Page 44 of Clara Knows Best

“Well, this took a turn,” Yoli said, clearly uncomfortable. “I’ll just butt out now. I’m going to go get some coffee.”

No one said anything, and she looked uneasily at each of them and left the room.

The silence stretched out. Clara, of course, wasn’t too shy to maintain eye contact. But she didn’t say anything.

“What?” he demanded finally.

“Nothing.”

“Good.” On that note, he stepped into Dr. Wilder’s office and shut the door, painfully aware that he wouldn’t soon forget the expression on her face, or the knowledge that he had put it there.

12

Jesse stayed away from the house Thursday evening and Clara was glad, because he was obviously in a rotten mood. He might say that the shabby, beloved old place had been nothing more than a foster home, or that the Wilders had been nothing more than a foster family, but she knew he was lying.

She just didn’t know why.

Her sixteen-year-old cousins showed up after dinner with armfuls of clothes and some exciting news: “Dad’s taking us to Dallas this weekend to audition forNext Texas Rock Starand we need your help deciding what to wear!”

Lorelei and Eloise were blonde and fair like their mother, identical twins with vastly divergent personalities, but nonetheless inseparable. “Y’all are going to play guitar in front of thousands of people?”

“And sing,” Eloise added calmly.

“We’re gonna win, too!” Lorelei cried. “You better not doubt us. We don’t need any negativity.”

“I believe,” Clara said at once. “What song are you going to do?”

“‘Travelin’ Soldier,’” they said in unison.

“Okay….Well, show me the outfits you brought.”

They left three hours later with several pieces of Clara’s own clothing. She saw that the Maserati was back, so Jesse must have disappeared into his room. She said good night to her parents and went to bed.

In the middle of the night she heard car doors slam outside. She was too cozy and sleepy to get up, but she smiled knowing that her little brothers were home for the weekend. Whatever was ailing Jesse, the boys would straighten him out.

She woke up feeling energized and optimistic. She touched up her hair and added a little highlighter around her eyes—brothers could be brutal—and headed down the stairs to defend her Pretty Princess title.

“Hart,” she exclaimed, entering the kitchen to find her elusive older brother at the coffeemaker. “I thought you were flying in later!”

“Surprise,” he said dryly. “Thought a road trip might be fun.”

Hart was, objectively, the best looking of the siblings. He had the Colonel’s athletic build and black hair, but their mother’s softer mouth and sleepy brown eyes made him almost pretty. Girls, including Clara’s own friends, had been fascinated by him since before he was old enough to care, teachers had always loved her because she was his little sister, and she was pretty sure his high school football coach’s firstborn son being named Hart wasn’t a coincidence. For all that, though, the guy was surprisingly easy to be around.

“And was it fun?” she asked, grinning. “Or did they drive you nuts?”

“Both.” He met her eyes, intense and serious. “Where’s Jesse Flores?”

“I don’t know. In his room?”

“Room’s empty.”

“He’s been driving Mom’s car.”

“Car’s here.”

She shrugged. “Maybe he went for a run.”

He stared at her.

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