What He Wrote

Chapter 10

A confrontation.

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I buttoned up my pale blue shirt and tucked it into the the beige khaki pants I had donned for Addie's wedding. My fingers moved deftly over the fabric of my tie as I slid it together. I looked into the bathroom mirror before running a comb through my unruly hair once more.

"Teddy! Can you please zip me up?"

I walked down the hallway to Cleo's room. She too was standing in front of a mirror, her hands behind her back in an attempt to keep two flaps of violet fabric together. I moved to her wordlessly, took the zipper, and slid it up the curve of her back. My fingers placed the delicate button and string together before skimming the vaguely rectangular birthmark on her shoulder. My hand traced over the mark that remained on her upper arm from the tumor surgery before falling to my side.

"Thank you." Cleo breathed, her gaze remaining on her still reflection.

"You look beautiful."

"I don't want my mom to see."

"Why?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

"She'll tell me to draw in my eyebrows or try to get me to wear that stupid wig. I don't want her to make me into something I'm not."

"Then don't listen to her. You look like Cleo, and I love Cleo." A shadow of something-doubt, maybe-crossed my mind before disappearing. I shook off the feeling before I could think about it too much.

She broke her gaze from the mirror at last to hug me. I closed my eyes and gently set my cheek against her smooth head. I spent a frantic couple of seconds trying to memorize her scent, shooing away the feeling that the moment was too good to be true.

"I love you." Cleo said into my shirt before stepping away to straighten my tie.

My mom was waiting for us down stairs to take pictures. I was never too fond of dressing up, so whenever I did, she took great advantage of it.

Once she was satisfied with the amount of photos she had taken, she sent us on our way with a "Drive safely." She also made sure to give me whispered instructions on what to do if something were to happen to Cleo concerning her cancer.

Then we were on our way to the bucolic town of Whitewood, where our weekend would be spent.

Cleo turned on the radio and started humming along to a Nick Cave song.

"I've always thought that you guys should cover this."

The combination of Nick Cave's sultry crooning and Cleo's almost melancholy tone took me back to the night of the festival.

"Twisting Gravity?" I glanced at her, who's eyes were closed.

"Yeah. It would be lovely, don't you think?"

"I don't think it would quite be Mason's style."

"It would be your style, though."

"Cleo, you know I don't do vocals."

"You've sung to me before."

I smiled at the memory. Cleo's head on my shoulder. My fingers strumming a guitar Finley had forgotten at my house as I spilled my hidden talent.

"It was a Snow Patrol-something."

"Ah, so we have yet to find the name of the song." I could practically hear Cleo's smirk.

"Names are overrated."

"Trust me, I know."

A silence fell as Cleo leaned her head against the window and sighed.