30. Chapter 30

Chapter 30

T hree days before Dottie and Dale would tie the knot, Cleo and Patty loaded up Patty’s car and began retracing Cleo’s steps back to Beaudell, Tennessee. This road trip felt very different from the previous one. While she was beyond grateful for the time to sit and visit with her mom–recounting stories of Cleo’s childhood she’d forgotten and getting to know this woman who had been a stranger to her a mere two weeks before–she couldn’t help but miss the banter and fun she’d had with Clark along this same path.

No. She would not miss that jerk. He’d sold her out, and she couldn’t forgive him for that. Not when she knew how her father’s business was suffering from his actions, too. If only her heart remembered that.

When Cleo saw the first sign for Texarkana she grew instantly silent. Patty leaned over and squeezed her hand, asking her if she was okay. This had become typical for them over the last week, and Cleo nodded that she was fine. But she wasn’t fine. She was in love with a man who had done the unthinkable in betraying her. He wasn’t who she thought he was–a guy who’d come up with silly names for cities with her, who played twenty questions and listened to her spill some of her darkest secrets. He’d used those secrets against her, and she couldn’t get past that deception.

Cleo and Patty arrived at The Black-Eyed Susan as dusk was descending over the ranch. Cleo drank in all the places she didn’t know well but had come to love in the short time she’d stayed there: the sun descending behind the hills, the windmill bathed in its glow, the trellised flowers creeping up the house. Even the sight of the chickens didn’t dredge up horrible feelings. The only thing that did put a damper on things was realizing that a big piece of the reason she’d come to love this place was missing, and he wasn’t going to come fill it. Before Cleo left Texas she’d asked Dottie if Clark was coming to the wedding. Dottie told her he’d said no; otherwise, Cleo didn’t think she could’ve come.

Dottie and Dale came out to greet them, the two of them crushing Cleo in a hug that she didn’t break free from for several moments. Dottie smelled like yeasty bread and flowers, the most homey combination Cleo could imagine. When she at last was able to extricate herself, she introduced them to her mother.

She shouldn’t have been surprised by how quickly the three of them hit it off–Dottie with her loud effusions over everything, and Dale with his quiet steadiness. Her mom took to them easily, and they had such a nice dinner and conversation that when at last she was lying in the guest bed next to her mother, she was struck by how very familiar this felt. At the same time, it wasn’t right at all. Moving her hand to feel between them, she realized she was searching for the Wall of Jericho stacked in the middle. She didn’t need one, lying like this next to Patty. She shouldn’t miss it, but she did. She hated being here without Clark, even though she’d never admit that out loud. Whenever Dottie brought him up, Cleo turned the conversation to something else. She knew she was fooling no one, but she wanted to focus on the wedding.

Fortunately, Dottie made that easy. She enjoyed being the center of attention, even while insisting that this wedding would be a modest affair. The happy couple would say their vows under a pergola in the backyard with their closest friends and family, who would join them in a celebration after. Dottie assured Cleo that she had everything well in hand. So Cleo and Patty spent the next day helping with food and any other last-minute tasks she gave them. Dottie’s sister would arrive later that day, and Dale's sister and a few friends came over to help with the food and flowers.

Cleo was cutting vegetables to serve with dinner when her phone started ringing with an unknown number. She ignored it, but a minute later the same number called again. When she ignored that, she received a text: "Cleo, this is Clark’s sister Greta. Pls call me."

Greta? Clark’s sister Greta was trying to reach her? Which one was Greta again? All the whys and hows flitted through her head, but she tried to ignore them and focus on the fact of the matter: Clark’s sister wanted to talk to her. How did she feel about that? Was Greta going to attempt to convince Cleo to forgive her brother? Cleo would never know unless she called, but she balked at the idea of talking about Clark with anyone. She waited three hours before the not knowing became unbearable. Slipping outside, Cleo started down the lane she’d once walked with Clark, before pulling out her phone and finding Greta’s number.

“Hello, who is this?” The voice was tentative at first, then stronger. “Oh wait, is this Cleo?” Cleo didn’t answer for a moment. “Hello? Cleo?” There was a lot of background noise, and Cleo pushed the phone closer to her ear to hear better.

“This is Cleo.”

“Oh, thank the heavens you called. Hi, Cleo. My name is Greta Collins, and you know my brother.”

Cleo wasn’t sure how to respond. Yes, I know that lying snake of a brother of yours was on the tip of her tongue, but she refrained and simply said, “Uh huh.”

“Ugh, you already know that. Sorry, you caught me in the middle of something and now I’m babbling. Give me a sec. Don’t go anywhere!” Cleo obeyed, and within thirty seconds Greta was back. It was much quieter now.

“Okay, that’s better. I’m at my best friend’s son’s birthday party and it was L.O.U.D. I’m in the master bathroom now, and it is H.U.G.E. Why am I spelling everything? Sorry, I’m a bit flustered. Can you hear me, Chloe? Dangit, I meant Cleo. He warned me you get called Chloe and there I went and called you that. Sorry.”

Cleo had no idea what to make of this woman. She wasn’t anything like Clark. And had Clark really talked about her to his sisters?

“Cleo, are you still there? Have I scared you off already?”

