Clarie

By Nellis Boyer

After depressed real estate salesman Harvey Drumm literally runs into sixteen-year-old Clarie Maplethorpe on her bicycle, a bit of energy and hope surges into the thirty-seven-yearolds psyche. Each insists the accident was their fault; smitten, Harvey tries to find excuses to run into the girl again. With the high school just around the corner from his home, he finds her easily, and they become more than friends.

As their relationship develops, Clarie reveals horrible details about her dead father and their relationship. Claries unusual mother, Shauna, adds to this stew, contributing neuroses of her own that compound those of the daughter. Harvey hires Clarie to work in his office; his business blossoms, and his spirit soars with her close presence. He knows its wrong to love her, but he cant help himself.

When Clarie begins to disappear regularly without explanation, he begins to wonder what hes gotten himself into by falling in love with a young woman who is practically still a child. The dangerous situation, compounded by jealousy, eventually brings matters to a head as fate deals all of them shocking and unexpected consequences.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jan 7, 2011
• ISBN: 9781450275729

Nellis Boyer

Nellis Boyer lives on seventeen acres in northern California with her husband, Jerry, and a household of rescued animals. This is her eighth book.

Book preview

Chapter One

Harvey Drumm didn’t see the girl on the bicycle until he backed his Ford Focus into her, sending her sprawling but unhurt onto the lawn of his neighbor’s house. Of course he was frantic, fearing she had been seriously injured, and he scrambled to assist, but she stood and brushed herself off and smiled at him. I’m sorry, she said, I should be more careful. My mother tells me I should be more careful all the time. I’m always running into things.

But I ran into you, said Harvey, perfectly willing to assume the blame.

No, I saw you and I should have stopped but I didn’t. Mother says I have a self destructive streak, so you shouldn’t blame yourself. I have to go now or I’ll be late. Goodbye. She smiled and pedaled off, leaving Harvey stunned and disoriented. He had hit the girl with his car and he didn’t even know her name.

Harvey looked down the street for anyone who might have seen the accident but the neighborhood was empty. He watched his apologetic victim disappear around the corner and quickly got back into his car. He should follow her in case she really was hurt. He backed out again and hurried after the girl, his heart pounding in his chest. She couldn’t be older than fifteen. She must be on her way to the high school. He rounded the corner and saw her up ahead, her long blond ponytail whipping from side to side as she shifted her weight from one foot to the to the other, pedaling at a rapid clip. She certainly didn’t appear to be injured. He had been lucky. He slowed and watched as she disappeared among the cars in the high school parking lot.

Harvey proceeded past the school and continued on to his downtown office. Although he was relieved, he felt disconnected from reality; as if he had peeked under the shade on a window and gained some forbidden knowledge. His body tingled with a strange expectation, and talking to the dim-witted public was the last thing he wanted to do this day. He pulled up his e-mail and deleted his messages without reading them. He called a prospective client and told her the house she wanted was already sold. He begged off a listing appointment and left the office, telling secretary Amy that he had an appointment. It was that damn pony tail.

And this was not a good time for Harvey. He had been having difficulty concentrating on business. The market was terrible. Commissions were so meager it took a gigantic effort to stay afloat financially, and everybody wanted a deal. His wife had divorced him two years ago, and he didn’t blame her. He couldn’t offer her much of a life. She had found a man of ‘substance’ she said, and he wished her well.

According to drug company ads on television he had all the symptoms of clinical depression, but he was too depressed to see a doctor. He was afraid of pills that sent him sleep walking or driving his car and not remembering he ran someone down. The side effects of drugs nowadays were worse than his symptoms, and besides, he had already hit someone stone cold sober. He wasn’t sure what to do, but he knew he had to do something. His inner turmoil was affecting his outward appearance, and for a salesman, appearance counted big time. His eyes no longer sparkled with enthusiasm and he barely recognized the man who stared back from his bathroom mirror. There was a time he had considered himself good looking, handsome even, but his once lustrous brown hair was turning a dull gray, his face seemed to bag and sag in strange places, making his finely sculpted nose appear large and lopsided, and his skin had acquired the pallor of a consumptive. His eyelids drooped as if he were half asleep and he wondered, was it just the mirror or did everyone see him this way?

