9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

C leo remembered the day her father had told her that her mom, Bernice, was moving out and they were getting a divorce. She was fifteen.

“Why is Mom leaving? Doesn’t she love us?” her little teenage self had cried.

“She…isn’t well,” her father replied. “She’s going away to take care of herself.”

Cleo hadn’t questioned that. She’d known something was wrong with her mom. She’d had a complicated relationship with her for as long as she could remember. Her mom hadn’t acted much like Cleo thought a mom should. She remembered going to her friend Annabelle’s birthday party when she turned five, and how Annabelle’s mom had petted her and said such nice things to her all the time. When Cleo’s party came the next week, Cleo’s father had rented several ponies for her and the other girls to ride. Bernice had sneered at the present, mocking Cleo for being so cliche? as to want a pony for her birthday. She’d sat sipping margaritas as she made sarcastic comments about Cleo and her friends. Cleo had known how embarrassment felt, even at that young age.

When Cleo was ten, Bernice often said things like, “What a beanpole you are” and “If you turned sideways and stuck out your tongue, you’d look like a zipper.” Cleo thought she looked like most ten-year-olds she knew and wasn’t sure why Bernice made such a big deal about looking like a girl. When she finally went through puberty, Cleo talked to Bea’s mom, not Bernice, about what she needed to have and do. The only thing Bernice had ever said to her was, “So, you’re actually a girl after all. I’d wondered.”

For years Bernice had been manipulative and vindictive toward Cleo behind her father’s back, and eventually in front of him. She’d made fun of her incessantly and tried to get her into trouble with her dad. She never abused Cleo physically, but she’d always treated her like an ugly step-child with her verbal and emotional manipulation.

Cleo missed Bernice for a little while after she left, but that hadn’t lasted long. Within a matter of weeks she and her father had established a new routine, and she found that she thought of her mother less and less each day. She’d always been closer to her father anyway; he doted on and spoiled her as she grew up, filling the role of both parents, while her mother had grown ever more distant and cold to her. Cleo found she preferred that distance to the meanness she’d experienced earlier on. Strangely, she never saw Bernice again. That was partially due to Cleo’s hesitancy to spend time with someone who clearly disliked her, and partially because her mom had never tried to keep in touch. If Cleo were honest, that fact had depressed her, but she didn’t let herself dwell on it too much. Her father showered her with expensive things and trips in an attempt to fill the void, and Cleo let him.

Cleo never questioned her situation; it was what it was. Most of her friends’ parents weren’t together anymore. It wasn’t until she was nineteen and in a life-threatening accident that the truth came out.

Cleo had been flying with a friend in his private plane when he crashed it into the Hudson River. Cleo was life-flighted to the hospital and had an emergency blood transfusion. When the results of her bloodwork came back, Cleo’s phlebotomist friend Lucy commented on her O-negative blood type–that she was a universal donor. Ever curious about all things blood-related, she asked Cleo what her parents’ blood types were; and Cleo told her that she wasn’t sure about her father, but she knew her mother was AB-negative because she got called often to donate.

Lucy’s brow had furrowed as she asked Cleo if she was sure. Lucy then explained that it was impossible for someone with AB blood to have a child with O-type blood. Cleo had thought it strange at the time, but had forgotten it until a few months later, when Bea had convinced Cleo to go with her when she gave blood. Cleo had not been allowed to donate because of her blood transfusion, but the trip reminded her that she’d never asked her father about her unique blood type. She’d found him in his office when she got home, a room with dark walls and a fireplace that always made her think she was stepping back in time a century or two.

“Hey, can I ask you a random question?” she’d queried her father as he sat behind the large, oak desk that took up half the room. The fancy rug beneath her bare feet was soft, but today it felt cloying. She sat in a chair and pulled her knees up to her chest.

“Sure, hon. Shoot.”

“Lucy told me that it’s impossible for me to have type O blood if Mom’s is AB.”

Her father shifted in his seat, straightening a stack of papers in front of him that hadn’t needed straightening. “Is that so?” He cleared his throat. “How odd.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. But I know my blood type, and I distinctly remember Mom’s because she often got calls from the Red Cross to donate since she was the ‘rarest of them all,’ as she liked to say.”

“That’s true, she did say that.”

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Well, how can that be? Lucy swears it’s impossible, and it’s kind of her job so I believe her.”

Her father cleared his throat again. “The thing is, Cleo….” He ran his hands through his hair. “The thing is, Bernice wasn’t really your mom.”

If Cleo hadn’t already been sitting, she would be now. Her body went slack, her mouth opening like a dead fish. “What do you mean she’s not my mom? How is she not my mom?”

Running his hand through his hair again, her father replied, “Bernice is your step-mom. We were married when you were three.”

