23. Clark
Chapter twenty-three
Clark
A drenaline courses through my system, not at all ideal for 11:30 at night. Syd told me that Clara was coming to town this weekend, but I certainly wasn’t expecting to get a late-night SOS text from her.
I can’t figure out if the adrenaline is the excited anticipation kind or the fight-or-flight variety. Pulling into Clara’s driveway, I turn off my truck and pull my ten-foot ladder out of the truck bed.
Knocking on the door, I hear Clara call, “It’s open!” I turn the doorknob and step inside, not at all prepared for the sight before me.
A barstool is in the middle of the room, with what appears to be a spatula attached to a coat hanger attached to a broom handle propped against it. Glancing left, I see Clara sulking on her couch. Her curls are tousled, and she’s dressed in flannel Christmas pajamas, because . . . of course she is. She’s holding the remnants of some sugary concoction in her hand, her shirt coated with a dusting of white powder.
A chuckle erupts out of me before I can stop it.
Clara’s eyes narrow at me, and I quickly clear my throat.
“This is not funny, Clark,” she says, trying to sound firm and sassy, but coming across unfairly adorable instead. Clara stands up and strides over to me. “It’s important for you to understand that I am not a night owl. I need copious amounts of rest in order to be a functional human being, and that thing is destroying my chance at a full night’s sleep.”
In a stroke of excellent comedic timing, the smoke detector lets out a loud chirp!
Gesturing toward the bar stool situation, I say, “And this was your solution?”
“Pardon me for not having a ladder at the ready,” she snipes back.
“I thought you were a Girl Scout?” I question with a wry smile.
Clara rolls her eyes. “I may have exaggerated that point.”
I can’t stop my lips from spreading into a true smile. “I’ll get it silenced in no time. Do you have any extra batteries?”
“Oh shoot; I do not,” Clara says sheepishly. “I’m going to need you to strike from the record my claim of Girl Scout preparedness.”
I pull two batteries out of my pocket. “Good thing I brought some then.”
The corner of Clara’s lips quirk, mesmerizing my attention. Another well-timed chirp! interrupts the moment, and I move to set up the ladder. “You mind moving the bar stool out of the way?” I ask.
Clara does so, then she comes back to hold the ladder as I climb up. “I’ll be fine,” I tell her. “I climb ladders without supervision all the time. You can just relax.”
“Nope, can’t risk the lawsuit if you fall on my property. I’ll hold it steady,” she answers.
“As I recall, your ‘holding items steady’ skills could use some work,” I quip. Apparently, the late hour has made me bolder than usual. That’s the second time I’ve referenced the first time we met. Or first times, if you count the night and the following morning as separate occasions. I glance down long enough to see the color in Clara’s cheeks, then quickly look away.
Or I really will fall off this ladder.
I focus on the task at hand, quickly changing out the battery and resetting the smoke detector. I put the old battery in my pocket to dispose of later, then climb down the ladder.
“There you go. No more sleep interruptions,” I say once I’m back on the ground.
Clara’s eyes are locked on mine, not the slightest bit sleepy.
“Well, now I’m wide awake,” she sighs, turning away from me. She plops down on the couch and pats the cushion next to her. “Want a cookie?”
No, you don’t. Leave now!
“Sure.” I take a seat, and she holds a box over to me. Inside are the largest cookies I’ve ever seen—so big, I’m not even sure they should be marketed as cookies.
“This one is the rest of the puppy chow cookie I was eating. This is raspberry dark chocolate sea salt; that’s confetti; and this one is ooey gooey butter cake,” Clara explains, pointing out each option. “I was supposed to take these to Syd’s house for dinner tomorrow night, but the smoke detector drove me to break them open early.”
I break off a chunk of the butter cake cookie and take a bite. The sweetness is tempered by the abundant rich butter flavor. While the middle is the softest cookie I’ve ever tried, the edges have that perfect crisp texture. “That is . . . wow,” I say, turning to Clara. Chewing another bite of the puppy chow cookie, she nods with wide eyes, as though “wow” is the only possible response.
“Kansas City’s finest,” she quips, then licks the powdered sugar off her fingers.
“How’s your dad?” I ask, knowing I should go home yet unwilling to do so.
Clara’s eyes scrunch up quizzically.
“The first time you were here, you left because your dad broke his ankle. Is he all healed up?” I clarify.
Her eyes soften. “Oh, yeah, he is. He doesn’t even have to wear the walking boot anymore. The physical therapist gave him several exercises to work on at home, but he’s done with the official sessions. Which he’s elated about. Although, I think my mom misses the temporary handicapped parking pass they got to use. My dad is one of those stop-and-smell-the-roses types. Parking closer gave him less time to get distracted by the world around him.”
I give a small smile before eating the final bite of cookie in my hand. Time to go, Clark. You’re playing with fire.
“And how is Pops doing?” Clara asks before I can make a move to leave.
I rub my beard and lean forward with my elbows on my knees instead. “Ah, no changes to report, unfortunately.” I stare at the fireplace, at the decorated Christmas tree still sitting on the hearth, unsure of what else to say. The fear of losing Pops on top of . . . well, everything else, sends me to a dark and broody mind space.
“Hmmm,” Clara hums, not saying anything further. I’d expected her to jump in with more ideas on how to get Pops active again. But she seems to sense that’s not what I need right now. I glance over at the empathetic expression on her face and fight the urge to bury my face in her neck. To get a closer inhale of that spicy sweet scent always emanating off her skin.
“Well, I should let you get some sleep now. Syd is going to expect a functional human being to show up at her house tomorrow,” I say with some reluctance. Clara gives a small smile, and we both stand up. “Thanks for sharing a cookie with me,” I add. “They’re a lot fancier than anything we have around here.”
Clara shrugs. “True. But everything you have around here seems pretty fantastic, too.”
She peers up at me, and I notice a smear of powdered sugar on her cheek. Without thinking, I reach up and brush it off with my thumb. Surprise flashes in her eyes, but not scared surprised . . . more like, pleasantly surprised. “Uh, just a smudge of powdered sugar there,” I mumble.
“Oh, thanks,” Clara responds, a faint blush spreading across her cheeks. “And thanks for coming to the rescue. Again. I promise to work on my Girl Scout skills.”
“No need; I got you covered any time,” I say. I’m treading water in the ocean of Clara’s blue eyes, seconds away from going under. I whisper goodnight and turn toward the door before it’s too late.