If he was proud of anything, it was that he had kept his trim silhouette, not having added the rolls of fat so many of his peers collected. But he could have sworn he used to be taller. Had his depression literally dragged him down? He had thought of killing himself but he didn’t have the guts. Thirty seven years old, burnt out, and chicken to make an exit. He knew a lot of people who felt the same way he did—at least they said they did. He doubted it.

He parked at the marina and sat in his car watching the boats come and go. He hated people who owned boats—they were so cliquey—thought they were better than everyone else. It was just a place to sit and not look at real estate. Real estate was everywhere but not on the water. He grabbed a hot dog from a street vendor and sat on the breakwater. The gulls spied him and flew close, hoping for a handout. He tore pieces of bun and tossed them onto the dirty sand, creating a feeding frenzy not unlike the current foreclosure market. What was it ponytail had said? She was self destructive? odd for someone so young—or maybe not. Kids did crazy things to themselves all the time. Riding her bike into cars could get her into trouble, if she had really done it on purpose.

He should be at the office. He could get himself into trouble. Broker Mandrell didn’t like it when his salesmen disappeared without telling Amy where they were headed. He had left his cell phone in the middle of his desk—on purpose. He hoped Mandrell saw it and blew a gasket. Out of reach, Dumbo, flap your big ones over that. He watched the damn boats for another hour and checked his watch. It was almost time for school to let out; kids swarmed down his street at three o’clock every afternoon.

Impulsively he fired up the Focus and headed back toward the high school, hoping to run into ponytail. Not literally of course, unless she wanted to. Harvey was pro choice.

Barbara, his ex, was not, and they had argued about it ad nauseum; but not anymore. He parked along the street and watched the kids pour from the exits. Maybe she had after school sports and stayed late. His heart sank. What did he expect anyway? He just wanted to see her again, make sure she wasn’t hurt. Sometimes an injury would not show itself for hours. Panic overtook him as an ambulance rolled through the chain link gates, its light bars flashing. Then the siren clicked on and his heart fell to his belly. She had collapsed in the corridors and they were rushing her to the hospital. Her mother was right, she sought danger and he had obliged. The ambulance sped past and he was about to turn around to follow when he saw her pedaling toward him, pony tail flapping. His spirits soared. He watched her approach and wondered what to do. If he opened his door, she would slam into it—she might like that. But she might get hurt this time and he didn’t want to hurt her. What did he want? To talk to her was all. Harvey opened his door and stepped quickly into the street in front of her. She recognized him and smiled, and then she slowed the bike and stopped.

Harvey spoke. I wanted to make sure you were okay. I was worried about you all day. Do you feel all right?

She smiled and leaned backward, fluffing her ponytail with her hands. It’s so nice of you to worry, but really, I’m fine. These things happen to me all the time. Like I said, my mother thinks I’m self destructive. She shrugged and tossed her head. I don’t know, I think I just don’t pay attention—you know—to things around me. I don’t usually run into people on purpose. She smiled impishly, Just sometimes.

I think I understand, said Harvey, and he really did because he didn’t pay attention a lot of the time. Like today for instance, he had left that office in a heartbeat—no attention paid at all, except, of course, to leave his cell phone on his desk—that took some attention and some planning. And he could run into people too, if he wanted. Already they had something in common. They stood smiling at each other and he said, What’s your name? I’d like to be your friend if it’s okay.

She rested her head on her shoulder. It’s okay, and seeing as we met earlier, I think it’s only fitting, but you have to tell me yours. My name is Clarie, like fairy, so what’s yours?

He had never liked his name, equating it to the big white rabbit in the ‘Harvey’ movie. You can call me Mike, he said impulsively, having no idea why he had chosen the name.

