Page 15 of Clara Knows Best

5

Clara would have overslept if the Colonel hadn’t woken her to ask if she was giving up on the science club meeting. She dragged herself out of bed, showered, and swallowed 800 milligrams of ibuprofen. She didn’t have the energy to blow her hair dry so she put it up in a bun and added a sparkly headband. A little CC cream, a little mascara, and she was stumbling down the stairs to meet the day.

“I’ll drop you off,” her father offered.

“Thanks,” she sighed.

“Headache?”

“Yeah.” She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples, but it didn’t help. “I know you’re not going to believe this, but this is my first hangover.”

“Why wouldn’t I believe it?” he asked.

She frowned at him. “I don’t know. Do you?”

There was no humor in his direct gaze. “Sure.”

She felt a surge of love for her parent.

He smiled.

“Jesse said the waitress kept refilling my margarita,” she recalled. “But I only paid for one so I don’t know why she’d do that.”

“Was DeWitt there?”

She cast her memory back even farther. “Yes. I was supposed to text you, but Jesse was there and I forgot.”

He handed her the rose gold travel mug.

She looked down at it for a moment, registering that he had made coffee for her. Then she tried to smile up at him. “Thanks, Daddy.”

He brushed his thumb through the lower lashes of her left eye, where a drop of moisture had inexplicably accumulated, took her sunglasses off the counter, and placed them carefully on her face. “Better get going.”

She nodded, filled with renewed purpose, and followed him out to the truck.

Clara reflected as they drove toward the high school from which she had graduated that if it weren’t for the headache, she’d be having a great morning.

It was a nice, sunny day and the bright blue sky almost made up for the dull brown desert that stretched as far as the eye could see. She knew it was ugly, objectively, but she kind of loved it.

The little town of Romeo, like all places, had its shortcomings, but a lot of it was nice to look at, with a few historic buildings and a park in the center with an elaborate gazebo. In the winter the saplings that lined the neatly swept sidewalks on the main drag lost their beautiful greenery, and the council compensated by stringing them with white lights that looked completely charming at night. By day, the banners on the streetlights were visible, teasing the upcoming Valentine’s Day festival the town was known for—at least, in Presidio County.

The high school was a traditional red brick structure from the 1950s, and her mother’s STEM kids were waiting for her outfront when her father pulled up to let her out. The teenagers rejoiced in her arrival and pointed her out to the curmudgeonly janitor, who unlocked the “cafegymatorium”—Home of the Romeo Rattlesnakes!—on Saturdays for student club meetings.

“Mr. Garcia won’t let us in without a grownup,” one of them informed her.

“Well, I’m here now,” she said, lifting her sunglasses on top of her head and then immediately thinking better of it. “Let’s get inside, shall we? Thanks, Mr. Garcia.”

The STEM kids were perfectly nice, but she never had anything valuable to contribute to their meetings. It was the third time she’d stood in for her mother, and she was glad she hadn’t slept through it and disappointed the seven teenagers before her.

“So how’s it going?” she asked, setting McDonald’s bags on one of the tables. She might not have any experience in science and technology, but she knew the value of breakfast sandwiches. “Anyone hungry?”

Everyone was hungry, and she leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes as they chattered away over breakfast.

“You got a lot of orange juice,” one of the boys remarked.

“It’s good for you,” she answered sharply. She didn’t intend to sound so cranky but her head really hurt.

To her amusement, every one of them took an orange juice, thanked her politely, and drank it.

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