Twice in a Lifetime (11 page)

“I’m sorry,” Drake offered, and meant it. “I was distracted.”

“What kinda sorry excuse is that?” Amos asked disdainfully. “The only thing you shoulda been thinkin’ ’bout was the money we stood to win. Now it’s our pockets that’re empty and those two rubes is crowin’ like roosters!”

“I just…I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

Amos opened his mouth as if he was going to keep on ranting, but he stumbled. “Wait, wait, wait,” he finally said. “Hold on a second, now.” His head turned slightly to the side, his eyes narrowing, staring hard at Drake. “Is this ’cause a that dame we helped yesterday? The one with the broken-down truck?”

Drake didn’t answer. His eyes never left the road.

“Is that where you went last night?” Amos kept prying. “Is that where your walk took ya? Over to some lonely broad’s place?”

“Watch it now,” Drake answered, his temper rising.

The mechanic threw up his hands. “Aw, hell and high water!” he exclaimed. “If somethin’ goes wrong under the hood, that’s on me, but when my driver’s tomcattin’ ’round, there ain’t a damn thing I can do ’bout it!”

Drake wanted to argue against his friend’s claim but found he couldn’t; the truth was that it was his fault they had lost, because he’d been thinking about Clara.

So instead, they rode on in silence.

Finally, Amos sighed. “What’s the use in stayin’ mad ’bout this?” he asked rhetorically. “It ain’t like complainin’ is gonna change anything. Let’s just call it water under the bridge, get back to the hotel, grab our things, and skedaddle on down the road. That way, we can find another—”

“We’re not leaving,” Drake blurted, giving voice to something that had been building inside him ever since Clara had rejected his advances.

“What are you talkin’ ’bout? This morning, we said—”

“
You
said,” Drake interrupted, correcting him. “You’re the one so hell-bent on getting out of here. What for? Why the hurry?”

Amos stared out his window. “I…I just don’t see the point of stayin’ in this little nothin’ of a town for long,” he answered. “Men like us, we gotta go where the action is, where we can make a bet, although now, what with losin’, we ain’t got enough money for another.”

“I do,” Drake answered matter-of-factly.

“What’s that?” Amos asked, turning toward him.

“Don’t worry about money. Even with what we lost today, I can cover us next time.”

“You got that kind of cash on you?”

Drake nodded. He still had most of his savings in the bottom of his duffel bag. He’d never told Amos that he had the money, but desperate times called for fewer secrets. The truth was, he wanted another chance to see Clara; he didn’t care what he had to give up to get it.

Amos nodded, taking it all in.

“Maybe losing today was for the best,” Drake said.

The mechanic frowned. “How do you figure?”

“They already beat us once. We come back, this time betting higher stakes, they’ll be confident, cocky. We win, we get back all we lost and then some.”

The older man thought it over for a long while; to Drake’s eyes, Amos didn’t seem completely convinced. Surprisingly, in the end, he agreed.

“I still don’t wanna stay here too long,” Amos said. “But I suppose another couple days ain’t gonna hurt. Maybe you’re right. Maybe that dumb hick will give us ’nother race. And this time,” he added with a grin, “you’ll be the winner.”

But Drake wasn’t thinking about a rematch.

He was thinking only about Clara.

Last night, he’d made a mistake, pushed things between them too far, too fast, and he had been unable to think of much else since. Drake wanted to know her, to understand her better, but until this moment, he had thought he would never get the opportunity. Now, fate had seen fit to grant him another chance.

He was determined to use it.

I
THINK YOU SHORTED
me one of my relatives.”

Clara looked down at the coins spread out before her, then up at Ben Franklin. The pig farmer grinned broadly, his ample belly pressed up tight against her teller window, his clothes smelling particularly foul. Slowly, it dawned on her that he was right; not only did she have no idea what number she was at, she couldn’t even remember what amount she was trying to reach.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, feeling more than a little embarrassed. “I’m afraid I lost count…What were we…”

“That’s all right, darlin’. I come in to cash that check,” Ben explained, pointing a meaty finger at the slip of paper next to Clara’s elbow. “Pete Dixon paid me twenty-eight dollars and ninety-nine cents for a couple of piglets—stubborn old goat wouldn’t part with that extra penny—and I was plannin’ to turn it into fifty-seven of my namesake and a handful of those other fellas.”

“That’s right,” Clara answered. Everything was laid out like it should’ve been, with stacks of shiny silver half-dollars arranged like soldiers. Regardless, she scooped up the coins and started over.

It had been that way all morning, one small mistake after another. No matter how hard she tried to pay attention, Clara couldn’t think about anything other than her evening with Drake McCoy. All night and into the next day, she had replayed it in her mind: her surprise at finding him at her door, their conversation as they walked beneath the stars, the comfortable way she felt in his presence, how he’d made her laugh. But she particularly remembered that moment, standing in front of her house, when he was about to kiss her…

But that was when it had gone sour.

Now she would never see him again. He had come into her life by chance, had helped her in her time of need and then surprised her by lingering longer than expected; he was like a match burning brightly before being blown out, the smoke he left behind slowly drifting away.

