9. Clara
CLARA
COMEDOWN
It’s still early when I wake. Through the half-drawn curtains, I can see the sun beginning to crest over the horizon.
The city below starts to stir with activity.
And here I am, lying in a hospital bed. When was the last time I breathed in fresh air?
God, what I wouldn’t give to sit outside right now.
A heavy weight across my legs brings my attention from the window to the man slumped over me.
Maverick is snoring lightly, his head resting on his arm.
He’s facing me, and my eyes linger on his soft, unguarded expression.
His hand is still in mine, and the warmth from his skin is grounding. Miraculously, I don’t feel trapped.
I feel safe.
But I really need to use the bathroom.
“Maverick,” I whisper while attempting to stealthily pull my hand from his.
Apparently, I’m not very stealthy because Maverick jerks awake as soon as he feels my fingers slide against his palm. “Clara? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. I just have to use the bathroom.”
“Oh. Right.” He sits up and leans back in his chair to give me space.
As I gingerly climb off the mattress, he raises his arms above his head and stretches with a groan.
A series of small pops and cracks has my eyes widening, and I pause to look at him.
“I’m getting old and rusty,” he tells me with a sheepish smile.
I shake my head and roll my eyes, heading toward the bathroom. Old and rusty. Sure, there’s some salt in his pepper, but Maverick can’t be older than 42. Hardly old and rusty.
I quickly use the bathroom and wash my hands. I’m careful to keep my wrists out of the water; Rosie removed the bandages on my fingers, but she re-wrapped my wrists after the shower. They still ache, and I can feel the tender skin beneath the gauze.
A couple of fresh toothbrushes were left on the counter yesterday, and I take the time to brush my teeth. I ignore my reflection in the mirror, fixating my gaze on the running water instead.
I don’t feel like myself, and I know I don’t look like myself either. I don’t particularly want to see what a mess I am right now.
A knock startles me. “Clara? You okay in there?”
Maverick.
“I’m fine,” I call out, rinsing my toothbrush and wiping my hands on the towel. I must’ve zoned out.
Two nurses—Rosie and a woman who looks like a younger version of her—are standing next to my bed when I step out of the bathroom.
I glance around, searching for Maverick.
When I see him sitting on the loveseat, phone in hand, my shoulders drop, releasing tension I didn’t know I was holding. He gives me a reassuring nod.
Rosie is the first of the nurses to spot me. “Clara, darling. This is Sarah. She’s gonna be your nurse today.”
I try to hide my frown, but I’m pretty sure I fail. I didn’t consider the fact that Rosie would be going home today and I’d have a new nurse.
“Don’t you worry. I’ll be back this evening, if you’re still here, and Sarah will take good care of you. Now come over here and let me take your vitals.” She pats the bed, signaling where she wants me.
I do as she says and maneuver my way back into bed, simultaneously pulling up the covers. While Rosie takes my blood pressure, checks the bandages, and gives Sarah her report, I notice a tray of food on the table. My stomach takes that as a cue to let out a loud rumble.
“We’re almost done, then you can eat. And eat it all, darling. You need the energy,” Rosie tells me, amusement lacing her tone.
“Your wrists are looking good,” Sarah observes. “How’s your pain? Do you need any pain meds?”
“No, I think I’m okay. It’s manageable.” There’s a throbbing in my head that hasn’t quite gone away since I woke up yesterday, but I don’t need anything for it.
“Okay, well. If you need anything, press the call button, and I’ll be right here.”
“Thank you. And thank you, Rosie.” I’m going to miss her today. Her kindness last night brought me back from the edge.
She made me feel human again.
“Of course, my darling.” Rosie gives my arm a light squeeze, then fixes her face into a stern expression. Like a mother scolding her daughter. “Now eat up. You haven’t eaten.”
I nod and smile in her direction, watching as both nurses leave my room.
The moment the door shuts behind them, Maverick is there, pushing the table over my legs and sitting my bed up. “You heard the lady.”
“I could’ve done that myself, you know.” I reach for the lid and set it to the side.
I can’t help the involuntary jig of excitement when I take in the food.
Eggs. A yogurt parfait with granola. Toast. Orange juice.
And coffee. It’s hospital coffee, which likely equates to watery black bean juice, but it’s still coffee. I dive in.
“You absolutely could’ve.”
