Page 62 of Clara Knows Best

Clara popped her head into the kitchen. “I got a date for tonight, and I came home to get extra clothes.” She glanced at the TV. “Murder, She Wrote? Nice.”

Dr. Wilder was polishing her wedding silver. “Who’s your date?”

“Jesse Flores.”

Her mother’s eyebrows rose. “I thought he doesn’t do Valentine’s Day.”

“False alarm.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah,” Clara agreed with a smile. “Huh.”

“Where will you be going?”

“Just the Love Fest. He says he’ll dance, so I’m going to wear a dress.”

“Are you sure he hasn’t been body snatched?” her mother asked.

Clara laughed. “He liked my outfit today.”

“Did he?”

“Hesaidhe liked my VB dress, but I could tell he was being nice because I made it. But today he said I looked adorable, and after he said it he looked horrified.”

Her mother laughed. “So you know he meant it.”

“Exactly. A Freudian slip.”

She ran up the stairs and was surprised when she caught a glimpse of herself in her mirror—she still had a rose tucked behind her ear. She put it in the bud vase on her vanity and gave it a little water before going to her closet. She already knew which dress she would wear, and she just so happened to have a pair of custom cowboy boots that matched it perfectly.

She always kept enough makeup in her purse to refresh her look, but now she packed a shimmery eyeshadow palette and afew extra lip options. Then she grabbed an outfit for work the next day, pajamas and her bedtime toiletries.

As she let herself into Jesse’s room, she got an illicit thrill and had to remind herself that her errand was legit this time. She’d been a nosy kid, the kind to open every drawer and cabinet in the house and spend rainy days rummaging through coat closets, linen closets, everyone’s closet. She liked exploring, liked finding and smelling and touching things, liked knowing secrets even if they weren’t important. Even if she hadn’t been in love with the guy, she would have gone through his room once in a while because at the time she’d felt it was pretty much her job to be familiar with everything in the house and aware of all goings-on.

Teenaged Jesse declined having any part in decorating his new bedroom, but Dr. Wilder had somehow managed, with dark, subtle wallpaper, cushy striped bedding and interesting things to look at on every wall, to strike just the right balance between the inquisitive, energetic boy and the driven, scholarly young man he was becoming. It was the bedroom Jesse deserved, the one that celebrated his nature and personality, his boyish ambitions and pursuits, and Clara knew (from eavesdropping on her parents) that her mother had absolutely hated that it had taken him fifteen years to get it.

The decade or so since she’d last crossed the threshold had not been sufficient to quench Clara’s admiration of the room and its atmosphere. But this time she didn’t go through his drawers looking for secrets; she merely enjoyed the scent of him in the air as she consulted his available wardrobe.

His closet contained four collared shirts that her mother had probably washed and ironed in her copious spare time. She selected a black shirt, recalling that he was wearing black slacks and subtle but unmistakable black leather Stetson boots (which, come to think of it, was a bold and brilliant alternative to penny loafers, or whatever doctors usually wore), and then wentinto her parents’ room to browse her father’s necktie collection. Ultimately she decided against a tie, and bagged the shirt with the dress and her work clothes before carting everything out to the car.

“Do you think Dad would mind if I borrowed this?” she asked her mother, brandishing her father’s finest headwear. “I’m pretty sure it would fit my Valentine.”

“I don’t know. He’s not back from town yet. You’d better text him.”

“I will, but I’m taking it with me because I think he’ll say yes.”

“Would you like a bran muffin for the road? I made them an hour ago.”

“Thanks, Mom. I kind of forgot about lunch.”

“I don’t blame you. So much has happened,” Dr. Wilder teased.

Clara grinned. “I’m staying at Yoli’s. See you tomorrow.”

21

Jesse reached up and held the trim above the open bathroom door, stretching his back comfortably as he watched Clara apply glittery eyeliner with painstaking care. He did not delude himself that she was doing it for him; it was obvious that she took pride and pleasure in her own appearance, and besides, she was filming herself to post on socials later.

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