“I’m coming, Bea,” Clara said. “And they won’t dry up.”
She followed her sister out the back door to the overgrown garden on the edge of the property. The honeysuckle vines had crept into the empty flowerbeds and inched their way up the trucks of nearby oak trees. Bees and butterflies danced around the flowers, resting and nursing, then buzzing and fluttering again evoking the quintessential springtime picture. Beatrice plopped down at the edge of a flowerbed overflowing with yellow trumpet-shaped flowers and beckoned her older sister to follow suit. Clara settled herself beside Beatrice and reached for a flower.
“No Clara,” Beatrice reprimanded. She slapped her sister’s hand.
“Ouch!” Clara replied indignantly, but Beatrice ignored her.
“Three wishes first, Clara. You know the rules,” Beatrice said.
Clara drew in her breath and exhaled slowly.
“I’ll go first,” Beatrice said. “I wish that Mom would be happy again.” She promptly plucked a flower and sucked the juices from its base.
“You took my first one,” Clara said.
“Make up another,” Beatrice replied. “You’ve got to have a million wishes in your head.”
“Fine,” Clara said. “I wish for school to be over soon.” She reached for the flowers.
“No, Clara,” Beatrice said. “It has to be something important and special. A wish you’ve thought about and care about. You know the rules,” she stated for the second time.
Clara sighed. “Fine. I wish to make a nice friend at school next year.” She waited a moment, but Beatrice did not object, so she reached for a flower, plucked it, then drained it of its silky sugar.
“Are you excited about being a junior next year, Clare-Bear?” Beatrice asked.
“I suppose,” Clara responded. She didn’t want to sound pessimistic in front of Beatrice, so she tried for a happy note. “Actually, I’m really excited about it.”
Beatrice smiled. “I wish Jenna would let me borrow her pink sweater,” she said, and drained another flower.
“And that’s important?” Clara asked raising her brow.
“Yes,” Beatrice said in all seriousness. “Yes Clara, it is.”
Clara grinned and nodded. “I wish I could have trendy clothes,” and down went the sugar liquid.
“I wish to get the best grades in the class this year and next,” Beatrice said. She tilted her head back and drank down the nectar. “I don’t think that will be hard, though. I’m extremely smart.”
“I know you are,” Clara replied. She paused for a moment, a flash of the green-eyed boy jarring her thoughts, eliciting a soft “oh my” from her lips.
“Clara, your last wish,” Beatrice said impatiently.
“I wish to fall in love,” Clara said so softly that she was sure Beatrice couldn’t hear. But Beatrice did hear, and she grinned at her sister.
“Well, I’ll drink to that,” she said, handing Clara a flower. They sucked the nectar together then began their work on the rest of the flowers.
Chapter 3
They made it until Wednesday before the power was shut off. Beatrice was in the middle of listening to the radio—happy tunes this time—and Clara was blow-drying her hair. It was evening time, and when the lights went out, the house was cast in that eerie darkness where objects are still recognizable but look strange and foreboding. Clara turned to the bathroom door and saw Beatrice standing in the doorway. The girls stared at one another. An unspoken fear passed between them, and then Beatrice made a decision.
“We’re camping out and we need some candles,” she said.
“That’s right,” Clara replied, unplugging the dryer and feeling her damp hair. She pulled and twisted it up, jabbing pins in it haphazardly. “Candles it is.”
She followed Beatrice into the living room and settled on the couch next to her. Beatrice shoved tapered candles in small holders she had found poking about the drawers in the kitchen.
“Let’s just light three,” Clara suggested. She knew it was important to conserve.
She allowed Beatrice to spark the match and cringed at her sister’s enthusiasm.
“You’re acting like a pyro,” Clara observed as she watched Beatrice grin when the match end lit up. She held it up to her face, and Clara watched as the flame danced in her eyes. She looked like a witch in training.
“Light the wicks already,” Clara said shivering involuntarily.
The three candles were satisfactory in giving the girls enough light to complete their homework.
“The milk should be fine tomorrow morning,” Clara said. “Just don’t open the refrigerator until then.”
“Okay,” Beatrice replied. “What do we do after that?”
Clara sighed. “Powdered milk, I suppose.”
“Gross,” Beatrice said, sticking out her tongue.
“Well, we can always get to school early for breakfast.”
“Maybe.” Beatrice shrugged.
They worked in silence for awhile until Beatrice put down her pencil. “All done.”
“Would you like me to check it?” Clara offered, placing her pen behind her ear.
“What for? I know it’s all correct,” Beatrice said.
“Naturally,” Clara replied. She looked around the darkened room and sighed. “Now what?”
“Are you kidding?” Beatrice asked. “We tell ghost stories, that’s what!”
“Bea, I don’t know,” Clara said. “You know I don’t like scary stuff.”
“Clare-Bear, what’s scarier than having no electricity? Know what I’m saying?” Beatrice asked. She smiled, and this time it didn’t look wicked as before when she struck the match.
“Fine, but I haven’t got any to tell,” Clara said.
“That’s okay because I do,” Beatrice said. “Wait right here. I’m going for the flashlight!”