Page 32 of The Opposite Effect

Not waiting for a reply, she bolts for the door.

“You don’t need to leave, dear,” my grandma advises Clara’s quickly retreating frame.

Either not hearing a word my grandmother spoke or choosing to ignore it, Clara continues for the door.

“Clara!” I shout when she flees into the corridor without a backward glance.

By the time I make it to the hallway, being extra attentive not to bump into my grandma, Clara has already exited the automatic double doors of Caramine Care and climbed into the back seat of a taxi idling at the curb. Although I’m grateful she was smart enough not to take the bus, I’m not sure how her bank balance will handle the forty-mile cab fare from here to her apartment building.

Once Clara’s taxi disappears from my view, I walk back into my grandmother’s room. She has seen Mrs. Porter off and is sitting on the edge of her pale blue bedspread-covered bed. Her face looks as shocked as Clara’s did when I told her she had secured a two-week trial at Inked.

“I didn’t realize you knew the McGregors.”

While rubbing the back of my neck, I take a seat on the recliner next to my grandma. “Yeah, Clara’s been working with me for the past few months.”

My grandma’s eyes rocket to mine. “Clara works at Inked?” Her voice is smeared with uncertainty, and she looks the most dumbfounded I’ve ever seen her.

“Yeah.” I nod my head. “Don’t look so shocked, Grandma. We aren’t all tattoo-covered Neanderthals.”

My grandma slices her hand through the air. “It’s not that, Brax. I’m proud of you and the crew at Inked. They’re my family. I’m just surprised a sweet young thing like Clara would be seen over that side of town, let alone need a job.”

“You’re not the only one surprised. I’ve been asking myself the same question for the past three months.” I scoot across the leather seat and rest my elbows on my knees. “Do you know who Clara was here visiting?” My voice is shaky, hampered by the guilt I feel for prying into Clara’s personal life.

My grandma locks her glistening baby blues with mine. “When she wants you to know, Brax, she will tell you.”

I sink deeper into my chair before running my hand down my tired face. I shouldn’t have expected a different response from my grandma. She’s never seen politeness in snooping.

After giving myself a few minutes to gather my strewn composure, I ask, “Do you know if Clara has any family out this way?” When my grandma’s eyes thin, I add, “I’m not prying into her personal life, Grandma. I’m just trying to keep an eye on her. She had her car towed last night, and when I drove her home, there was an eviction notice taped to her front door.”

The concern in my grandma’s eyes intensifies with every word I speak. “Oh, Brax, you’ve got to help her,” she requests, her words pleading.

“I’m trying, but she’s the most guarded woman I’ve ever handled. Unlike you, she holds in her inner dialogue and protects her secrets with an iron fist…or knee.”

I confessed my prior run-ins with Clara to my grandma the Sunday following the knee-to-my-balls incident. It wasn’t that I felt forthcoming. It was the fact I couldn’t walk without grimacingthat had me spilling the beans. It was only my crippled status that stopped my grandmother from issuing her own form of justice.

My grandma’s lips tug into a wry grin, but the concern in her eyes doesn’t dampen the slightest from my witty comment. “The McGregors were based in Hopeton up until a few years ago. When Clara’s momma got sick, they moved her to a superior care facility in New York City. Since most of the children were young, they moved right along with her.”

A niggle hits my chest. “Is her momma still sick?” Concern for finding out Clara’s mother is unwell is evident in my voice.

My grandma nods. “There’s no cure for dementia, Brax. No matter how much money you throw at the fancy doctors.”

The niggle in my chest turns into a full stab. “How old is her momma?”

Clara is only twenty-five, so even if her mom had her late in life, she’d still only be mid-fifties to sixties now.

“I’m not sure, but way too young to be dealing with dementia. Some days she recognized her kids. Others, she couldn’t tell them apart from the nursing staff.”

I run my hand over my recently clipped hair. “Tough break.”

My grandma connects her sorrow-filled eyes with mine. “Yeah, especially after everything Clara has been through. She needed her momma, but unfortunately, her momma needed her more.”

The pain in my chest turns catastrophic.

As sweat rolls down my back, my head cranks to the side in super slow motion. My teeth smacking together shrill into my ears as I plummet to the ground. While I was distracted by my conversation with my grandmother yesterday, Diesel’s right-swungfist connected with my left jaw. He knocked my jaw into the next century, right along with my ego.

I spit out my mouth guard before running the back of my hand across my mouth, removing a smear of blood his hit produced. Diesel stands in the corner of the ring as instructed by Hank. His grin is smug, but his eyes show his correct response—regret.

Hank, Diesel’s trainer, squats down in front of me. His nearly black eyes assess my face as he runs his thumbs along the edge of my jaw. “Nothing appears broken, although you may end up with a nasty bruise in a few days,” he advises.

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