“Then why are you crying?” Beatrice pressed.
“I told you, Bea,” Clara said. “My head.”
Beatrice listened as she turned her back on Clara to take a look at the papers strewn over the kitchen table.
“What are these?” she asked, waving her hand over them.
“They’re nothing. We’ll talk about it later,” Clara said, hastily moving to the table and gathering up the bills.
Beatrice shrugged and looked up at her sister.
“Mom will be back, Clara.” She said it with such certainty that for a moment Clara believed her. She loved that about her sister, that Beatrice could be so resolute at such a young age. Clara’s heart sank thinking that Beatrice would need that quality more than anything in the coming months. That was if their mother never returned.
“I know,” Clara responded. “She just went to the store, right?”
Beatrice giggled. It was the joke they started after the fourth day—the only way they could cope with the pain, anger, and fear of not having an adult in the house. The feeling of security was wiped out, and Clara decided that day that she would have to bring it back, do everything she could to make Beatrice feel safe and secure. And happy.
It was a bad night. Clara held her baby sister in her arms, rocked her side to side as Beatrice moaned her grief, cried her anger.
“Where is she?!” she screamed over and over into Clara’s soaked shirtfront.
Clara didn’t know what to say, what to do. She blurted the only thing that came to mind, an absurd response to a grave situation. “She just went to the store, Bea.”
Beatrice looked up at her sister, wiped awkwardly at her face, and opened her mouth to speak. But she said nothing. Instead she burst into a fit of giggles, the kind of reaction only a clever person has, and Clara, understanding it fully, laughed too.
“That’s right,” Beatrice said after she caught her breath. She slapped her forehead with the heel of her hand. “I forgot she went to the store!” and then laughed all over again. They laughed, their faces awash with fresh tears, but this time silly, happy tears for the joke they made. In that moment, Clara felt better in her heart.
Clara smiled remembering that night. She watched her sister as she continued giggling, her little paint-chipped fingernails pressed against her lips. Beatrice was much too cute when she giggled, and Clara thought that if she were now the mother figure even at the tender age of sixteen, it was her responsibility to keep Beatrice out of trouble. Cute giggling attracted boys, and for a split second Clara feared the future when her ten-year-old sister would start noticing them.
“What?” Beatrice asked after a moment. “You have a weird look on your face.”
Clara shook her head and pointed to the piece of paper in Beatrice’s hand. “What’s that?”
Beatrice had all but forgotten about the paper until Clara mentioned it. “My supply list for school,” she said handing it to Clara. “And you remember Open House tonight, right?”
“Of course,” Clara said although she hadn’t. She looked over at the clock hanging on the wall. “What time?”
“Seven,” Beatrice answered.
Clara looked at the list once more. “Well, what do you say we go get these things before Open House?”
Beatrice agreed emphatically. She loved getting new things, especially school supplies. It was something about the smell of them she tried to explain to Clara. On one occasion, she held out a pack of erasers inviting Clara to sniff. When Clara refused, Beatrice shrugged and lifted the plastic pack up to her own nose inhaling deeply. She smiled up at her sister in confirmation that the erasers were the perfect scent. What an oddball, Clara thought at the time.
What an oddball, she thought now, watching her sister dance around the kitchen at the prospect of shopping for binders, pencils, and packs of loose-leaf notebook paper. She wondered if Beatrice would sniff everything she picked up and if the scent of each item would be the determining factor in purchasing it.
“We’re leaving in twenty minutes,” Clara said, and Beatrice rushed to get ready.
***
“No college-ruled paper, Clara!” Beatrice said. “Why do you keep going for those stacks? I need wide-ruled. You got that? Wide. Ruled,” she stated with emphasis.
“Would it be alright with you if I got some paper for myself?” Clara asked. “I happen to need college-ruled. You got that? College. Ruled.”
Beatrice smirked at her sister and continued down the aisle, her eyes scanning the variety of pencil packs dangling in front of her.
“Bea, according to your list, we’ve got everything,” Clara said. “You know we have pencils at home.”
Beatrice scowled at her sister. “Clara, I cannot start school without new pencils. They make me smarter.”
“Explain to me how they make you smarter,” Clara said amused.
“I don’t know. They just do. They make me want to do a better job on my work.” Beatrice was already taking several packs of pencils off their hangers. “And I like the way they smell.”
Clara smiled. “You get one. So choose wisely.”
She watched Beatrice spread the packs out on the floor and deliberate over them all the while thinking of the two hundred dollars in her checking account. She had started her job six weeks ago, and aside from buying a few new clothing items for school as well as some toiletries and make-up, she had saved the rest. It seemed like a small fortune to her two weeks ago. Now she wondered how to pay for the school supplies on top of the mounting debt. And the property tax. Just thinking of the number made her fingertips tingle with electric fear.
“I’ve decided,” Beatrice said, handing the pack to her sister. There were eight neon-colored No. 2 pencils in the case.
“Good choice,” Clara said calculating the total cost in her head.
After writing a check for $32.96—and feeling a slight sinking in her stomach—Clara led Beatrice to the car.
“Do you like your teacher this year?” she asked as Beatrice buckled her seatbelt.
“Yes, he’s very smart and nice,” Beatrice replied.