But Clara couldn’t stop thinking about him. She wondered what direction Drake and his mechanic friend had gone when they’d left Sunset, what sights he’d seen, and if he was thinking about her as much as she was about him.

“…fifty-five, fifty-six, and one more makes fifty-seven,” she said, finishing with the right amount.

“On the button,” Ben replied before he began scooping up the silver coins and shoving them into the pockets of his overalls.

Clara was just about to start counting the remaining coins when the pig farmer slapped one onto the counter. It was a shiny penny; she often wondered how a man so filthy had coins so clean.

“Why don’t we just make it fifty-eight,” he said with a chuckle. “I expect that will be easier on the both of us.”

Ben was halfway to the door, the two of them having said their good-byes, when he stopped and turned back. “You want some advice?” he asked.

She nodded. “Sure.”

“A long time ago, back when I was a boy, I learned that when somethin’ was weighin’ on my mind, gnawin’ like a hungry dog with a soup bone, it didn’t do no good to ignore it. I needed to get the better of my problems ’fore they bested me.” He paused. “Whatever’s on your mind, makin’ your head all fuzzy, grab it by the back of the neck and wrestle it to the ground.”

“That sounds like good advice,” Clara answered.

“Well, it works pretty well with pigs too stupid and stubborn to get outta their pens,” the farmer said with a loud chuckle.

Clara knew that Ben meant well, but hers was a problem that she could no longer confront. It was too late for that.

Drake was already gone.

Last night, even as she’d hurried away from him, Clara could already feel his absence. But no sooner had the door shut behind her, leaving Drake out on the sidewalk, than her mother had begun to barrage her with questions, one coming after the other so fast that she had trouble keeping them straight.

“Who was that man?”

“Where did the two of you go at such a late hour?”

“It looked like he was going to kiss you.
Was
he going to?”

“So why didn’t you do it?”

That last question had thrown Clara for a loop, largely because she had no answer. Earlier that night, her mother had asked why she never went on any dates. Minutes later, a man had come calling, someone whose company she enjoyed, but also a man she’d ultimately rejected.

“His name is Drake,” she explained. “Drake McCoy. This afternoon the truck broke down on my way back to the bank and he helped me get it running. He came by tonight to see if I’d had any more trouble,” she added, using the first, not-quite-correct reason Drake had given.

“He’s handsome, don’t you think?” Before her daughter could answer, Christine went over to the window and peeled back the curtain.

“Don’t do that!” she hissed.

“Whyever not? I’ve been doing it since you left.”

“Please, Mom,” Clara nearly begged. On the one hand, she hoped that Drake might still be outside, watching, waiting in case she reappeared, but on the other, she hated the thought of leaving him in such a state.

“Oh, all right,” Christine answered, letting the curtain fall back into place. “Though you’re ruining all my fun.”

Clara sighed. She felt like a teenager again. When she and Joe started dating, her mother had done the same things, peppering them with questions before they left, pacing for hours, then pouncing on her daughter as soon as she got home, trying to wrangle every last detail of their night out.

“So what does Jake do for a living?” her mother asked.

“Drake,” Clara corrected. “He races cars.”

Christine’s eyebrows raised. “That sounds more exciting than selling encyclopedias door-to-door. More dangerous, too. Why is he in Sunset?”

“He’s just passing through. Another man was with him, an older fellow, the mechanic for his car. They’re leaving in the morning.”

“Was the older one as handsome?” her mother asked with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Clara laughed. “I’m afraid not.”

“That’s too bad, for me, at least. But you seem to have hit the jackpot. It’s not every day that a man knocks on your door.”

Her mother was right. Someone like Drake, charming, interesting, and handsome, didn’t come along often. Still, she’d turned him away. Clara thought about all the things that weighed her down, yet she wondered if she hadn’t made a terrible mistake. By rejecting his kiss, had she turned her back on happiness?

“I’m going to get some sleep,” Clara said, her thoughts churning. “Can you shut the house up?”

“Of course,” her mother answered.

Clara was on the second step of the staircase when her mother called to her. “He was going to kiss you, wasn’t he?”

She turned but didn’t speak, still thinking about that lost moment…

“Why didn’t you let him?”

Clara considered it. “I don’t know,” she answered softly.

Christine nodded. “Someday, I hope you find the answer.”

So do I…

Clara watched the clock’s hand slowly spin, second by agonizing second, crawling toward four o’clock. Most afternoons, the Sunset Bank and Trust saw a flurry of activity around closing time, people needing money or wanting to make one last transaction, but it had been almost an hour since the last customer walked through the door.

With so much idle time on her hands, Clara found it almost impossible not to think about Drake. She tried everything: she hummed a song, read the newspaper, and even counted the money in her drawer again and again, but nothing worked. She looked forward to going home, having a nice meal, hopefully with Tommy sitting at the table, all while trying to quiet her turbulent thoughts.

Three more minutes…

But then Eddie came out of his office and started walking straight for her teller window.

Clara’s stomach sank. Ever since he’d called her into his office and professed his feelings for her, she’d been afraid of what would happen next. Every time she saw Eddie, his words were there, echoing in the back of her mind. Someday soon, he was going to repeat them and she was going to be forced to make a decision: her happiness or the well-being of those she loved.

