40. Clark
Chapter forty
Clark
“ Y ou’ve reached Clara! Leave me a message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can!”
I hang up before the beep, groaning.
It’s been almost a week since I pulled the most Clark move of all time. And by “Clark move,” I mean royally messing up a relationship by reacting to a situation in the most idiotic manner possible.
Clara kissed me. She told me she thought we could be great together, despite all the ways I’ve been a complete jerk to her in the past. She saw through all that and thought we could be something.
Then kissed me.
And what did I do? Locked up like the Tin Man, exactly the way Syd accused me of at the cookout for Madison.
I wanted to kiss Clara back. I wanted to pull her body flush against mine and kiss her until she forgot she loves Christmas. Kiss her until nothing else existed outside of the Clark-and-Clara picture she painted.
But I didn’t. Because I know that the Clark-and-Clara would fall apart. Know I’d stifle Clara’s eager spirit with my self-sufficiency. She wouldn’t stick around once she truly understood that I don’t need anyone. And she’d get hurt in the process. I can’t do that to her.
So I stood there, still as a statue, while the opportunity to kiss the woman I love slipped through my fingers.
Yes, I love her. Despite all the willpower I’ve put into trying to push her away, to sever that cord between her heart and mine, to kill the feeling by denying its existence. But it exists. I love her.
I’ve texted her twice this week to try to get her to talk. Not so I can profess my love—that can’t happen—but to try to help her not be embarrassed about the kiss, to apologize for my poor reaction. Blame it on a lack of sleep. Or overstimulation from the crowds, or anything other than the excruciating pain of loving this woman but needing to stay away from her for her sake.
She wouldn’t text me back, so as I walked to the festival grounds tonight for the final parade, I pushed that dreaded icon on my phone and tried to call her.
No answer. It’s what I deserve. I only wish I could give her what she deserves.
The crowds at The First Noel have been bigger than ever this week, the final week of the festival. I’ve tried my best to rein in my grouchiness, but haven’t been entirely successful. At least everyone close to me knows how much I hate these social situations. So I’ve had their benefits of the doubt that my foul mood has to do with the multitudes of people.
My benefits have apparently run out, though. Syd sees me coming and marches toward me with murder in her eyes. Probably because Clara hasn’t shown up today.
“What did you do?” Syd demands.
I narrow my eyes at her but don’t respond.
“First, Clara left early last weekend, citing some emergency at home that she never gave details for. She avoided texting me all week. Now, she finally texts me that she won’t be here this weekend because of some ‘work thing’ that came up,” she huffs. She mimes air quotes to show how much she believes Clara’s excuse.
“This festival is her baby—there’s no way she’d let some ‘work thing’ keep her from the final days.” Extra exaggerated air quotes this time. Syd’s turned feisty, and I need to get out of her line of fire. Unfortunately, I’m exactly the right person to blame.
Syd pops her hands on her hips and stares down my silence. “Don’t make me get Davis.”
I groan, rubbing a hand down my face and across my beard. “Fine. Last weekend, Clara may have said something to me about having feelings for me that went beyond friendship. And I may have reacted in . . . not the way she was hoping I’d react.”
Syd full-on punches my biceps with a mean right hook. “Ow!” I say, rubbing my left arm.
“Don’t be a baby in addition to being a complete fool,” she glowers at me. “Clark, you obviously reciprocate Clara’s feelings. Why in the world wouldn’t you tell her? You’re not making any sense!”
I sigh, rubbing my arm. It still stings. Syd could apparently also have a future as an MMA fighter if the children’s librarian or voice actress gig didn’t work out.
“Even if I was attracted to Clara, that doesn’t mean a relationship would work out between us, Syd. I’m just . . . not starting something that I know we couldn’t finish.”
“But why?” Syd jumps back in. “Is it the distance? Because there are plenty of people who have made long-distance relationships work until they figure out what they’re going to do long term.”
“No, Syd, it’s not the distance. I need you to just drop it, okay? I don’t want to talk about Clara anymore,” I say.
“If you won’t talk to me about this, find someone you can talk to, Clark. And then talk to Clara and fix this! Because you made a mess of things with my new best friend, and I’m not going to let you get away with that.” Syd’s eyes are shimmering with moisture in addition to the rage. Her emotion cuts through my defensiveness.
“I promise I’m trying to patch things up, at least make it to where Clara can still come to town and just avoid seeing me.”
“You’re trying how hard?” Syd questions.
“I’ve texted her a few times this week, and when she wouldn’t respond, I tried calling her a few minutes ago.”
Syd sniffs. “You tried an actual phone call? Like, talking with your voice through the phone?”
I roll my eyes. “Yes, Syd, I tried a real-live phone call. She didn’t answer, but I’ll keep trying. I’ve never intended to hurt her.”
She studies my face. “Maybe. But sometimes the impact matters more than the intention, Clark.”
Ouch .
Syd stalks away, but whirls around to face me again. I brace for another sucker punch.
“And go check on Clara’s plants! She asked me to do it, but the last thing we need is me killing off her favorite plant and giving her one more reason to abandon Noel!”