Cleo had once asked her parents why there weren’t any pictures of her with them from her earliest years of her life. He’d fobbed her off with some excuse she couldn’t even recall now. She remembered feeling disappointed that she only had pictures of herself as a baby and toddler, but now she realized that was because her father must have hidden any photos of her real mom. Or maybe there weren’t any with her mother because she’d abandoned Cleo. Had Cleo been left by her real mother on her father’s doorstep, like in that really old movie Three Men and a Baby that she and Bea had watched one winter night when they were bored? Trying to get concrete answers out of her dad hadn’t been easy.

“Who is my real mom? And where is she?”

“She ran off when you were very little and I’ve had no contact with her since.” That was all the reply she’d ever received, and she was told not to pry anymore into this woman’s existence. Had her parents even been married? What did her mom look like? Why hadn’t she ever tried to contact Cleo? And was that the only reason why Bernice had treated her so horribly, because she wasn’t hers?

Gobsmacked was the only word Cleo could think of to describe how she felt. Her dad had married Bernice a year after her real mom left, and he felt it would be easiest if he just told Cleo that Bernice was Cleo’s mother. He’d had no idea that Bernice would become jealous of his close relationship to his daughter and treat her like Snow White.

Cleo stopped talking to her father for months once she’d learned the truth. They remained in the same house, but Cleo stonewalled him completely as she processed this shocking news. She broke the silence only to ask him for her mother’s name and whereabouts, but he refused to tell her anything. He said it was to protect Cleo, but she felt it was really to protect himself. As far as Cleo was concerned, all of his actions surrounding Cleo’s mother had been selfish in nature. None of it was in her best interest, and that was unforgivable.

When Jameson proposed, Cleo hadn’t felt a thing. Not like a bride-to-be should feel. She’d known her father’s expectations, and despite her anger toward him, she’d been afraid of being cut off. She wasn’t proud of that; she should’ve done something with her life so that she could take care of herself without being dependent on her father. But until she turned twenty-five in two years and had a legal right to her inheritance, per her father’s stipulations, she had no way of providing for herself. Believing she had no real skills and no life experience that would allow her to support herself, she maintained the status quo, despite her growing dissatisfaction with it. She agreed to the marriage, and plans moved forward. Jameson’s mother made nearly every decision regarding the wedding, and Cleo felt mortified now that she’d allowed that.

She would’ve gone along with the union if everything hadn’t changed the day before her wedding, when Cleo got a letter from Bernice. She’d been shocked when their butler handed it to her after dinner. She’d taken it to her room, reluctant to let her father see what she had. Tearing it open, she removed a sheet of flowery script on scented paper that made her sneeze. It read:

Claudette,

I’m sure you’re surprised to hear from me. I’m surprised myself. I won’t pretend that we were ever close. In fact, if you’ve spared me much thought at all over the years then it’s more than I’ve thought of you. However, there is a very good reason for my letter, so don’t toss it in the trash just yet.

I hear that you’re to be married. I’d offer you my congratulations, but marriage was the worst decision I ever made, so I can hardly wish it on anyone else. I do think, however, that before you’re married you should know what I know.

You’re surely aware by now that I’m not your mother. (If not, my condolences on being a full-fledged adult who’s still being duped by her father.) I never felt right about letting you think I was, but your father insisted, foolish man that he was. I went along with it because I hated your mother–or at least the memory of her that seemed a permanent wedge in my marriage–and the thought of doing something that would hurt her if she knew of it was too tempting.

One night when you were ten or so your father and I had a fight. Well, we often fought, but this time we were fighting about you. I despised how your father babied you and thought for a time that I might insist that you go live with your mother. It didn’t take long to realize that if I made him choose between the two of us, he would undoubtedly choose you. By that time I’d already hired a private investigator to track down your mother. I have enclosed the address she was at at that time. I am aware that it’s now been more than a dozen years since he found her living there so she may be gone, but I thought you should have the address all the same.

May you fare better in your marriage than I did in mine. Or not–I honestly don’t really care.

Bernice

Cleo had crumpled the letter into a ball and hurled it across her room, then screamed. What a wretched person that woman was! How had her father been with someone so selfish and hateful? She’d claimed that since Cleo was getting married, she had a fit of conscience and thought it only fair to disclose the truth to her. Undoubtedly her true motivation was to spite Cleo’s father rather than to do Cleo any favors. She’d never before thought of anyone but herself; Cleo hardly thought she’d start now.

Stomping into her bathroom, Cleo drew herself a bath. It was a surefire way to forget that horrid letter and prepare for the wedding the next day. But the more she tried not to think of it, the more she did. Taking away the reasons why her ex-step-mother had done what she’d done and the subtle digs she delighted in giving Cleo even now, she found the essence of the letter for her had to be the opportunity to find out something about her real mother.

Argh! Why had the letter not arrived until now? She was getting married in the morning! She couldn’t think about it anymore that night. And yet, she found the letter and smoothed it out, then committed the name and address to memory before getting in bed.