She cocked an eyebrow. I can? But you don’t look like a Mike. Is that your real name? I have a feeling you’re not telling me the truth.

She knew. Well, sometimes they call me Harvey, but I prefer Mike. How did she know he had made it up?

Look, Mike, there’s nothing wrong with the name Harvey. I don’t think we should lie to each other and get off on the wrong foot. I would prefer to call you Harvey if that’s who you are.

He shrugged. This was not going well—a salesman who couldn’t sell a phony name. Call me Harvey then, it doesn’t matter, he said, nonchalantly.

She grinned and he noticed her beautiful white teeth. How anyone could maintain such beautiful white teeth had always amazed him. But Clarie was beautiful all over, with her big brown eyes, full, pouty lips, firm breasts and the silky, golden pony tail. Her nose tilted upward making her look sassy, and she was; sassy, beautiful and extremely young. How old are you Clarie?

I’m sixteen. How old are you Harvey? She said it defiantly, a challenge. Turn about is fair play after all, and didn’t she have a right to know?

No use trying to lie to her, that didn’t seem to work. Thirty–seven, he blurted.

She seemed pleased that he had been forthright. Are you married?

Not anymore. I was but she divorced me; two years ago now.

That’s good then. So we can be friends and not get in trouble.

His libido bloomed like an exotic flower. He was having trouble controlling his thoughts. A crowd of students was passing by and he said, Would you like to come to my house and have a coke? I just live around the corner.

Yeah, I know where you live. I ran into you this morning, remember?

He blushed, That’s right, sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.

Clarie laughed, Like I don’t most of the time. She studied him. You’re not a perv are you? I’d like a coke, but not if your going to come onto me.

He wasn’t ready for that one. He defended himself. I’m not a perv, I just thought since we kind of know each other, you might like a coke.

She nodded and said, I believe you, it’s okay.

Follow me then, he said, and he waited until the street was clear of children and he turned the car around and she followed on her bike. He hoped he had a coke—or something to give her.

Chapter Two

He parked the Focus in his driveway and she set her bike down on the lawn. They met on the doorstep and he found his keys and opened the front door. The entrance of the small house was cool and dark and he led her into the back and the kitchen which was filled with afternoon light. I usually sit back here when I’m home this time of day because it’s nice, with the sun and all. Or I go outside on the porch. Want to sit outside?

This is fine right here, she said. She sat at a small kitchen table and looked out the window. You have a nice big yard. I like the daises. Did you plant them yourself?

Barbara, my ex, did. She loved daises. He looked in his refrigerator, hoping he’d left a coke, a Pepsi, something for her to drink. He had three cans of Coors beer and a bottle of apple juice. I have apple juice, and beer—but you’re too young to drink beer, right?

What’re you going to have, Harvey?

I’ll have a beer, I guess.

Then I’ll have one too. Sometimes I drink them at home. Mom lets me.

Your mother lets you drink beer? he asked, wondering if she was telling him the truth.

She does. She thinks it’s better to drink at home then out at some guy’s place.

But you are at some guy’s place, he blurted, pointing out the obvious contradiction.

Yeah, but I don’t think she’d mind if I was drinking beer with you. You’re kind of clean cut and you seem concerned about me. That’s polite.

Harvey accepted her flimsy logic, popped open two Coors, and wondered if he had fallen down the rabbit hole. So, Clarie, do you like school?

She nodded and took a swallow. Sometimes. I like my algebra teacher this year, he’s cool. All the girls like him though, because he’s cute. Mr. Samson, that’s his name, and we call him Samsonite.

She studied Harvey and said, I think you look nice. I don’t know why Barbara would divorce you. Why did she? Did she find another man?

Harvey was taken aback by her abruptness and the assessment that he looked nice. He felt a sudden flush of confidence and he replied quickly, mindless of excuses. She did, and I didn’t care. I wasn’t doing well in real estate. That’s what I do, I sell real estate. He became glum at the mention of the work. She noticed and tried to cheer him up.

Don’t feel bad, Harv, times are bad all over right now. My mom says everyone’s having a hard time.