I’m stuffing my face, ready to bring the next bite of eggs to my mouth when I pause. Shoot. He doesn’t have breakfast. Here I am eating in front of him, and he doesn’t even have breakfast. “Uhm… Do you want some? Are you hungry?”
“I’m not eating your food, sunshine.” There’s mirth in his eyes when he looks at me, and he reaches out to lightly tap my bent elbow.
A silent command to take the bite. He doesn’t have to tell me twice.
“Detective Cruz is going to stop by, if that’s all right.
He’s a friend of mine, but he’s also working on your case.
And he’s bringing me breakfast, so don’t worry about me. ”
“I’m glad because I would’ve shared, but I didn’t really want to.” I pause and consider the fact that his friend is a detective, working my case, and he’s coming here. There’s no way it’s just to drop off something for Maverick to eat. “He’s going to want to question me, isn’t he?”
Maverick nods. “Yes. If you don’t think you’re up for it, we can wait a little longer. But your statement might give us a break in the case.”
“Okay. I’ll try. But first, do you know if Tamara knows I’m here?”
“We can ask Cruz. He’s kept in contact with her.”
Thirty minutes later, there’s a tap on the door. Maverick must know it’s Cruz because he stands up to let him in.
“Clara, this is Detective Jonathan Cruz.” Maverick introduces the detective who trails behind him, a white bag in one hand and a tray of coffee in the other.
He’s as tall as Maverick, who looks to be nearly a foot taller than me.
Hispanic, with dark hair and kind, light brown eyes.
He looks like a detective with his trimmed beard and gray suit.
I spy three cups and immediately decide I like him.
It’s probably a consolation coffee because he’s going to make me relive the nightmare I’ve been through, but it’s from one of my favorite coffee shops so I’ll take it.
That is, if the third cup really is for me.
If not, he’ll get the silent treatment .
“Hi Clara. I’m Detective Cruz. You can call me Jonathan or Cruz, like this guy does.” He sets the coffee tray on the side table next to the loveseat, then shoves the bag at Maverick’s chest. “Here. I don’t want any complaints. You get what you get.”
I roll my lips between my teeth to stifle a grin. Cruz notices and winks, then lifts one of the coffee cups and raises it in my direction. A wordless question. Do I want it? I’m already nodding. Yes, please.
Maverick takes the coffee from Cruz and sets it in front of me, then takes a seat and pulls out whatever Cruz brought him. A breakfast sandwich.
“I know it’s still early, but I need to ask you a few questions,” Cruz starts.
“And you brought me coffee in hopes I’d answer them all.” I level him with a look, but there’s no heat behind it.
“Guilty.” He waits until I gesture for him to get on with it, then digs a hand in his suit jacket and removes a small notepad and pen. “What can you tell us about the night you disappeared?”
The night I disappeared.
The night he drove me home after work only to drug me and hold me captive.
The night I learned that I’m not as great a judge of character as I thought.
Two weeks ago
I’ve been on my feet all night, unable to take a break since I clocked in .
Fridays are typically busy for us at The Pour House. So many customers come in to drown out their sorrows and shitty work weeks. I don’t judge them; I’d do the same thing if I weren’t slinging drinks behind the bar. But tonight? Tonight is unusually busy, and I’m ready for a little respite.
I spy Tamara flitting between her tables, hustling to pick up food from the kitchen and drinks from the end of the bar. Any other night, we’d have time to gossip and give each other shit, just because we can. The long hours pass by much faster when we can spend them laughing.
From the corner of my eye, I spot a familiar head of dirty blonde hair and smile in anticipation.
Samson has been coming to The Pour House for a couple of weeks now, always during my late shifts.
He’s claimed the spot to the left of the beer taps tucked between the dispenser and wall post, giving us the illusion of privacy.
No one typically sits there because it’s relatively closed off.
They want to socialize with their friends and other patrons.
So when Samson comes, it’s always available.
Excitement courses through me at the sight of him taking his usual seat.
If I can’t spend the night talking with Tamara, my new regular is the next best thing.
He’s charming and handsome with his man bun and brown eyes.
I’ve found myself wondering what he looks like in glasses.
I can see the outline of his contacts, and I think Samson in glasses would be a dangerous combination.
I finish drying a glass and set the rag down, making my way to his spot and stopping directly in front of him. “Hey, you. Want your usual?”