The Wedding Dress(94)

“That’s Mama.” Charlotte tapped the picture.

“Tim, come on, I can’t stand by and let you fabricate a story to this poor girl.” Cleo huffed and strutted in a circle. “You have no proof—”

“Stop.” Charlotte pressed her palms against the air. Against Cleo’s words. “Tim, what are you talking about?”

“Charlotte, I think Colby Ludlow is your father.”

“What? How? He’s . . . he’s . . . old.” Charlotte tapped the picture.

“He was forty-five in ’81.” Cleo blurted. The resident Ludlow encyclopedia.

“You’re saying my mother had an affair with her professor?” She shook her head, handing Tim the picture. “She wasn’t that kind of person, Tim.”

“I’m not trying to impugn her character, Char, but Colby Ludlow taught at FSU one year when he took a sabbatical from UAB. And the picture is yours. Keep it.”

Cleo folded her arms, “I told you so” on her lips. “I knew Colby and his wife, Noelia. She was a fine, classic woman of Birmingham society. Colby was his own man, but an adulterer? I hardly think so.”

Tim sighed and angled his shoulder away from Cleo. She was wearing him thin. “Once I started piecing things together, I made a few calls of my own. Including one to Noelia Ludlow.” Tim passed a slip of paper to Charlotte. On it he’d written Noelia’s name, address, and number.

“You called her? Tim, what? Why? Why are you doing this?”

“When I asked her about Colby’s year at FSU, she sighed. Know what she said?”

“What? What did she say, Tim?”

“She said, ‘You want to know about Phoebe Malone?’”

Charlotte swatted at him. “You’re lying. There’s no way some seventy-year-old woman knows about my mother from 1981.” She tore up the paper and tossed the pieces at Tim. “Just stop. What is wrong with you? What right do you have investigating in my life without my knowledge? Huh?” She slammed around him, clipping his shoulder with hers. But he remained steadfast and planted.

He exhaled and took it. Letting her steam.

“I’ll just be going with the dress.” Cleo dared reach for the back button. Charlotte’s hand clamped down on her arm.

“Stand back. Get your hands off my dress. It’s mine. And if you don’t believe me, hunt down the little man in the purple shirt who sold it to me. He’ll tell you.”

“What little man in a purple shirt?”

“The one who sold me the trunk. At your auction.”

“What do you care about this dress?” Cleo cackled. “You’re not getting married. Even if you were—and boy, Tim, it looks like you escaped this briar patch—you own a bridal shop, Charlotte. Designers were probably begging you to wear one of their gowns. This old one means nothing to you.”

Tim stepped forward and hooked his hand under Cleo’s elbow. She needed to go. Upsetting Charlotte had never been his intention and he could see she was speeding for the edge.

“You’d better go, Cleo.” He picked up her attaché as he swept her across the room to the door. “If you want the dress, you’ll have to get a court order.”

“You took the words right out of my mouth.” She shook free of his grip. “You have no proof Colby Ludlow is Charlotte’s father. None. A picture and the supposed testimony of his ex-wife? I’ve got more than that on my side.”

The door slammed. Tim moved back into the living room. Charlotte sank down to the edge of the sofa, staring at the dress.

“All I wanted was to go to the mountain to think and pray. Look what happened.”

“I’m sorry. I thought . . . I don’t know.” Tim brushed his hand over his hair. “When I saw all those Ludlow clippings in the box, it just struck me as odd.”

“You should’ve talked to me first, Tim.”

“Yeah, I get that now. I wanted to do something nice for you, Char.” He perched on the sofa next to her. She smelled like summer. When she turned to him, there was a hint of forgiveness in her eyes.

“I was six or so when I first realized I didn’t have one of those father-man-things in my house. I’d gone on my first sleepover at Gracie and Suzanna Rae’s, and their dad was a firefighter. He took us for a short ride on the fire truck, then for ice cream. For dinner, her mother made fried chicken and biscuits with big tall glasses of the sweetest tea this side of heaven. We were halfway through dinner when Mr. Gunter got up for something and when he walked by Mrs. Gunter, he kissed her and said, ‘Love you much.’ She said, ‘Love you more.’ My little heart started pounding and I watched them with wide eyes the rest of the night.” Charlotte crashed against the sofa cushion. “And I thought, ‘What is this?’”

“Your mom never said a word about your dad? Not even a hint?”

“When I came home from Gracie and Suzie’s, I asked Mom, ‘Where is my firefighter daddy?’ She said my father loved me but was unable to be my daddy. I don’t know, I just accepted it. When I got older, I asked more questions.”

Tim brushed the tears from her cheeks, sorry his gallant act had turned into this.

“Once Mom told me he’d died, then came into my room, apologizing, confessing her lie. She said one day, she’d tell me more. I was ten then and still rather innocent and happy with my life. Mom loved me, took really good care of me. We had so much fun, Tim. The first time I saw an episode of Gilmore Girls, I could’ve sworn the producers lifted the show from our lives.”