Of course, the letter was all she thought about as she tossed and turned. Somewhere in Texas she had a mother. A mother who hadn’t wanted her, perhaps, but Cleo was used to being unwanted by a mother. Cleo reasoned that while Bernice had not wanted teenage Cleo, this other woman had only known Cleo as a baby and toddler. Maybe if she knew Cleo now, she would love her. Then again, maybe she was just as horrible as Bernice, if not worse. Would Cleo make the biggest mistake of her life if she tried to find her?

Somewhere around three in the morning, Cleo had realized she’d lost her trust in her father. This marriage he’d forced on her was just the icing on the cake. From the moment he’d told her about her mother four years earlier, she had stopped idolizing him. He’d been concealing her real mom’s existence for Cleo’s entire life. She didn’t know if that was because he was trying to protect her or just himself. If her mom had been the one to reject him, he could still be hurt and angry. Regardless, Cleo should’ve had a chance to have a relationship with both of her parents. Unless her mom was dangerous, Cleo should’ve known about her. And for some inexplicable reason, she felt like this was her chance to find her.

Cleo didn’t sleep much. Her father saw the circles under her eyes the next morning and dismissed them as pre-wedding jitters. She almost confronted him then, but if he were aware that she knew her mother’s whereabouts, he would easily track her there if she bolted. It was better if he was completely in the dark about where Cleo was going to go. She knew then that she would likely not make it down the aisle that day. She let herself get all the way to the church before she made up her mind about what she had to do.

Clark shifted on the couch adjacent to hers. She’d been so lost in her thoughts that she’d forgotten he was there.

“You awake?” he asked.

“Mhmm,” she murmured.

“Whatcha thinking about so loudly over there?”

She wasn’t ready to confide in him so she shifted the attention to him. “Are you close with your grandma?” she asked into the dark.

“Who?”

“Your grandma. The one you’re heading to visit?” Cleo was almost positive he’d said he was visiting his grandmother.

“Oh, yes. Well, yeah, sure. As close as any grown man is to his grandma I guess.”

“Just because you’re related to someone doesn’t immediately imply that you’re close, though,” Cleo clarified.

“No, it doesn’t.”

“But you are?” she pressed.

Clark didn’t respond, instead asking Cleo a question. “Are you close with your parents?”

Cleo could’ve kicked herself for opening herself up to that. “I used to be with my father. The closest any father and daughter could be.” She picked at a fraying hem on the blanket. “I don’t have any contact with my mother.” That was the absolute truth, even if it galled her to say it.

“Her loss,” he said. That was the first nice thing Cleo could remember Clark saying to her. She felt warmed from within at the compliment.

“And are you close to your sisters?” she asked.

“Uh, we were really close growing up, but I don’t get to see them much anymore.”

“Do none of them live in New York?”

“No. We’re spread all across the country. One is married, one is divorced, and one is in college. We send each other video messages every few days, usually related to books we’re reading or shows we’ve watched. I know quite a bit more about all BBC period dramas than I ever wanted to.”

Cleo laughed. “I imagine you do. Just wait until they get you into K-dramas. Any nieces or nephews?”

“One on the way. They did one of those gender reveal hoo-haws a couple months ago, but I couldn’t even tell you now whether it was blue or pink confetti that exploded out of those cannon-thingys.”

“Have you ever been married or engaged?” she asked.

He shifted. “I haven’t. You? I mean, of course I know about this wedding from a couple days ago, but ever before that?”

She shook her head but realized he couldn’t see that. “No. That was my first. And maybe last.”

Clark was quiet for a minute. “I’m…surprised by that. You’d really never marry, even after getting so close once?”

Cleo cleared her throat. “I never wanted to marry. I only agreed to it because of their business deal.” When he didn’t respond she continued, “That must sound very cold to you, but that’s business in my father’s world. I figured if I had to marry, it might as well be to Jameson.”

“So, you didn’t love him?”

“No. I mean, he was fine. We got on pretty well, all things considered. But no, I wouldn’t say I loved him.”

“I’d say you dodged quite the bullet then.”

Cleo took a deep breath. “I can only imagine how crazy you must think I am. You accused me and my father of behavior from another century, and in a lot of ways it is quite archaic. I’ve never dated a guy my father hasn’t approved of. And I’ve always kind of known that if I married, it would be to someone my father wanted me to marry.”

“Have you ever been in love?”

Cleo pondered that. “No, I don’t think so. I figured I would fall in love with Jameson after he proposed. I did try, but over the months we were engaged it became clear that would never happen. Truth be told, I didn’t even admire the guy. He could be a total jerk sometimes.” Deep in thought for another minute, Cleo asked, “What about you? Ever been in love?”

Clark immediately replied, “No, not in love. In a lot of like maybe, but I’ve been married to my job for too long to have time to fall in love.”

“That’s too bad,” Cleo yawned and stretched, rolling over. “We should really fall in love sometime.”

Before Cleo fully succumbed to sleep, she thought she heard Clark say, “Yeah, we should.”