31. Chapter 31

Chapter 31

He’s one of the good ones. That’s what Cleo had thought, once she saw through some of the walls Clark put up. She didn’t know how she could believe that of him again, though, not after what he’d done.

“Thank you for your call,” she told Greta before hanging up.

Birds chirped in the heavy twilight, perhaps calling their chicks home for the night. Cicadas clicked in surround sound, the low hum a balm to the tumult inside Cleo’s heart.

Cleo cut into the field instead of turning back to the Black-Eyed Susan. She’d been knocked sideways by Greta’s story, and even more so by the revelation that Cleo wasn’t really mad about the article itself, but rather by knowing Clark could do that to her. It all boiled down to one fact: Cleo had fallen for Clark, and she’d thought he felt the same. When she read what he’d written, she’d taken that as a sign that he’d been faking everything, from friendship to more. But what if he hadn’t been faking? What if he loved her too? Cleo would never know, because she’d cut him out of her life. She’d made the right call. Right?

Cleo walked slowly through the grass, the ends tickling her fingers where they brushed. She’d never considered herself a coward, but that’s how she was feeling. Cleo cut and ran when things got hard. She did it to her dad and Jameson, and she’d done it again to Clark. But she was done running. She needed to face him.

Taking out her phone she unblocked Clark. She was surprised she hadn’t deleted his contact completely. Maybe a tiny part of her secretly hoped they’d reconcile eventually. She typed out a message: I spoke with Greta. I’m sorry I didn’t let you tell me. The article wasn’t entirely your fault, but I’m still mad.

She stuffed the phone into her back pocket and turned toward the house, its cheery lights beckoning her home. She expected to feel a buzz any moment indicating Clark had replied, but her phone stayed silent. Checking it when she got back she saw she’d been left on read, and by the time she was getting ready for bed that night, that hadn’t changed.

Was Clark already so over her that he didn’t care that she knew the truth? Or were there not enough feelings to begin with that it didn’t matter that Cleo was reaching out to him now? Suddenly Cleo began to doubt everything. Every interaction, every flirtation was called into question. Maybe the feelings had always been one-sided, and she was too love blind to see the truth, that Clark didn’t feel the way she did. She was so grateful she hadn’t texted anything more.

Cleo tossed and turned all night until she finally got up in the pre-dawn light and continued putting up decorations where the others had left off. She was draping a sheer bunting around the porch rail when her mom found her.

“I’ve always preferred sunrises to sunsets,” Patty said, gazing east where the sun was cresting the hills. “They’re so hopeful. You never know what each new day might bring.”

“I don’t know how you can hold onto hope when you’ve experienced as much tragedy as you have,” Cleo replied glumly.

“That’s the only thing that got me through the tragedy,” Patty replied. “If I hadn’t grasped onto that, I wouldn’t be here today.”

“So, you’ve forgiven daddy, and grandma and grandpa?”

Birds sat chirping on a telephone wire above. Were those magpies? They were beautiful, though Cleo’s friend called them trash birds.

Patty cleared her throat. “I have forgiven them. I had to in order to move on. They’ll probably never know it, but I know it. We don’t often get to choose what happens to us, but we always get to choose how we react to what happens. I could tell the bitterness was eating away at the very fibers of my soul. If I wanted a shot at happiness, I had to let go of my anger and resentment. It’s the most freeing thing I’ve ever done.”

Could Cleo do that? Could she forgive the people she’d been wronged by? Jameson, his parents, her father, Roscoe?

Clark? Especially if he’d already moved on like she feared. No, she could only control her choices, not his. That might take some time to get comfortable with, but she could see a glimmer of what her mom was talking about in being able to move on without the burden of resentment and anger holding her back.

“What was that phone call last night?” Patty asked. Her mom had already been in bed when Cleo returned.

“It was Clark’s sister.”

“His sister? What was she calling about?” Cleo related their conversation while her mom helped her wind the bunting through the slats of wood.

“That’s…well, that’s just….”

“I know.”

“I thought for sure there had to be another explanation. Clark couldn’t have only been there to get your story.”

“Apparently he really was.”

“But then he fell in love with you and couldn’t turn in the story.”

Cleo stopped working. “He didn’t fall in love with me.”

Patty looked up from her work. “Well, of course he did. Why else would he not have published it?”

“There are plenty of reasons why he would’ve had a change of heart. He felt sorry for me once he learned why I was going to Texas, or we became friends and he felt too guilty? Or he didn’t think it was that interesting of a story after all?”

Patty put her hands on her hips. Cleo caught a glimpse of how her mom might have looked if Cleo had missed curfew as a teenager. “None of those are compelling enough for him to back out of a deal that would save his sister’s reputation.”

Cleo had thought that at first, too, but his radio silence was telling her otherwise.

Dottie came down a short while later, her hair in curlers and no makeup. “I thought I heard more than my hens clucking down here. What are you two doing up already?”

“Dottie, it’s your wedding day!” Cleo shouted and threw her arms around her friend.

“Yes, yes, it’s all very excitin’,” she said as she awkwardly patted Cleo’s back. “But it ain’t gonna happen lessin’ we get everythin’ done.”

