isn’t my idea of camping,” Beatrice said the previous night. She wiped at her glistening face.
“I know,” Clara said. She lay beside her sister in her panties and bra dabbing at her chest with the shirt she had just taken off. “I made a payment on the electric bill. I could only afford thirty dollars, but it’s something.”
Clara wasn’t sure why she thought every cent she made at work could go exclusively to paying the electric bill. There were groceries that had to be bought, gas she had to put in her car to make it to work, a payment due on her phone bill and water bill. She realized she was also due for an oil change soon. She remembered her grandmother telling her how important it was to get her oil changed. “Unless you want your car to die,” she had said, and the words stuck. When her grandmother got too sick to drive, she gave the car to Clara. Thankfully like the house, the car was paid off, and Clara needed only to worry about maintenance and the gas to put in it.
Beatrice let out a long sigh. “Let me go to work and help you, Clara.”
Clara smiled. “Bea, you aren’t old enough to work.”
“Yes I am,” Beatrice argued. She pulled up her tank top to just below her chest and rolled over on her stomach feeling the hard, cool tiles on her warm skin.
“Legally, you aren’t,” Clara explained. “Where on earth do you think you’d find a job?”
“I’ve already found one,” Beatrice said.
Clara sat up feeling the beads of sweat trickle down between her breasts. She tried to catch them with her shirt, but they soaked into her bra faster than she could dab at them.
“Where?” she asked.
“I went to some houses on Oak Tower Trail the other day,” Beatrice said. “I knocked on some doors and asked if they were looking for someone to walk their dogs. I said I could do it every afternoon after school, but they don’t need me that much.”
Clara’s mouth hung open in disbelief.
“Close your mouth, Clara,” Beatrice said. “I have three clients. Isn’t that what they’re called? Clients?”
“You what?”
“I told the ladies I would have to ask my mom first, but since she’s not here, I guess I have to ask you.” Beatrice paused for Clara’s response, but Clara said nothing. “Here’s my schedule. On Mondays I walk Mrs. Johnson’s dog. On Tuesdays I walk Mrs. Peterson’s dog. And on Thursdays I walk Mrs. Levine’s dog. The ladies worked it out. They are going to pay me five dollars each for a thirty minute walk. So if I’ve done my math correctly, and I know I have because it’s simple math, then that’s fifteen dollars a week.”
“Bea . . . I . . . you . . .” Clara stammered.
“Will you let me? I met the dogs and they’re sweet, and they like me,” Beatrice said. “And the ladies are nice. I mean, they talk to me like I’m a little kid, but I don’t mind. Money is money.”
Clara walked through the cafeteria doors thinking about Beatrice’s statement: Money is money. She was right. No matter where it came from or how one got it, money was money. And they needed money if they were to ever get the electricity back on. Clara feared when the weather turned cold; she thought she could have the bill paid off by then, but what if she couldn’t? How would they stay warm? Would the fire be enough?
She noticed him looking at her and tried to ignore him. She went through the line pulling food items onto her tray. In that moment nothing looked appetizing because she knew how she would have to “pay” for it. And she didn’t want Evan seeing. Suddenly she felt guilty for making Beatrice use the card. Was her sister experiencing the same shame now?
Clara stood in line surrounded by impatient, hungry students. She readied her card; it was partly hidden in her hand, and she hoped the cafeteria worker wouldn’t say anything. She didn’t consider the possibility that anything would go wrong once the card was scanned, but what if it did? What if it showed an
Missy Tippens, Jean C. Gordon, Patricia Johns