Is this when I have to choose?

“Jane Russell,” Eddie said once he’d reached her window.

“Excuse me?” Clara replied.

Pointing at her outfit, he answered, “Wasn’t that the same dress Jane Russell wore in
Gentlemen Prefer Blondes
?”

“I…I haven’t seen it…”

“The spitting image,” Eddie declared. He leaned forward, giving Clara a whiff of his aftershave, a smell she found more repulsive than Ben Franklin’s manure-covered overalls. With a wink, he added, “I think you wear it better.”

Clara tried not to frown. After Eddie’s outburst in his office, it was hard to take his lame attempt at a compliment lightly.

To do so risked everything.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, unable to look him in the eyes.

More than ever, Clara was aware of how much Eddie repulsed her. The grating, whiny sound of his voice. The disgusting ring of sweat at the collar of his shirt. His smell. How he licked his dry lips.

But even with all that, he held her future in his hands.

“Do you have plans for tonight?” Eddie asked.

“I…I’m having dinner with my family.”

“So nothing you couldn’t miss.”

After a moment, Clara slowly nodded. She knew
exactly
what he was implying; he wanted her to be with him. She felt ill.

Smiling his goofy grin, Eddie turned and loudly clapped his hands. “All right, everyone!” he nearly shouted. “Time to close up shop for the day.”

Besides Clara and Eddie, there were two other people still in the bank. David Bookings had been half dozing at his desk, while Shirley Hoskins, whose teller window was next to Clara’s, was inside the vault, locking away drawers and counting rolls of coins. When they heard Eddie’s voice, they began to gather their things, just as they did every day at four o’clock.

Clara desperately wanted to go with them. The thought of staying behind with Eddie, of being alone with him, unnerved her. But there would be consequences if she rejected him so brazenly, so she didn’t move.

Eddie held the door open, sharing a few meaningless words with Shirley and David, smiling all the while. As she stepped outside, Shirley noticed Clara’s absence.

“Aren’t you coming?” she called out.

But before Clara could answer, Eddie spoke. “She’ll be staying awhile longer,” he explained, shutting the door in the other woman’s face.

When he turned his key in the lock, the loud click echoed through the bank; to Clara, it sounded like a prison cell’s door being shut.

Drake leaned against the Plymouth’s side panel, his feet crossed at the ankles and his arms folded across his chest, while the late afternoon sun warmed him. People occasionally walked past, some giving him a curious glance, but he paid them no mind. His eyes never left the Sunset Bank and Trust.

After he and Amos had returned to town, they’d checked back into the hotel, getting the same room as the night before. Amos had flopped onto his bed, still grumbling about losing the race and having to spend more time in Sunset. He went on and on, being a royal pain in the ass.

Drake did his best to ignore him.

All he wanted was to see Clara again.

Standing at the window, looking down at the street, he considered what he should do. His first thought was to wait until evening and then go back to Clara’s house, but with every passing minute, he grew more impatient. Without another word to Amos, he went down to the lobby and struck up a conversation with the woman working behind the front desk. Casually, he mentioned Clara’s name.

“Ain’t she just the best?” the woman exclaimed. “Every time I go to the bank, she’s as friendly as can be.”

And just like that, he knew where to find her.

But now, standing outside the bank, Drake wasn’t quite so sure of himself. After what had happened the night before, he wondered what he was going to say to her. While he hoped Clara would be surprised, even happy to see him, he didn’t know with any certainty. Absently, he chewed at a fingernail. He considered entering the bank, then thought better of it; he didn’t want to put her in an awkward spot. So instead, he waited outside, trying to remain patient, biding his time until the bank closed.

Finally, the clock above the movie theater chimed four times. Drake stood up, watching as the bank’s door opened. Two people left, a man struggling to stifle a yawn, and then a woman. But no Clara.

Drake frowned. He wondered if there had been a mistake. Was there a second bank in town? Had Clara taken the day off?

He decided to find out.

The man had walked in the opposite direction, but the woman was headed right toward him. He stepped in front of her.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Drake said with a pleasant smile. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m looking for Clara Sinclair.”

Immediately, the woman looked back over her shoulder. “She’s still at the bank,” she said, her expression showing a measure of concern.

“Is everything all right?” he asked.

“I…I think so,” she answered. “It’s just a little unusual, that’s all. Usually we leave together, but…”

“Thanks for the help,” Drake offered, then headed straight for the bank.

“I could hardly wait to lock that door.”

And I can hardly wait to be as far away from you as possible.

But Clara didn’t say that. She didn’t dare. She’d come out from behind her teller window, drawn to the open door, wanting nothing more than to go home like everyone else. So when Eddie locked it, despair grabbed hold of her, squeezing tighter by the second.

“It’s funny, don’t you think?”

“What is?” Clara asked, confused by his words, as usual.

“The two of us. Alone. Here of all places,” Eddie exclaimed, throwing his arms wide to indicate the otherwise empty bank, “right where my late father ordered me to stay away from you.” He gave a short, humorless laugh. “Like most everything Theodore believed, he was wrong about us, too.”