Twice in a Lifetime (9 page)

“Oh, no,” Clara replied. “I wouldn’t have thought it had been
that
long. A couple of months, tops…”

Her joke made them both laugh.

Suddenly, as if someone had snapped their fingers in front of her face, Clara realized that she was no longer upset, that instead of crying, distraught from bearing the weight of all her problems, she was smiling.

She was enjoying Drake’s company.

Daring to risk his notice, Clara took a good, long look at him. His features were strong, if a bit rugged. His jawline, in need of a shave, resembled those of Hollywood’s leading men, while his mouth was almost delicate, curving at the ends so that it always looked like he was about to smile. His eyes were warm and inviting; even his crow’s-feet just added to his charm. She guessed that he was around her age, maybe a little older, somewhere in his early forties.

If she were being completely honest with herself, Clara would have admitted that she found him handsome. She was so certain she was blushing that she didn’t dare look in the mirror for fear it would only make it worse.

Fortunately, just as she began to wonder what to say next, Amos returned with a hose and a bucket nearly sloshing over with water.

“I suppose you’re expectin’ me to put it in,” the older man growled.

“I can do it,” Drake answered.

“Never mind,” Amos huffed when Drake tried to take what he was carrying. “I’ll do it better and faster than you, anyway.”

Once the mechanic went to work, Clara, having regained her bearings, said, “You’re a race car driver…”

Drake nodded, running a hand through his dark hair. “My father wanted me to be a farmer, but I was only ever good at driving fast.”

“It sounds exciting.”

“Some days. Others, I wonder what it would be like to do something different, something slower, where I could help people.”

Clara frowned. “I work at a bank and there’s rarely a day that goes by that I don’t find myself staring out the window, daydreaming about doing the same thing, only in reverse.” Suddenly, she caught herself, self-conscious that she was revealing too much to a man she’d only just met. Changing the subject, she asked, “So what are you doing in Sunset?”

“We’re just passing through,” Drake answered, nodding toward his partner. “One night at the hotel and then we’ll be on our way.”

An unexpected pang of disappointment raced through her. “Well, I’m glad I had a chance to meet you,” Clara said. “And not just because of my truck.”

Drake chuckled. “Me, too.” He paused, looking as if he was weighing his next words. “As a matter of fact, I’m thinking that maybe we could—”

But before he could finish, Amos slammed down the truck’s hood, interrupting him. “That oughta do it,” the older man declared. “Filled up the radiator while I was at it.” Looking at Clara, he said, “Give it a try.”

She turned the key and the engine shuddered to life.

Amos laughed loudly. “I think all I did was put a bandage on a limb in need of amputatin’, but she’ll keep goin’ for a little while longer.”

Clara thanked them both for all they had done, but she found her eyes lingering on Drake a little longer, as if she was waiting for him to finish what he’d been saying, but he remained silent.

Finally, she stuck out her hand. “It was nice to meet you.”

Drake smiled. “Are you sure you want to do that?”

She shrugged. “I’m already dirty. What’s a little more grease?”

They shook hands; when she made to let go, Drake held her hand a heartbeat longer, but Clara didn’t mind.

When she finally drove away, now plenty late in getting back to work, wondering if Eddie would be angry with her, her eyes kept darting to her mirror. Drake stood in the middle of the road, watching her.

She wondered what he was thinking.

C
LARA COLLECTED THE PLATES
and dishes, the glasses and silverware, the bowls and pans that still held what was left over from dinner, and brought them to the sink. Her mother washed them, Christine’s hands deep in the soapy water; those she’d already cleaned were drying on a towel beside her. Music played on the radio, an old-timey ballad, a man’s voice crooning in the kitchen and out through the open window into the early evening.

“
If you’re heading for a sunny honeymoon
,” her mother sang softly.

Clara frowned as she gathered the last items: Tommy’s unused setting. Christine said he hadn’t been home since their misunderstanding that afternoon. Clara had waited, their dinner growing cold, but finally gave up. She imagined he was sulking somewhere, probably with Naomi whispering more nonsense in his ear, forcing the gulf between Tommy and his family even wider. Clara worried about her son, but until he returned home, she didn’t know what more she could do.

“How were things at the bank?” Christine asked.

“Pretty slow,” Clara answered, forcing a smile; this was the second time her mother had asked that question. “Eleanor MacGregor wanted me to say hello. She says you’re overdue for a visit.”

Clara wondered if her mother would remember her mentioning the greeting from one of her oldest friends, then worried that the realization might embarrass her. But Christine replied, “That was nice of her,” and Clara understood that their earlier conversation had been forgotten.

Outside, the sun was slowly setting. A pair of boys raced down the street, riding a contraption they’d built out of an old apple box, loose boards, and some scavenged wheels. The symphony of birdsong steadily quieted for the night, with only a few intermittent calls. For Sunset, it was just another day coming to an end.

But for Clara, it had been anything but ordinary.

It had been headed for ruin; the outburst from Tommy, her mother’s continued confusion, her worries about Eddie Fuller, and finally the truck’s breakdown had left her ready to give in to despair.

