t do anything to him. He’s probably at work.”

“Liar!” Rachel ran across the room, seizing the collection of stainless steel water bottles next to the recliner and hurling them at Clarissa.

She dodged the first, but the second hit her square in the head. She fell to her knees, clutching her face. She saw stars and a terrible tingling throb shot over her head.

“You’re working for them, aren’t you?” Rachel threw another bottle at her, hitting her shoulder.

“No, no, I’m not. Please stop and we can talk about this.”

Rachel picked up a bookend from the shelf to throw. Clarissa tried to run to her room. Rachel grabbed her by the hair, yanking her down, then ran into the kitchen. Plates and cups shattered against the floor as her aunt raged.

Getting to her knees, she raised her hands in surrender.

“Rachel?” Her voice shook. “Rachel, please. Let me call Greg for you, he can tell you who I am.” She eyed her phone. It sat on the counter where she left it, where Rachel now stood.

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Rachel threw a mug at her face.

She dodged the blow then jumped; someone was knocking on the door.

“I’m not trying to tell you what to do, I’m offering to call Greg. He can explain it to you if you want,” she said.

“I don’t need him to explain anything.” Rachel threw another mug at her, the porcelain shattered against her brow. With a cry, she pulled in on herself, protecting her head from further damage as more mugs crashed around her. “I know who you are! You’re one of them, you’re a bear! You’ve come here to kill me, but I won’t let you!”

The knocking on the door became thunderous. Who the hell was that?

“How can I prove to you I’m not a bear?” she pleaded.

That made Rachel pause, staring at Clarissa, eyes wide in confusion.

Using the hesitation to stand, she kept her hands in front of her.

“Let me—” She was interrupted by knocking. “Here, I’m going to answer the door, then we can keep talking about this.”

She took four trembling steps to the front door and opened it a crack as another mug crashed against the kitchen wall. The blood drained from her face and her stomach fell. God damn it, she’d completely forgotten.

“Are you alright?” Thomas stood on the front steps, panic-stricken. “I heard yelling and—you’re bleeding.”

“What?” She did a quick check: no blood on her arms or legs.

“Your head.” He raised a hand to her brow. “What’s going on?”

“It’s—” She paused. She hadn’t told him about Rachel. How was she going to explain this? “My aunt … she’s sick.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Who’s there?” Rachel screamed. “Are you plotting against me?”

“No, Rachel, this is Thomas,” Clarissa said, wishing the earth would open up and swallow her.

“Are you a bear?” Rachel demanded. “No, no, you don’t smell like one. Did Greg send you?”

“The sheriff,” Clarissa whispered to him.

“I know Sheriff Greg,” he said. “I have cousins on the police force. Officer Sara Richardson and Harry McEntire.”

Clarissa held her breath. Harry retired three years ago. Hopefully Rachel wouldn’t remember that detail.

“Harry,” Rachel calculated, “I know Harry. Who are you?”

“I’m Thomas Sinclaire. I’m a friend of your niece’s.”

“Sinclaire! Why didn’t you say so?” Rachel visibly relaxed. Why? Clarissa had no idea. She was just happy the fit was dying off. “But you must be mistaken, I don’t have a niece.”

Tom didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, my mistake. Please, won’t you let me stay a bit? I’d love to get to know you and your …” He trailed off, looking to Clarissa.

“She’s the maid.”

“I see.”

“Rachel,” Clarissa said tentatively, “why don’t you go clean up for your guest, and I’ll finish the chores while you do that.”

“Yes.” Rachel examined her old pajamas with scorn. “Good idea.”

When the door of Rachel’s room clicked closed, Clarissa collapsed into a kitchen chair. Her head fell into her hands. Why, why did this have to happen tonight ?

She was so preoccupied she’d forgotten Tom was supposed to come over, and now he’d seen her aunt have a meltdown. Not just any meltdown, the worst yet.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled against her hands.

She heard him set something on the table, then the sound of the tap running before a chair scraped across the linoleum.

