Page 58 of Clara Knows Best

Clara plopped down next to him. Her younger brothers had finally gone to bed and the rest of the house was very quiet now.

Jesse’s breathing changed, and she knew he was aware of her.

“Did you let Hart beat you at arm wrestling, too?” she asked.

He kept his eyes closed and said nothing. There was probably no right answer; if he said no, he looked weak, and if he said yes, he looked arrogant.

“Never mind,” she said, with a gurgle of laughter.

“I’m going to bed,” he informed her drowsily.

“Me, too. It’s past midnight.”

But neither of them moved.

After a moment, she said, “Mom didn’t announce her retirement today.”

“She’s waiting for the right time.”

Minutes passed in companionable silence. She broke it to ask impulsively, “Would you ever consider it? Taking her practice?”

“No, Clara.”

“Right,” she agreed softly. “Dumb.”

“Dumb,” he reiterated firmly.

“It’d be nice to have you around more, though.”

“You’ll see me sometime.”

“I don’t want to see you sometime. I want to see you regularly.”

“High-maintenance,” the doctor diagnosed.

“Guilty,” she said.

19

On Monday, which was Valentine’s Day, he was surprised to see Clara in blue jeans for the first time. A flattering trouser, dark wash, high in the waist and flared in the leg—straight out of the 1970s, and her Farrah Fawcett hair and brown leather platforms concurred. Her cropped sweater had a big pink heart stitched on it.

“Adorable,” he said.

“Thank you,” she replied.

“I mean, retro,” he amended.

“I knew what you meant,” Clara said.

Which was interesting, becausehedidn’t even know what he meant.

“Valentine’s Day has never been cuter!” Yoli declared when she came in.

“Thanks, Yoli.”

“Girl, your legs are a mile long! Let me see those shoes!”

Clara laughed, but good-naturedly lifted a foot and pulled her pant leg up to reveal a knee-high boot with a five- or six-inch heel. “These were my mom’s thirty years ago.”

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