Except Barbara’s new man.

What’s he do that’s so great?

"He runs a food distribution company. Everybody’s Got To Eat."

Duh.

No, that’s the name of the company. Cute, Huh? Harvey was on the verge of morose.

Well, yeah, if you’re a dork. Cheer up, Harv, I’m sure he’s got his faults. You don’t mind if I call you Harv, do you?

No, it’s fine, better really, unless you want to call me Mike.

Your name is Harvey, so I’ll call you Harv. My father’s name was Mike—Michael. He’s dead. It’s just me and mom, no brothers or sisters. Actually, I like it like that, just the two of us. Is that bad of me?

He studied her. I don’t know. I suppose it depends on why you feel that way. Did you not like your father?

She shrugged, and he knew she was holding back. Was he mean to you?

She wrapped her arms around her knees and said, I wouldn’t call it mean, that’s not the right word. He did things he shouldn’t have done—not to a daughter. You know what I’m talking about Harv, you’re a grown man.

Her look told him to let it go and he did. Of all names to choose, he had to pick the dead pervert father. Way to go, Harv. Did your mother know?

She shook her head. I don’t know. I never told her. I try not to think about it anymore.

What did he die of?

An automobile accident. I was in the car but I didn’t get hurt, just a few bruises. See, here’s one. She raised the hem of her skirt and showed him a patch of ugly, indented skin on her thigh. It was black and blue for the longest time and then it shrunk up like that. Michael went through the windshield. He never would wear his seat belt, and he got thrown onto the cement road. He landed on his head and it smashed him all up. They covered him right away and wouldn’t let me see, but I know because I saw the insurance company pictures in mom’s desk. It was five years ago, and I was eleven. I remember it like it just happened.

Was another car involved?

No, we hit a tree. Mike just wasn’t paying attention, like me. I think I got it from him. She finished her beer and set the empty can on the table.

I don’t pay attention a lot lately. He fiddled with his can and confessed, Sometimes I wish a tree would happen to me. I get depressed you know, like I can’t take anymore of it.

You mean life?

Yeah, life.

Me too, Harv.

He put his hand on her shoulder. Me, okay, but you, you’re too young to feel that way. No matter what’s happened, life’s going to get better for you. He wished he could believe it.

I can’t help it. I don’t want to feel that way but I don’t know how to stop it. It’s not all the time, just sometimes. My mom gets it too only worse. She gets really sad and then she drinks a lot. She works for a gardening supply company in Wilksford. She hates it but she’s afraid to quit because she doesn’t think she could find another job.

He nodded, wondering what a gardening supply sold—plants, tools, soil? So she goes to Wilksford every day? That’s a long drive from Brownsville.

An hour each way. Hey, can I have another of those beers?

He thought about it, wondered if he should let her. There’s one left. I’ll split it with you. He decided little harm could come from sharing a second can of beer. He poured the beer into glasses and set them on the table.

So, you gonna get married again, Harv? She downed half her glass and waited for an answer, knowing she had put him on the spot. She was enjoying his discomfort—he could tell by the flick of the pony tail and the grin. Maybe it was the beer.

I don’t know, Clarie, maybe if I met the right girl. It was what he told them all when they asked. None of your damn business is what he should tell them, but not to this one. He finished the beer in his glass and watched her finish hers; watched the pony tail flop over her shoulder as she tilted her head back. She was so pretty, so young. She pushed the empty glass into the middle of the table and smiled at him.

So why don’t you show me the rest of your house, Harv. Isn’t that what people are supposed to do when they have guests for the first time? A tour? I’d like that and I have to use your bathroom now, with all the beer.

She was precocious. Maybe because of what she’d been through. He didn’t know girls her age could be so bold—so unafraid to say whatever came into their heads—but maybe it was just Clarie. The way she dressed had shocked him at first. She wore a tight little tee shirt that ended under her breasts and a little skirt that barely covered the big bruise on her thigh. Her clothes looked like they had shrunk in the washer.