Page 47 of Clara Knows Best

“Don’t you dare act like I’ve been snubbing you,” Hart returned. “You told your girlfriend to have me arrested when I showed up at your apartment. You threatened me with a restraining order! Now you’re in my parents’ kitchen, walking around like you belong here.”

“He does belong here,” Nash put in. “He’s family.”

“No, he isn’t,” Hart growled. “Family doesn’t do what he did.”

Clara looked at Jesse and decided that he looked…confused. No longer furious but not guilty, either. Just…kind of bewildered.

“I never threatened you with a restraining order,” he said roughly. “What kind of story is that?”

“You don’t remember the restraining order? Do you remember telling my mom that you’d take her to court if she stopped paying your tuition?”

“What?”

Clara winced at Jesse’s tone, but Hart doubled down.

“I grew up believing you were my brother. We all believed it. Then you turned on us.”

“Is that what your mom told you?” Jesse asked stiffly. “Ask her who turned on who. Becauseshe’sthe one who cut me off the day of my dad’s funeral.Shesaid she’d pay my tuition until the end of the year if I never contacted any of you again.”

“No, I didn’t,” Dr. Wilder gasped.

Jesse was staring at her across the wide room, the pain and betrayal in his gaze unmistakable. “Now who’s forgetting?”

“Notme,” she said in surprise.

“Clara said I told Hart to leave me alone. Clara said you told her and the boys that I was mad at you because my dad was dying, and I want to know whynobody told methat I had four little Wilders living within five miles of me during the worst and loneliest time of my entire life. But I guessyoudecided that y’all were done with me. Didn’t you?”

Now Dr. Wilder looked puzzled. Not embarrassed, not guilty—puzzled. “Youweremad at us,” she said helplessly. “Don’t you remember? You sent all those horrible emails.”

“I never emailed you in my life,” he retorted rashly. “Show me the emails I wrote!”

“They’re in your file.” Dr. Wilder waved a hand towards the hallway.

“Of course they are,” he practically snarled.

“I’ll get it,” Nash volunteered at once, and jogged out of the room.

The whole family stood perfectly still and silent until he returned. The Wilders were looking at Jesse Flores, and Jesse was looking at Grace.

“Here you go,” Nash said, returning. He went straight to Jesse with the folder. “Flores, Jesús L.”

Jesse snatched it. “What kind of psycho prints and files emails?”

Dr. Wilder was not offended. “Well, it’s lucky I did, since you don’t remember any of them.”

13

In addition to his report cards and other various paperwork from his youth, there were five emails, each worse than the last. Jesse spread them out on the dining table and read them over and over. Hart read them, too, dabbing at his nose with a paper napkin. Clara stayed where she was, with her mother and father. Her big brown eyes were solemn. Worried.

Jesse straightened and looked long and hard at his foster mother. He knew the truth now—the emails made everything crystal clear—but would any of them possibly believe it?

“Why,” he said finally, “would you ever ask me to come back here after emails like these? Why would you want someone who hated you this much—” he looked at the worst email—“looking after your business? Your patients?”

Maybe Dr. Wilder was getting a clue, because she turned the question right back around on him. “Why would you come here to help me after I cut you off?” she returned, in a voice that wavered slightly.

Nash laughed abruptly. “You probably both assumed the other one was ready to apologize.”

There was a long pause. Jesse didn’t know what Dr. Wilder was thinking, but it was certainly true on his part—he’d come for her apology. He wasn’t sure if he’d been ready to accept it, but he’d wanted to hear it more than anything. After the first few days of his trip, he’d figured that she was trying to get away withnotapologizing, to save face.

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