The First Noel is officially over, and I’ve never been more grateful for the end of something. We’d decided not to extend the festival into the week before Christmas so that everyone could enjoy a quiet holiday with their families.
I work Monday and Tuesday to take apart some of the larger festival booths that are no longer needed, but we’ll leave the decorations up until after Christmas. On Tuesday afternoon, Davis tries to bring up Clara with me as we work alongside each other.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I cut him off.
Davis gives me a look that’s not quite a glare. More in the neighborhood of concerned disappointment. It makes me uncomfortable.
“Look, man. I know Syd laid into you the other night. And I agree with every word she said, for the record. I won’t pile it on, but you need to know that I’m worried about you,” Davis says. I swallow hard and avoid eye contact as he continues. “You’re my best friend—nothing’s ever going to change that. I know every circumstance of your past that’s rolled into how you tick. Been there with you through every hard thing. And I love you like a brother.”
Davis pauses, and I swallow even harder. He claps a hand on my shoulder. “I’m worried about you , Clark. I just want you to talk to me if you need to.”
After a long pause, I manage to reply. “I appreciate it, man. But I’m not ready to talk right now. Can we put this off a little longer?” Davis nods, and we continue working in silence.
Maybe if I put off talking long enough, everyone will forget and leave me alone.
Unlikely.
Clara has either blocked my number or developed willpower of steel to continue ignoring my texts and second phone call attempt. As much as I want to make peace between us, I’m almost relieved that she’s avoiding me. Because I still don’t know exactly what I’d say to her to make things right.
Dear Clara—I love you, but I don’t need you, so I’m staying away from you for your sake.
As far as building bridges goes, somehow I don’t think that would go very far.
I drive to Pops’ house on Wednesday to check in now that the town has calmed down. Chase has matched my morose mood this week, but he has his head hanging happily out the window now, sensing where we’re going.
He bounds up to Pops’ front door, barking to announce our presence. Pops opens the door before I even have to knock, steadier on his feet than he has been for a long while. I may have ruined things with Clara, but at least she fixed things with Pops.
We wordlessly take seats on the porch rocking chairs, Chase resting his head in Pops’ lap. The afternoon sun should warm us enough to enjoy the crisp air, but I brought a thermos of coffee for us to share as a backup.
Pops takes a long sip of black coffee, then turns his furrowed brow on me. “I spoke with Sydney yesterday.”
Knowing exactly what Syd would have spoken with him about, I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. “And?”
“Clark, I mean this in the most loving way. You’re a complete and utter idiot,” Pops declares.
I refuse to dignify his insult with a response.
“You are so obviously in love with that girl. Truly, madly, stars-in-your-eyes in love. And despite your best efforts to be a disagreeable moron, Clara seems to love you back. Why would you push that away?” Pops presses.
I flip my hat forward to provide a shield for my eyes before answering. “You’ve seen Clara. She’s a city girl. This town will only ever be a getaway for her, a quiet place to write and nothing more. And I’ll never leave Noel. We don’t make sense long term.”
“Bull crap.”
“’Scuse me?”
Chase barks next to me.
“I said bull crap. That’s not the reason you’re pushing her away and you know it. I see through that excuse plain as day, and I’m darn near blind, son. Tell me the truth. Tell yourself the truth,” Pops says.
I sigh, throwing my hands up in the air. “Because I don’t need her, Pops! Clara’s DNA is hard-wired to care for other people. Helping people brings her to life in the most captivating way possible. She’d eventually resent our relationship when she can’t scratch that itch with me.”
“You don’t need her, or you don’t want to need her?” he questions.
“Is there a difference?”
“Maybe, maybe not. But either way, why’s it such a bad thing to need someone?” Pops asks.
I pause to consider my answer. “Pops, you know better than anyone that I grew up learning not to depend on anyone but myself. I’d rather take care of my own business, take care of myself, even if that means being alone.”
Pops assesses me. “Lord knows you haven’t had someone truly take care of you in a long time. Maybe ever. I s'pose you just don’t understand how good it can be. What if you let someone take care of you, and you find out how much more color and joy and beauty it brings to life?”
I roll my eyes. “I’m a competent, grown man. I’m the town handyman and the mayor. I’m literally the person everyone in Noel calls when they need something. I don’t need someone to take care of me.”
“Fair enough.” Pops pauses. “But what about someone to care with you? You’ve carried the burdens of this town on your shoulders ever since your folks passed. You’ve carried the burden of your family name long before that. Would it really be that bad to have someone care with you for this town? Because evidence indicates that Clara has a lot of care to give Noel.” He emphasizes the new “No-el” pronunciation with a wry grin.
He quietly finishes his speech. “Needing the love of a kind, generous woman like Clara doesn’t make you less competent, son. It just makes you more loved. And there ain’t nothing wrong with that, no sir.”
Pops takes another sip of coffee and stares off into the distance. His eyes get the kind of misty that reveals he’s thinking of Bev. I glance away to give him privacy with his thoughts. Chase looks torn between nudging his nose under Pops’ hand or tucking his head under my arm. I wave him toward Pops and stare down at my hands.