“What else can we help you with?” Patty asked, and Dottie rattled off half a dozen tasks for them to work on. Dottie’s sister had arrived late last night and stayed in a hotel, but she was coming over now to help as well. The jobs Dottie gave them kept them busy all day, while Dottie bounced between getting ready, supervising cooking and decorating, and freaking out. That was when they called Dale in to help, since he could usually calm her down faster than anyone.

As afternoon melted into evening, Cleo slipped upstairs to put on her peach bridesmaid dress. She was just finishing up her hair and makeup when Dottie began to scream downstairs. Throwing on some lip gloss, she hurried down to make sure Dottie was okay. Dottie came out of her room with one eye of makeup applied and her hair in the middle of being teased.

Cleo asked, “Is everything okay? What was that scream for?”

Dottie wrung her hands, her gaze darting all around the room. “I suddenly realized, I never collected eggs today! Cleo, we have to go get the eggs!”

Were eggs really an emergency? They’d just sit there until someone could get them tomorrow, wouldn’t they? When Dottie started flapping her hands, Cleo didn’t want to stress her out on her wedding day so she capitulated, though she made a show of looking down at her dress and slippers. “You want me to get the eggs?”

“Yes! Get the eggs!” Dottie grabbed a basket off the counter, dismissive of how Cleo was dressed, and pressed it into Cleo’s hands before shoving her out the back door. “Look real careful, now. You know how sometimes the girls like to play hide and seek with ‘em!”

Cleo fairly tripped down the steps before she got her balance and picked her way across the yard to the chicken coop. Gratefully, she’d learned her lesson about stilettos and was wearing much more sensible flats today. Heels only brought back bad memories of her wedding day when those stilettos nearly cost her a quick getaway. She was wiser now.

Cleo stepped carefully so as to avoid the chicken poop while trying to find all the eggs she could. There weren’t many, almost as if someone had already been in here today. But Dottie had insisted that no one had done this job yet. Perhaps she was so overwhelmed by all that needed doing on her wedding day that she’d become confused.

Cleo leaned over to check under a pail, when the hem of her dress caught under her shoe, threatening to pitch her forward onto the poop-covered ground. Her arms started to pinwheel when a low voice said, “Whoa there, I’ve got you.” Strong arms grasped her around the waist and pulled her upright. Cleo froze, letting herself be moved like a mannequin. She was pulled against a hard chest and arms came fully around her as a chin rested on her shoulder. “Ah, I’ve missed this smell.”

Cleo’s mouth gaped as she spun around to ensure that she saw what she feared she was only imagining. Sure enough, there stood her grump, a scowl marring his fine features, just as it had in her dreams of him. She reached up and smoothed the crease between his brows, then pushed the lock of hair off his forehead so she could see into those perfect eyes. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

Clark smirked. “Isn’t there going to be a wedding? Or do you always hunt for eggs dressed like that?” He backed up to see all of her, and Cleo saw something like appreciation flash in his eyes as he took her in. Cleo looked Clark up and down as well, noting for the first time that he was dressed in a dark blue suit that hugged his lines better than a suit should be able to. His shoulders were broader, his legs longer, his chest more pronounced in a suit coat, and it almost took Cleo’s breath away. He was walk-the-runway handsome. And he was here.

“Isn’t this how city girls hunt for eggs?” she teased back. He clenched his jaw and grinned in response.

“Oh, but you’ve been countryfied, or so a girl who looks an awful lot like you once told me.”

“That was Dottie who said that. I say you can take a girl out of the city, but you can’t take the city out of the girl. Isn’t that how it goes?”

Clark stepped forward. “I don’t want the city taken out of this girl. I want her to come back to the city.”

Cleo’s breath caught as he neared her. She could smell a hint of cologne, which was a welcome change from the farmyard smells she hadn’t yet grown used to. Guys really shouldn’t be able to look amazing and smell good at the same time. It wasn’t fair and was likely to cause heart complications. In fact, it was already starting to.

Cleo inched backward. She was still mad at him. “You do?”

Clark nodded, his eyes flitting down to her lips every few seconds, unconcerned that she was moving away from him. “But then why didn’t you respond to me?” she asked.

“What?” He looked like he was only half paying attention to what she was saying. The other half of him seemed to be drinking her in.

“I texted you last night, and you didn’t reply.”

He shook his head like he was shaking off a trance and his eyes focused on her face, narrowing slightly. “I’ve texted you 8,000 times over the last week. You’re the one not texting me back.”

But she’d never received any of those because she’d blocked him. “True. But then I texted you last night, and nothing.” Like him ignoring her one text was the equivalent of her ignoring dozens of his.

He moved forward another half step until he could reach her. His fingers lightly glazed over her arm, sending goosebumps up and down it. “I guess I was too busy throwing my clothes into a suitcase and catching a last-minute flight to reply.” His fingers skated down past her elbow and wrist, coming to rest around her fingers. He held them with the lightest touch, as if afraid of what she might do if he were more forceful. She pulled away and crossed her arms.

“Why was your flight last-minute?”

He ran his hands through his hair. “Because I wasn’t planning on coming until I got your text, but I realized I had to. We have some unfinished business, you see.”

She swallowed. “Oh yeah, what’s that?”

“I finally figured out what I want for the truth and the dare you owe me.”

A chill incited a shiver, despite it being ninety degrees outside. “You did? Wha…what would that be?”

Clark glanced around. “Let’s go somewhere a little less…chicken-y for this conversation, shall we?”