Page 67 of Clara Knows Best

She looked impressed by the thought. “You think so?”

“He’d never admit it, so you can assume whatever you want.”

“Hmm, I think I will. Thanks.”

He unlocked the Maserati and tossed her coat onto the back seat. Then he slammed the door and they started back toward the festival. “So what else?”

“What else? You want to hear about my other terrible dates?”

He found that he was keenly interested in the subject. “Might as well.”

“Okay, let’s see—” she began, but was interrupted by shouts from somewhere ahead.

“Dr. Flores! Dr. Flores, come here, quick!”

He didn’t know the teenager on sight, but wondered if it was one of the STEM kids.

“Peter,” Clara provided.

“What’s up, Peter?” he asked.

“My little sister! She was doing a cartwheel and she hit her head on the metal railing and fell in the creek. We got her out, but she has a big cut on her head, and she’s not acting right. They’re calling an ambulance!”

“I can look at her,” he said, keeping his voice calm. “Where is she?”

“Right over there,” he answered, pointing. “There’s a medical tent, but they only have Band-Aids. I was so glad to see you walking up—”

“Go with Clara to my car,” he interrupted, handing her the keys. “I have a kit in the trunk. It looks like a bookbag. Make it fast.”

“Yeah, we’ll be fast,” Peter promised, and took off at a run. He didn’t know what car to look for and he wasn’t holding the keys, but that didn’t slow him down any and it didn’t really matter; Jesse had only given him the errand to keep him busy.

22

When Clara reached the first aid tent, several strides behind her eager escort, she saw Jesse sitting cross-legged on the ground beside a low cot. He was alternating between smiling and murmuring in English to the little girl who lay there, and chatting with her parents in effortless Spanish.

She knew logically that his bilingualism wasn’t a particularly impressive or unique thing; fifty miles from the Mexican border, even most of thegringos(like herself) knew a lot of conversational Spanish. Maybe it wasn’t the Spanish. Maybe it was the smile, or the way everyone was so calm because he was calm. Whatever the reason, the moment she laid eyes on him her heart gave a deep, satisfied sigh.

“How’s Bella?” she asked.

“Doing great,” he answered.

“I’m bleeding on my forehead,” Bella added, in case that was in danger of being overlooked.

“I see that,” Clara said appreciatively. “Does it hurt?”

“Just like, a little bit,” the girl said modestly.

“You cold?”

“I was, but I got a blanket now.”

“Good,” Clara said. She nudged Peter. “See? Fine.”

“Fine,” he echoed. “I thought maybe she had a concussion or secondary drowning or something.”

“She’s not drowning,” Jesse assured him. “She might be slightly concussed, but as I said, she’s doing great. Aren’t you?”

“Yep,” Bella said.

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