Losing Clara

Chapter Three: A Question She Wasn’t Ready For

By the time Clara and Susan left campus, the afternoon was already slipping away.

"I swear, that professor enjoys giving us too much work," Susan complained as they walked.

"You say that every week."

"Because it's true every week."

Clara laughed and let the conversation drift — schoolwork, food, schoolwork again — and for a few minutes, Patrick wasn't the loudest thing in her head.

Only a few minutes, though.

"So," Susan said as they reached the dorm, "are you going to tell me what Patrick wanted?"

"I already told you. He texted me."

"You know that's not what I mean."

"You're too curious."

"And you're too secretive. You locked your phone the second I looked at it."

Clara shook her head, smiling despite herself, and let it go without confirming or denying anything. Susan's okay on the way inside wasn't agreement — it was patience.

Back in the room, Clara changed out of her scrubs, ate something small, and let herself sink into the quiet part of the day she liked best — the part where the dorm settled, and her mind could finally slow down. She pulled out her notebook and got to work, underlining, reviewing, trying to stay present.

It didn't fully work. His messages kept resurfacing.

Maybe I need to find out.

I didn't know I'd find you again this soon.

I should tell you why I'm really back.

She made herself keep studying. Patrick was part of her past. Her future was what mattered — or so she kept telling herself.

That evening, after closing her notebook, she picked up her Bible instead, found a familiar passage, and let herself read in the noise the way she'd learned to over the years.

"Lord — thank You for today. Thank You for helping me through my classes. Please keep guiding me, keep me focused." Her voice softened. "And help me with everything going on around me."

She almost said his name. She caught herself and said instead, "Give me wisdom to make the right decisions. Amen."

She felt steadier when she opened her eyes. She reached for her phone, scrolled through a few notifications, and found her last message to Patrick still sitting unanswered. Why are you back?

Nothing. She set the phone down. A few minutes later she picked it back up. Still nothing.

Why do I even care, she thought — and then the phone buzzed in her hand.

I'm sorry. I didn't mean to leave you waiting.

She read it twice before typing back. So why are you back?

The reply took its time. It's complicated.

What do you mean?

I don't want to explain everything over text.

Why not?

Because I don't want you to hear it from someone else.

That one made her sit up straighter. Hear what?

Another pause, longer this time. I'd rather tell you myself.

Something in the way he said it made her take it seriously. Then tell me, she typed.

Can we meet?

Clara hesitated, glancing around the room — her books, her plans, her carefully arranged life. Meeting Patrick wasn't part of any of it.

When? she typed slowly.

Tomorrow. Around 4. There's a café near campus.

She stared at the message longer than she needed to. Maybe it was because she hadn't seen him in years. Maybe it was because she still didn't know what he wanted. Or maybe some small part of her was just curious who he'd become.

Okay, she typed.

Thank you. I'll see you tomorrow.

She locked her phone and lay back on her bed, the weight of what she'd just agreed to settling over her slowly. After all these years, she was going to see Patrick again — and she still had no idea what he wanted to tell her.

She set the phone beside her Bible and closed her eyes.

Tomorrow was supposed to be a normal day. Somehow, she already knew it wouldn't feel like one.