Page 7 of Diners, Damsels & Wolves

“What’s wrong, Rachel?”

“Claire?”

“Yes.”

“You smell like a bear.”

Clarissa pinched the bridge of her nose. Not this again. “I haven’t seen any bears, aunty. I’ve been at the diner all day. I probably just smell like grease.”

“No, you smell like a bear. I know that scent, I’d recognize it anywhere, and you smell like a bear. That’s not good. Bears aren’t good. They set things on fire! Don’t you remember?”

“Yes, I remember the fire.”

“My brother, my baby brother. Maddy, he and his wife died in the fire, but you survived. It was the bears who did it! And they know you survived … You have to stay away from the bears!”

“Okay. It’s okay. I’ll stay away from the bears. Don’t worry. Here, let me change and then I won’t smell like one, alright?” Clarissa said.

Rachel nodded, suspicion plain on her face.

Closing her bedroom door, Clarissa leaned against it. It was cheap, hollow, pressed wood, worn and falling apart like everything else in the trailer. Her room was at the opposite end of the double-wide from Rachel’s and the bathroom. It was dinky and cramped. A cheap tension rod she hung over her compact dresser in one end served as a closet. A yellowed rectangular window sat above a small bed covered in purple sheets and a quilt, once vibrant and cheery, now dingy and worn. The small desk she used for studying in high school had been converted into a makeshift vanity with her hair items and perfume.

Heaving, she rubbed the back of her neck. She didn’t have time to properly soothe Rachel, so she hoped changing would placate her. Stripping down to her panties, she let her hair down, then tugged a brush through it. All she wanted was to shower and fall asleep. Maybe tomorrow.

After spritzing herself with peony perfume, Clarissa went to her little mirror to redo her hair.

Pausing, she looked at herself. Only thirty-one and she had premature crow’s feet and circles under her eyes. Her chestnut hair had a dull look to it and her hazel eyes were tired.

Thirty-one and still stuck in this stupid little town, working a job going nowhere, her only family disappearing before her eyes. She was never overly ambitious or had any desire to be a CEO or high-ranking anything. She just wanted to be happy. Hell, she’d settle for getting laid once in a while, but dating was on the back burner while Rachel was sick.

That, and her early life experiences left her more than uncomfortable being bare in front of others in that sense. Her eyes dropped from her face to her neck, down her shoulder to her forearm, over her left breast and sternum, spilling over her belly. Twisted, red skin, puckered.

Picking her brush up, she gathered the top half of her hair into a bun, leaving the rest down. She pulled a fresh sports bra, a black turtleneck, and a pair of old jeans from the dresser. On a whim, she grabbed her necklace. It had been carved by her father and was one of the few things she had from before. Wearing it sometimes brought her comfort, as if her parents were still with her. Tonight, she needed all the comfort she could get.

She kissed Rachel on the forehead, pulled on her shoes, and left. Locking the door behind her, she ran to the car and drove back to The Barrel for what promised to be a very long night.

* * *

By the time eleven rolled around, Clarissa’s feet were killing her, her eyes stung, and her back ached. Then she spent another thirty minutes helping them catch up on dishes and trash, cleaning what she could.

The bar was covered in retro paneling, the tables and chairs were made from old whisky barrels, and the lights grimy. Everything was sticky and covered in peanut shells and it drove her crazy. She scrubbed her hands three times, then went to get her purse and say good night. Eugene handed her a wad of cash as she left.

The patrons at The Barrel were nice enough: typical small-town drunks and bored locals looking for a night out. The tips were good and the work was no different than waiting tables at the diner, but Clarissa didn’t think she’d make this a regular occurrence. It was far too crowded and far too messy. The jukebox had been blaring all night, making a headache settle in right behind her eyes.

No, she would stick to pancakes and mornings. Even on the busiest days, Donna’s Diner was effortless to manage and ten times cleaner, with its pale pink walls and fun-colored booths.

Walking across the open lot, she inhaled. Fresh, cool air was a welcome sting in her nose and throat after so long inside the stuffy bar. A breeze tousled her hair and cooled the sweat on her face. She smiled; April was starting to warm up.

Rolling her shoulders, she headed to her car. Sleep was next on her list. She had to be at Donna’s Diner by six the next morning.

As she pulled out her keys, Clarissa froze. Someone was leaning against her car.

Panic crept up her spine, and her body trembled.

The parking lot was empty. She could pretend she’d forgotten something inside and turn around, but that would leave her back exposed. She could run, but it was a long way to the front door, and the other person might be faster.

The figure pushed away from the car, moving in her direction. As he sauntered closer, Clarissa caught a glimpse of brilliant blue eyes and shoulder-length blonde hair. It was Alister, the man from the diner that morning. Had he heard Jeff and Eugene ask her to pick up a shift?

“You never did give me your name.” He stood inches from her.