41
Clara didn’t really feel like talking to her mother on the drive home. Greer was in the back seat of the old Mercedes, snoring softly as they cruised down the straight, smooth highway.
After several minutes of silence, Dr. Wilder said, “It was nice to see him, wasn’t it?”
“You waited a long time,” Clara said, glancing briefly at her.
“Prayers of the faithful,” her mother murmured.
It sounded like she was talking to herself, so Clara didn’t answer.
“Still have a crush on him?”
She sighed. Why was it easier to talk to her father about these things than her own mother? It didn’t make sense. She wanted to prevaricate, but filial guilt made her answer. “I don’t think so.”
Dr. Wilder didn’t misunderstand. “Love.”
She was quick. No doubt about it. “Maybe.”
“You were very nice about him leaving, I thought.”
“Dad warned me not to make a big deal of it.”
“Ah.”
Clara forced herself to keep talking. “He said Jesse’ll come back when he’s ready.”
“Oh, I think so, too,” her mother agreed.
“Last time it took six years.”
“Not this time.”
Clara wished she could be sure of it. It felt awful, him leaving. She was regretting not saying anything to him—even if Jesse shot her down, at least he wouldn’t be totally ignorant of her feelings. Against every instinct, she’d backed off all week. Now she just had to have faith in her father’s wisdom.
“In fact, I’m willing to bet you one hundred dollars that he comes back within…six weeks.”
Clara looked at her, startled. “Really?”
Dr. Wilder smiled serenely.
“Okay, you’re on.” And surprisingly, she felt a tiny bit better. A very, very tiny bit.