Needing someone is a sensation I’ve stifled since childhood. I’ve learned to be self-sufficient. The comfort of competency is the drug I crave. It’s brought me a sense of satisfaction knowing that I’m taking care of myself and the people around me. I’ve always been content being a one-man show.
It’s okay to be content with what is, but it’s also okay to want what could be. Davis’ unsolicited advice from the first day I denied my attraction to Clara comes crashing through my mind.
What could be?
I clear my throat but avoid making eye contact with Pops as I speak. “What if I admit that I want Clara—that I need Clara—and it doesn’t work out? And we both wind up devastated?”
Out of my peripheral vision, I see Pops shrug and hold up his hands. “Such are the gambles of life. But I say it’s worth the risk. Because a life loving a good woman is the biggest jackpot the world has to offer.”
I leave Pops’ house and drive aimlessly around the outskirts of town. I rolled the window down for Chase, but he’s kept his chin propped on my thigh the whole time.
Reaching to run my hand down his back, I think about the day we found each other. When I was in the middle of my electrician apprenticeship, I’d found Chase abandoned along the side of the road. He was a tiny, quivering puppy, crouching there in the grass. Nursing him back to health and gaining his trust had added a layer of purpose to my life. Now, I can’t imagine life without him. I think about how wrecked I’ll be the day that Chase’s life with me comes to an end.
The thought chokes my throat, but I know that I wouldn’t trade away the time I have with Chase in order to avoid that pain.
Chase whimpers, reading my thoughts, as always. I scratch behind his ears. “I suppose it hasn’t been so terrible needing you in my life, has it, boy?”
It’s getting dark, and I find myself driving up the ridge toward Clara’s cabin. The beacon of her Christmas lights is less of a standout this year, now that we have thousands of lights strung up all over town. I pull into her driveway and cut the engine.
I’ll check on the plants, per Syd’s order. Even though I know that Clara won’t be here, my chest is heavy as I follow the stone pathway to her front porch. Maybe the heaviness is because she won’t be here.
Punching in the code on the lock, my mind falls back to the first time I did this. The first night I met Clara—literally stumbling into her. The vision of her wide eyes, her damp curls, her black robe is easy to recall, considering how many times I’ve replayed it over the past year. Rubbing a hand across my beard with a sigh, I open the door.
I flip on the light and look around the room. It’s obvious she left in a hurry—there’s a pair of shoes in the middle of the floor where she must have toed them off. A dirty bowl and coffee mug sit in the sink, a box of Cocoa Puffs left open on the counter.
Running water in the sink, I wash the few dishes and put them on the drying rack. Then I fill her watering can with fertilizer and water, carrying it to the sunroom to assess which plants need care. The Tineke plant sitting at the end of her writing desk catches my attention, and I think back to her shock when I returned it to her in good condition.
Something else on her writing desk catches my eye—a stack of papers, marked with red pen. I peer more closely and realize what I’m staring at: Clara’s movie script.
She did it , I think with a smile. She chased the dream .
I know I should walk away. I know it would be an invasion of privacy to look at this script when she hasn’t given me permission.
Knowing that can’t overcome the strength of my curiosity, though. I take the stack and sit down in her armchair. Chase lies down at my feet, and I start reading.
A woman named Renee buys a large house sight unseen in a small town named Bethlehem. Her plan is to convert it into a Christmas-themed bed-and-breakfast. When she arrives, she’s shocked to find that the dying town has rebuffed its Christmas namesake. She sets out to rally the people to embrace their Christmas connection in order to revitalize the town.
Renee has a run-in with Jack, a particularly grouchy member of the city council. As I read the descriptions of Jack’s character—the rugged beard, tall stature, and grumpy moods—it’s a view of myself in a Clara-shaped mirror.
The script so obviously reflects Clara’s time in Noel, her time with me. There’s no denying the connection. But as I read, I understand how Clara sees me. Really, truly sees me. The good and the bad.
She sees the hesitance to let people close. But she also sees the dogged love for the people of Noel. She sees the resistance to change. But she also sees the efforts, big and small, to be open to what’s needed.
I stay up for hours, reading every line of her script. Chase snores softly at my feet as I turn the final pages. The story ends with Jack confessing his love for Renee, professing all the ways she’s made him a better man. Acknowledging all the ways she’s made the town better simply by her presence.
And then he kisses her under the mistletoe on her bed-and-breakfast porch.
Jack and Renee stare at each other with love in their eyes, the kind of love that fights through every obstacle, as the camera pans away to the town Christmas festival.
I stare at the final stage direction written at the end of the script, and my heart sinks. The reality of how much I hurt Clara slaps me across the face. This is the kind of ending she was dreaming of when she kissed me. But I froze up, acting as though I didn’t want her kissing me.
Like I didn’t want her.
I stand so abruptly, Chase jumps to his feet with a growl, searching for intruders.
“We have to make this right, Chase. You’re gonna have to stay with Pops for a couple days because I have to go win Clara back.”