“I’m here.”

“Oh, good. Thanks for calling me back. I’m sure that wasn’t easy.” Cleo didn’t respond so Greta continued. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve called. I’ll get straight to the point. That article that was printed about you was my fault.” Cleo sat down on the bottom rung of the fence. She barely noticed how uncomfortable it was, distracted as she was by Greta’s excuse for Clark.

“I know what you’re probably thinking. How can an article written by my brother be my fault? Well, it was. He never would have taken a job to report on someone like you if he hadn't been desperate, and he was desperate because he was trying to save me.”

Cleo rubbed her forehead. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

“I know. It’s a bit of a story. But I knew you weren’t letting Clark explain it, and you were thinking the worst about him, and I couldn’t let you keep believing that he’s the type of person who’d do what he did without a very good reason. So I’m going to tell you what really happened, and I beg you to hear me out.”

A headache was blossoming around her temples. Greta didn’t give Cleo a chance to respond before continuing. “You see, I was married a while ago to a man who wasn’t very nice to me. We divorced after only a year. My ex did a good job of making me feel useless and I guess I started believing him. It’s something I’m working on with a paid professional now, but for a long time I haven’t been very smart about who I’ve dated, because I haven’t really cared about anything or anybody.

“I met a guy at a party–not the kind I usually go to–who was probably older than my dad, a rich and notorious playboy who finds himself in the tabloids often with the actresses he spends time with. I don’t read the things myself, so I didn’t know about him. A paparazzo caught us together, and I guess the guy was married.

“Anyway, it was all a lot more innocent than it looked, but my brother saw the pictures of us dancing together because Clark’s former boss works for that magazine now and he recognized me–we went out once too–and he gave Clark a heads up that they were about to go to print. Clark freaked out and begged Roscoe to pull them, but Roscoe said Clark would have to get him something big in exchange. I guess this all went down the day before he met you in New York, because the minute he saw you he realized he had a much bigger story than mine and asked Roscoe if that would make a good trade. Roscoe agreed, and Clark followed you to Texas.”

The headache was migrating to the front of Cleo’s head. Or maybe that was because Cleo was pushing her head into the fence slat in front of her. She maneuvered out of where she was sitting and continued down the lane. “But that doesn’t exonerate Clark, if that’s what you’re trying to do.”

“You’re right. And Clark isn’t without guilt. But I thought you should know why he even dared to get in that car with you. He never would’ve done that had it not been for his attempt to clear my name.”

“He still wrote the article, and it still got printed for the whole world to see.”

“But that’s what I wanted to explain. He told Roscoe the deal was off. He told him he’d find something else to take the place of my story, but it wasn’t going to be you. But Roscoe tricked him.”

“I–”

“Roscoe told Clark he was printing my story because Clark reneged on their deal. So Clark flew back to New York and visited Roscoe at his office. I guess he had a notebook with him in his messenger bag with the start of your story written in it. The idiot, I don’t know why he brought it with him! Clark’s still not sure how Roscoe got it, but somehow he made copies of those pages; probably his secretary snuck it away without Clark knowing. Anyhow, Clark finally got him to agree to not run my story or yours, and Clark would write three other assignments Roscoe gave him instead. He hates tabloids and hasn’t ever written for one before. That’s how much he was willing to do to keep you and me safe, though.” This was his first tabloid article? Cleo had been too disgusted by the one to research if there were others.

“He’d started on the first article when your story showed up the next morning on the front page of The Whistler . Roscoe took the parts he knew from the notebook he stole, and then made up the rest. It had enough truth in it to satisfy his editor and their readers, and it made him a lot of money I’m sure. Clark confronted Roscoe, but the damage had been done. Roscoe assured him their deal was complete and signed something legal that said he’d erased the digital pictures of me and they wouldn’t ever be used. But it didn’t save you.”

No, it hadn’t saved Cleo or her father. They would both feel the repercussions for months if not years to come.

Greta continued, “So you see, Clark honestly tried to prevent your name from getting in the papers at all. He was willing to do triple the work just to avoid writing about you. If that dirty Roscoe hadn’t tricked him, it would’ve worked.” Cleo hoped she never met the man. She’d show him how it felt to be humiliated.

“He feels terrible, Cleo. Truly. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this distraught before. In fact…well, I guess I should stop there. I’ll just say this: if you stop and think about why he was willing to go back on his agreement with Roscoe, it’s not hard to guess the reason.” Was Greta suggesting what Cleo thought she was? That he liked her? Maybe even loved her? It didn’t matter his motivations, though, did it? The damage was done.

If she really were honest, seeing her name in print disappointed her less than the realization that Clark wasn’t who she thought he was. Lies about her in tabloids sucked, but she didn’t really care what other people thought about her. She did care what he thought.

Was that it then? Was this more about her feelings for Clark than the article?

“Cleo? Did I lose you?”

Cleo shook herself. “I’m here.”

“Oh thank heavens. I thought you hadn’t heard any of that and I’d have to explain it all again. It was painful enough the first time. I’m not used to sticking up for anyone and that took a lot out of me.”

“It was good of you to take the time to explain the situation to me.”

“It’s what Clark deserved. He’s one of the good ones, Cleo.”