“I … She …” Clarissa struggled to find the right words that would fix this. “Rachel got sick ten years ago. It started as confusion, now she can’t remember entire decades. But this … She’s never been like this before. She sometimes gets scared or agitated, but she’s never been violent before. I—” She choked on the last word.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” he said. “Will you look at me?”

Pulling her hands down, she risked a glance at his face. Her breath caught. He was closer to her than she expected. His startling red hair and freckles were even more handsome in this proximity.

The hard lines of his face went soft. She didn’t see an ounce of disapproval or disgust in it, or worse yet, pity . Instead, he regarded her as if she were something beautiful he had the privilege of witnessing.

Placing a hand under her chin, he tilted her face up. His skin was blazing warm and silky. Closing her eyes, she inhaled his cologne: musk and citrus today.

Something cold and wet pressed into her brow, and she sucked in a breath. It stung. He used a cool cloth to clean the area that split open when the mug shattered against her brow. She hadn’t even realized blood was dripping over her face until he’d said something.

“It doesn’t look like it needs stitches, but it’s already swelling. Do you have any ice packs or frozen vegetables?”

“Yeah, I can—” She went to stand. He pushed her back down.

“Hold the cloth,” he instructed. After rummaging through the freezer, he returned with a bag of frozen corn and a towel.

“Lean your head back.” He tilted her head until it rested in one of his hands. He pressed the cold pack to her forehead. She moaned.

“What do the doctors say she has?” he asked.

“Ten years ago, they diagnosed her with early-onset dementia.” She rolled her eyes.

“You don’t believe them?”

“Well, she’s always been very forgetful, especially of dates and what grade I was in at school. Looking back at it now, I realize the symptoms were there for a long time, I was just too young to really understand. Sometimes I feel guilty about that … Anyway, some sort of brain disease that affects memory makes sense. But she has days where she’s cognizant, too cognizant, she remembers everything. She’s her old self again. But on her bad days, she’s always fixed on me being in high school, or her being in high school and bear attacks. That doesn’t sound like any case of dementia on record.”

“Hmm, that is strange.” He shifted the bag of corn to better cover her injury. “You’ve been taking care of her for ten years, alone?”

“Well, yeah. Who else was gonna do it?” she said. “Rachel was in a relationship when I was in high school, but they never got married. And we don’t have other family around, hired help is too expensive, and abuse is so common. I couldn’t live with myself if I let something like that happen to her. So, I dropped out of college and started working full time. Now, here we are.”

Melting into his touch, she relaxed and let the cold soothe her aching head. She was surprised how nice it felt, sitting here in silence with this stranger—a stranger she felt like she’d known for decades. She almost didn’t notice how much time had passed until he spoke again, his voice low and strained. She couldn’t understand why.

“What were you going to school for?”

“Art.” She chuckled. “I was just taking some classes at the community college. My plan was to work during the day and make masterpieces at night until I got into a gallery somewhere. The whole youthful dream of the starving artist.” Realizing she was oversharing, she cleared her throat and changed the topic. “I’m sure this is exactly the evening you had imagined.” She tried to laugh, but it came out a strangled choke.

“I get to see you.” His voice was gruff, she couldn’t tell what emotion he was trying to mask. “I do wish it was under better circumstances with less blood.”

“Me too.” She smiled. “To be honest, I didn’t even realize what time it was until I saw you.”

“Well, that would be my fault.”

Opening one eye, she glanced at him. He looked sheepish. “I wanted to come by earlier. I thought we could go to the park for a walk before dinner. I tried calling, but when you didn’t answer, I thought I’d show up and see if you’d be okay with that.”

“Oh, yeah, I remember my phone going off. That was around the time she started throwing things at me.”

His expression looked pained.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” she said.

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

Sitting up in her chair, Tom pulled his hands back, placing them in his lap.

“I’m not so sure about that.” She laughed. “I think I kind of forgot about our date.”

