Page 100 of Clara Knows Best

He opened the crate door and gave her a biscuit, which she took carefully in her teeth. He rubbed her soft head, called her Mrs. Milkbone, and unfastened her Elizabethan collar while she ate her snack.

“No TV. That’ll rot your brain.” He whipped out his Texan accent when he added, “This is Day 5, baby. You and me gon’ do a li’l PT, maybe take a walk. What Mama don’t know won’t hurt her.”

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Clara was not really concerned that Jesse couldn’t handle the dog; Greer still spent ninety percent of her time dozing in the crate. But the man did have a bad shoulder and a bruised rib, and Greerwasa bit antsy from all the captivity. If she did something unexpected, they could both get hurt.

But when she returned from Mass, Greer was asleep like usual and Jesse was reading the newspaper at the kitchen table.

“Is she asleep or is she unconscious?”

He gave her a Look. “Where’re your parents?”

“I dropped them off at Aunt Liesl’s, but I wanted to come see Greer. Did you look at her sutures?”

“Yeah, they’re fine. Probably take them out next week before I fly out.”

“Okay.” She pulled out the chair across from him, sat, and folded her hands on the tabletop. “Do you want to talk about poker night?”

“Nope.”

She was undeterred. “Who all was there?”

He turned a page of his paper and ignored her.

“I know Helio was there,” she went on. “I talked to his fiancée at church. Y’all were pretty good friends back in the day. Are you going to hang out again before you leave town?”

He ignored that, too.

“Well, maybe next time,” she said cheerfully. “Saw Mrs. Nuñez again, too. She sends her best. Oh, and Polly Pickford asked after you. I told her you were single and ready to mingle.”

That made him look up. “You did not.”

“No, I didn’t,” she admitted. “Tempted. But I thought, better not raise Cain on the Lord’s day.”

“Isn’t she married by now?”

“Divorced,” Clara said, studying him for any sign of interest in his high school sweetheart of about three months.

“Doesn’t surprise me one bit,” he said, going back to his paper. “That girl was a piece of work.”

“Am I a piece of work?” she asked a bit wistfully.

“You’re a whole assembly line.”

She smiled, satisfied.

A minute later, he volunteered, “DeWitt Petty is in jail in Houston.”

“Really? Why?”

“Skipping bail or something.”

“Oh, great!”

“Great for him, too, because I think your dad was about to snuff him.”

“My dad would never snuff anyone,” she said in surprise. “He’s a pillar of the community, you know.”

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