Then Drake McCoy had shown up…

When she’d needed help the most, Drake had given it, had even gone out of his way to do so, and Clara had found herself enjoying his company, his smile, especially the way he made her laugh. Back at the bank, standing at her teller window, she had found herself thinking of him, wondering what he was doing, what it was like to race a car for a living. Still, her daydreams had turned sour; watching him fade from sight in her rearview mirror was the last she would ever see of him.

Then, to make matters even worse, she’d thought about Joe.

She remembered all the years they had spent together, how passionately she’d loved him. She recalled how delighted they had been when she first learned that she was pregnant, how nine months had felt like forever, how everything had changed for the better one September morning when Tommy had been born. She thought of their dreams, how she’d believed they would all come true.

Shame had flushed Clara’s cheeks. That she’d been so happy in another man’s company, that she found him handsome, made her angry at herself. Was she some silly teenager, swept off her feet because a man gave her a little attention? Drake had helped her, she had thanked him for it, and that’s all it was. Fortunately, Eddie had stayed in his office all afternoon, leaving her plenty of time to think.

“How come you never go out on any dates?”

Clara was so dumbstruck by her mother’s question that she nearly dropped the plate she’d been drying.

“What…what did you say?” she stammered.

“I was just thinking that it’s a shame you spend so many nights home with me, when you could be at the movies, dancing, or whatever it is young couples do these days,” Christine explained. Showing her daughter her soapy hands, she added, “Anything would be more exciting than this.”

Clara didn’t know what to say. Two days earlier, just before she’d put flowers on Joe’s grave, her mother had told her how important it was to hold on to the memory of her dead husband, to cherish their time together and never let it go. At first glance, Clara assumed that this was just another example of her mother’s deteriorating memory, but the more she thought about it, the more she wondered if the two ideas, to not forget Joe but still be open to meeting someone else, couldn’t coexist. Either way, she didn’t want to talk about it.

“There’s not much interest in a widow slowly but steadily making her way toward forty,” Clara said, hoping that would be the end of it.

“Why would you say such a thing?” Christine asked, a touch of fire in her voice. “You’re still one of the prettiest girls in town! You’re friendly and kind; anyone who walks into that bank of yours would attest to that! What man
wouldn’t
be interested in you?”

Clara thought of Drake. It had been a long time since someone had spoken to her the way he had. She remembered how he’d
looked
at her, his body leaning against the truck, and how that attention had made her feel. She could still see him standing in the middle of the street, watching…

“Well, no one has come along yet,” Clara said as she took another wet dish from her mother. “So even if I was of the mind to—”

Before Clara could say another word, she was interrupted by a sudden, insistent knocking at the front door. She looked at her mother; neither of them was expecting anyone. Clara went to answer; on the way there, she realized that she’d forgotten to dry her hands so she wiped them on her skirt.

Someone stood outside, but with the thin curtain covering the door’s glass and the murky light of dusk, she couldn’t tell who it was.

But if she was surprised to have a visitor at such a late hour, she was stunned by who she found when she opened the door.

It was Drake McCoy.

“You keep pacin’ like that you’re gonna wear a hole in the floor.”

Drake stopped and looked at Amos; the mechanic lounged on his bed, one hand behind his head, the other holding the folded-up newspaper he’d bought that afternoon. An open beer bottle sweated on the nightstand.

“I’ve got a lot on my mind, is all,” Drake answered.

“The only thing you oughta be thinkin’ ’bout is gettin’ up bright and early and headin’ on down the road.”

Drake didn’t answer. He still thought it strange that Amos had been so intent on reaching Sunset, only to now be chomping at the bit to leave, but Drake’s attention was elsewhere, on someone in particular.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Clara Sinclair.

Ever since he’d watched her drive away, Drake had replayed their every moment together. The things she had said. The way she’d blushed. The sound of her laugh. And especially how she had looked, her beauty…

Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw her smile, the perfect curve of her cheek, the way she pushed loose strands of her dark hair behind her ear. But he was drawn to her eyes, marveled at how they pierced him, that when she looked at him he felt like the luckiest man in the world just to have her attention.

You sound like a damn kid
, he’d chided himself more than once.

It had been a long time since Drake had met a woman who so completely captivated him. There had been a few over the years, companions who lasted only a short time, long enough to give each of them that fleeting something they needed. He had always been a nomad, more married to his work than to any relationship. But somewhere in the back of his mind Drake had always figured that someday he would meet the right woman, the one who would put a halt to his wanderings, someone with whom he could settle down and make use of the money he’d been saving for so long. Clara Sinclair stirred something in him, even if he’d only known her for minutes. He even wondered if he hadn’t misjudged her, if she wasn’t as interested in him as he was in her. Regardless, he knew that if he left town without seeing her again, it would eat at him for a long, long time.

“I’m going out,” he said, heading for the door.

Drake had expected Amos to give him more grief or, at the least, to ask where he was going, but he didn’t look up from his paper. “Have fun.”

Downstairs, Drake asked the woman behind the front desk for a phone book. Flipping through the pages, he quickly found Clara’s listing, memorized her address, and then inquired about directions. Minutes later, he was walking down the street on which she lived. The early evening was cool as a breeze rustled the trees. Two boys laughed loudly as they raced down the sidewalk, riding their homemade contraption. In the little light left to the day, he peered closely at the numbers tacked beside doors or painted on mailboxes and soon found Clara’s home.