“I think I’ll forgive you for that. This time.” He laughed too, no doubt trying to make her feel better.

“We can reschedule. I can call you when … when things calm down with her again. I don’t really want to leave her when she’s like this.”

“No.”

Startled by the finality in his tone, she eyed him. “What?”

“No, you’re not leaving her and we’re not rescheduling. We’ll relocate instead. I said I’d buy you dinner and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Stay there, I have to go make a phone call.”

“What?” she repeated, watching him leave.

“Stay,” he said over his shoulder before closing the front door. Less than five minutes later, he came back, surveying the broken mugs and plates scattered across the floor.

“Where’s your broom?” he asked.

“Oh no, I am not having you clean in my house.”

He arched a brow at her. “You just had blunt force trauma to the head and experienced a highly stressful ordeal, you should stay sitting down. Tell me where your broom is.”

“Bossy.”

“I’ll find it myself.” He started poking around, opening every door until he found the laundry closet where the broom and dustpan were hanging.

“Hey!”

“I’m not snooping.”

Putting her hand on the table to hoist herself from her seat, her fingers brushed against something hard that crinkled. As she looked down, she was filled with guilt.

“Did you … did you bring me flowers?”

“Yes. It’s customary for a man to bring flowers when picking up a woman for a date.”

Inspecting them, she frowned. “You cleaning up broken mugs in my kitchen isn’t exactly a date. I’m sorry, Thomas.”

“Tom,” he corrected, before turning his blazing eyes to her. “Anything can be a date if you want it to be. I get to spend an evening with you and I certainly count that as a date. Stop apologizing for things that aren’t your fault.”

Hiding her face in the flowers, she blushed. She was more than relieved, and highly flattered at his attitude. Yet she couldn’t help the guilt rising in her. He deserved a better date than this.

For the first time since he arrived, she took stock of what she looked like. Her hair was an absolute wreck from when Rachel pulled it and she was still wearing her jeans and tank top, covered in flour and cleaning solution. Oh no … she was wearing a tank top!

Putting the bag of frozen corn down, she placed her hand over her scarred bicep, pulling in on herself. Her heart started to race, and she felt tears sting her eyes. He emptied the dustpan in the trash and put the broom away.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

“No, I—” She hesitated. “I didn’t realize I was still wearing my dirty work clothes. Let me check on Rachel, then I’ll change.”

He took the bag of frozen corn from her, putting it back in the freezer.

“Rachel?” Gently rapping her knuckles on the door, she didn’t hear anything. Pushing the door open, she peered inside. Rachel lay atop her bed, her breathing deep and even. Her fit had worn her out.

“She’s asleep.” Subconsciously, Clarissa put an open hand over her exposed scars. “I’ll just be right back.”

Tom nodded, a crease forming between his brows. She was in her doorway when she heard him behind her.

“Please don’t feel like you have to cover your marks because of me.”

She closed the door without acknowledging she’d heard him.

Yanking her hair from its bun, she pulled her comb through the tangles. After stripping down to her panties, she spritzed herself with perfume, then went to her dresser. She rummaged through the drawers, retrieving a clean pair of jeans. On a stroke of luck, she found an old blouse shoved in the back corner; it was the type with a built-in tank top and a buttery soft lace overlay that covered her arms. Her burns were, and weren’t, covered at the same time.

Pulling her father’s necklace on and fluffing her hair, she scrutinized herself in the mirror. It was as good as she was going to get in less than ten minutes.

Back in the main room, she found Thomas looking at their meager shelf of movies and books. Smirking, he pulled out one of her old sketchbooks. When Rachel put it out, she didn’t protest because not in a hundred years could she have foreseen this situation. She groaned internally as he turned to her.

“Is this yours?” he asked.

“From college, yeah. You don’t have to—”

“I want to, do you mind?” He opened it.

“I guess not,” she muttered.

“Oh, it can’t be that bad.” Flipping through the pages, the laugh fell from his lips. “These are really good.”

“Thanks.” She never knew what she was supposed to do with herself when someone was looking at her art. Bouncing her weight between her feet, she stared at the floor.

“These landscapes are amazing. Everything looks so alive. I can’t understand it though. You’re so talented, why did you stop?”

She hesitated for a beat, the question was personal and invasive, the type she always shut down. Yet, for some reason, she didn’t mind his asking. She’d never had anyone she could tell before.

“When I was in high school, I struggled. I had more bullies than friends. Art was safe, it made me feel better, hopeful in a way. Letting me see the beauty and the silver lining in the world. My senior year before graduation, it got really bad.” She shook her head. She wouldn’t burden him with the gory details of the shower incident. They weren’t there yet. “I kept it up in college, thinking I’d be able to share my hope with others who needed it. When Rachel got sick, I couldn’t find much hope anymore.”

“Having her near, yet not near, that must be very difficult.” She nodded, encouraging him to keep looking. The next pages were a collection of wolf studies she’d done at the zoo in Lawrence one weekend. His eyes lit up. “Do you like wolves?”

“I don’t know, I guess I’m just curious.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sometimes I like to think my dad gave me this carving for a reason. Maybe he just really liked wolves, I don’t know.” She played with the necklace.

“Is that them? Your parents.” He gestured to a picture on the wall.

“Yeah, that was a year after they got married.”

“What happened to them?”

“There was a fire. The firefighters got me out, but my parents were already dead. I spent my fourth birthday in the burn ward, then when I got out, I moved here with Rachel.”

“What caused it, do you know?”

“No clue. I was so young I don’t remember what the fire marshal said. Something about the gas line, I think. I mean, I was so young when it happened, I don’t even remember my parents. Just the pain, the antiseptic burning my nose, the terrible feeling of the gauze against my skin.”

“I’m so sorry, Clarissa. That must have been very difficult for you, still.”

“Sometimes it is, but it’s hard to miss people you don’t remember.”

Turning from the picture on the wall, she looked at him. His face was full of that unreadable emotion again. Raising his hand, he went to brush his thumb over her cheek. She flinched. He hesitated, hand hovering midair.

“I would never hurt you, Clarissa, I could never. You’re too precious.” Bringing his hand back, he brushed his fingers across her face with deliberately slow movements. “I wish I could go back and take away even a fraction of your suffering. Even if it meant I had to endure it myself tenfold, I’d take it.”

Breath hitching, her heart faltered. She was at a loss of what to say. She’d never heard a declaration like that outside the movies. She didn’t think anyone even talked like that.

Her mind raced and her body started to ache. She had to respond, say something. He was staring at her with his warm gaze, inviting her in with his proximity. She spat out the first word her brain could form.

“Why?”

The intensity melted from his face, and he shook his head. “I wish I could explain it. I wish words could do justice to how exquisite you are, to how beautiful your soul is to me. Then perhaps you would understand my desire, my need , to protect you.”

“I never asked to be protected.”

“You don’t have to ask, and you never need to, that’s the whole point.”

“How do you know I’m deserving of that?”

He moved further into her space. Warmth radiated from his body and his breath tickled her face. Her senses went hazy. The urge to feel him overcame her; to feel every part of him, pressed up against her exposed skin. To bare herself to him, body and soul.

Her body moved involuntarily, her face tilting up toward his, and her back arched. Flexing her fingertips, she longed to reach out to him. He cupped her face and she let out a small gasp.

Leaning into his touch, she watched him.

“I know because I see you.” His voice was husky, his eyes darkening. “I see how much you love your aunt; how hard you work to care for her. I see how you consistently put yourself last, how much pain you’re masking, all to put those you love first.

“If that’s not the sign of a noble and pure heart, I don’t know what is. I also see how doing this, day after day, is wearing you down. Don’t you think it’s time you let someone care for you for a change?”

She choked on her breath. His words overwhelmed her. Leaning closer, she wanted to believe him. She wanted to surrender herself over to his words and his touch.

A knock sounded on the door.