Staring at a house that had clearly seen better days, Drake wondered if he wasn’t about to make an ass out of himself. Maybe Clara would be happy to see him, but maybe she wouldn’t. He couldn’t say for certain whether she was married; he had noticed that she wasn’t wearing a ring, but maybe it was sitting on the dresser. He was taking a chance.

But Drake hadn’t come this far to chicken out. He
wanted
to see her, to hear her voice. He had to know for certain, one way or the other. Just like when he was racing, there were times to be cautious, but there were also moments when the only thing to do was to floor it and see what happened. This was one of those times.

He took a deep breath and started for the door.

Clara stared at Drake, her mouth falling slightly open. He seemed to sense her surprise; his eyes softened and a smile slowly spread across his face. As if he’d done it a dozen times before, he leaned against the door’s frame. “Sorry to drop by like this,” he said. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“No…it’s fine,” she stammered. “I was just cleaning up after dinner…”

“That’s good,” he answered with a nod. Absently, he ran a hand through his hair, a habit she found charming. “I’ve been thinking about you.”

“You have?” Clara asked.

“Ever since I watched you drive away, I wondered if you had any more trouble with your truck. I’d hate to think Amos hadn’t fixed it right.”

“It hasn’t died on me yet, but I’m not holding my breath for tomorrow.”

Drake chuckled at her joke, a genuinely happy sound.

Clara smiled, too, though her head was muddled. Drake was the last person she’d expected to find at her door. He wore the same clothes as when they’d met, a worn blue button-down over jeans, but he had shaved; without his whiskers, his face was cleaner, his features more pronounced, especially the shallow dimples when he smiled. The end result was that she found him even more handsome than before; embarrassed that it might be obvious, she looked away.

But then, struggling with what to say next, she heard the faint sound of footsteps behind her.

Clara was certain that it was her mother coming to see who was at the door; the last thing she wanted was to have to introduce Drake. Thinking quickly, she grabbed her shawl from the coat tree and hurried onto the porch, shutting the door behind her.

“Let’s go for a walk,” she said.

Drake smiled. “That sounds like a good idea.”

On the sidewalk, Drake nodded back toward her truck. “That’s a ’35, isn’t it?” he asked.

“I’m not exactly sure, but somewhere around there,” Clara answered; unspoken was her memory of the day Joe bought it slightly used, how he washed it in the driveway, the hours spent under its hood, tinkering with the engine, making sure it ran right, all the little details she’d neglected over the years.

“You might find this hard to believe, but that year and make is considered something of a classic,” Drake explained. “Still, when they’re that old, there’s no shortage of things that can go wrong with them.”

“I’d like to take better care of it,” Clara admitted. She looked at her home and softly added, “I’d like to take better care of a lot of things these days…”

“I think you’re doing just fine,” Drake offered.

Clara forced a smile. She hesitated and then said, “My son helps when he can.”

Even in the growing darkness, she saw that her revelation surprised him, though it didn’t show on his face for long. “How old is he?”

“Tommy is sixteen going on thirty,” Clara said with a short laugh. “Seems like only yesterday when he was running around in short pants.”

Drake nodded. “When I was around that age, I was hell on my folks. I wanted to be anywhere other than where I was, under their roof, abiding by my father’s rules. It’s a tough time in a boy’s life. We think we have all the answers, but we don’t.”

“I wish I had some of my own. It’s been hard raising him by myself.”

This time, Clara didn’t see Drake’s reaction, but she did notice his lack of a reply, too polite to ask the questions he must surely have.

Instead, they walked silently. The curtain of evening had fully descended, with only the faintest hint of light on the western horizon. The streetlamps began to switch on; they moved from one bright circle to the next. They passed the overturned boxcar the boys had been playing with, its wheels silenced for the night, its owners inside and getting ready for bed. In almost every house they walked by, lights were on as families settled down for a late dinner or to listen to a radio show. The wind had picked up a notch, carrying with it a chill, making Clara pull her shawl a little tighter around her shoulders.

“We can head back if you’d like,” Drake told her.

“I’m fine,” she answered. “I don’t do this as much as I should. I used to…” Clara hesitated, suddenly uneasy about saying more.

But in the end, I don’t really have anything to lose…

“My husband and I used to go for walks, in the years before he died,” Clara said matter-of-factly, laying herself bare, just as she’d done about Tommy.

“In the war?” Drake asked, his eyes fixed straight ahead.

Clara nodded. Her heart raced.

“I was in the army,” he told her, sharing a part of himself, as if in exchange for what she’d offered him. “I was a mechanic. I fixed just about anything that had an engine. Jeeps, tanks, transport trucks, motorcycles, you name it. My unit was stationed in England, then followed the invasion into France, and finally on to Germany.” Drake paused, as if searching for the right words. “I saw a lot of good men die and often wondered about who they’d left behind, their families and friends. When I finally came home and saw women wearing black, flags hanging at half-mast, I knew.”