Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CLOVER
Maggie
We need to talk.
“ C lover! Are you even listening to me?” My mom calls out to me from the other side of the clothes rack.
Mom wanted to spend some mother-daughter time with me by taking me shopping. For the most part, it’s been a pleasant day until now.
Maggie keeps messaging me, telling me she needs to talk to me. When I ask her what it’s about, she refuses to say. She just keeps saying we need to talk.
“Sorry, Mom.” I stuff my phone in my purse. “I keep getting messages from a student at school.”
“Is everything okay?” She frowns.
“Yeah, she says she needs to talk to me but refuses to tell me what it’s about. Maggie can be a bit of a drama queen. I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“If you’re sure,” Mom says and walks around the rack, holding up a pale pink blouse for me to see. “What about this one? I think it’d look great with your hair.”
“I like the style.” I hold it up to my chest. It’s a tailored button-down blouse and frills around the collar. The pale pink makes the bright pink in my hair pop.
I may not be on the best of terms with my parents, and despite their strong religious beliefs, they’re very open and progressive. They didn’t object or say anything negative when I showed up from school for a visit with my hair dyed pink. In fact, they both said they loved it.
Had I not royally screwed up in a very public way with a married senator, I’d say my parents were the coolest parents anyone could ask for. Now they’re strict and spend most of their time worrying I’m going to screw up again.
I’d do almost anything to earn back their trust. That probably means I shouldn’t be sleeping with my faculty advisor. If we got caught, Mom would handle it with grace like she always does and keep her judgment to herself. But Dad would probably send me to a convent. Even at my age, he thinks it’s his duty to preserve and protect my soul.
Hopefully, it never comes to that.
My phone buzzes again, and I groan. Maggie will not leave me alone.
I dig it out to see what she has to say now but am pleasantly surprised when I see it’s from Dr. Rosi. Or rather sir. My private nickname for him.
Sir
Where are you?
Clover
Shopping with my mom.
Sir
Dammit. I was hoping to take you for a walk to that little café we discovered a few blocks away.
I feel my cheeks warm at his suggestion. To decrease our chances of getting caught, we ventured further away from campus to enjoy each other’s company, so to speak. We found this small café tucked into a corner with great sandwiches and coffee. It’s far enough away from campus that students and faculty don’t visit it, yet it’s still close enough that we can escape there a few times per week.
Clover
Maybe tomorrow?
Sir
Why not later today?
Clover
Depends on how long I’m out with my mom. She’s been trying to get me to hang with her for a while. I don’t want to cut it short.
Sir
Fine. Tomorrow for sure.
Clover
I’m looking forward to it.
Sir
Buy something pretty for my eyes only.
Clover
We’ll see.
“What are you smiling about?” Mom asks.
“Nothing,” I say quickly and shove my phone back in my purse. “Let’s look for a skirt to match this shirt.”
“I swear, Clover. I can’t figure you out anymore.” Mom huffs. “One minute you look worried, then annoyed, and now happy. What is going on with you?”
I roll my eyes, give her a big smile, and loop my arm through hers. “Nothing is going on with me. Now about a skirt. I think I saw some over here that might work.”
I can feel her eyes on me, but I don’t look at her. If I do, I might crumble.
Mom has always been able to read me like a book. It made lying to her as a teenager impossible. One look at me and she always knew when I’d done something wrong or was upset. She always knows when my smiles are fake.
And the one I’m giving her right now is as fake as fake gets.
“Okay, sweetie.” She sighs. “I’ll listen whenever you’re ready to talk.”
I squeeze her arm and rest my head on her shoulder. Unlike Dad, I can always count on Mom to listen without judgment. She may not always like the things I’ve done—and some of those things have been mistakes—but she doesn’t hold those against. She loves and comforts me and offers advice on how to fix it.
That’s not to say my dad doesn’t love me. He does. Very much. But he’s a lot less forgiving than Mom. Mom doesn’t hold grudges, but Dad will bring up mistakes I made ten years ago and act like I just did it yesterday. It’s annoying and frustrating.
He can’t always help it. It’s who he is.
“Is it your father?” She probes.
I snap my eyes to hers. The concern reflecting at me causes my eyes to water. I hate that Mom worries so much about me.
“Partly,” I admit. “I hate that he doesn’t trust me. I just want him to be proud of me, and I fear that will never happen.”
“Oh, sweetie.” Mom turns and cups my cheeks. “He is proud of you. He just doesn’t know how to handle all of this. You’re his only daughter, and it’s his job to protect you from the evil in this world. He feels like he failed you.”
“What?” I shake my head. “It’s me that’s the failure.”
“You’re not a failure.”
“Yes, I am.” I pull back from her hold and rub my hands down my face, attempting to relieve some of the tension building in my body. “I screwed up and was forced to leave Harvard. Harvard Mom . What does that say about me? Failure, that’s what.”
She shrugs. “I guess I don’t see it that way. You learned a lot, had to make some adjustments, and now you’re moving on.”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“Exactly.” She takes my hand and squeezes. “You’re not hiding in your room or refusing to be seen in public. You didn’t drop out of school. You transferred to a new one to get a fresh start and finish what you started. You picked yourself up and are holding your head high after a very public scandal. You’re living your life. That’s why you’re not a failure.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I pull her into a hug. “But I don’t feel like I’m living my life. Dad is dictating what I can and cannot do like I’m a teenager again. I wish there was something I could do to make him trust me again.”
She loops her arm through mine and points at a rack of skirts next to us. “He’s just worried about you. He blames himself for what happened.”
I furrow my brow. “Why would it be his fault?”
“He thinks he didn’t do a good enough job preparing you for the world. That if he would have been more open and honest with you about how men think …” she leans down and whispers with a secretive smile on her face, “you know, how they think about sex differently than us, then none of this would’ve happen.”
“You know that’s bullshit, right?”
“Clover! Language.” She swats at my arm, and I chuckle. “And yes, I know that’s not correct. But your father would rather blame himself than to think his daughter isn’t perfect.”
“No one’s perfect, Mom.”
She pats my arm. “I know dear. Now what about this skirt? I think this color would look fabulous on you.”
She picks up a deep blue skirt with a pink and purple paisley design on it. The pink is almost the same shade as the pink in the shirt she picked out.
“I like it,” I say as my phone buzzes again. I ignore it and pick up another skirt on the same rack. This one is purple with a green and yellow design. “I like this one too.”
My phone buzzes two more times, but I still ignore it.
“Are you going to check that?” Mom asks.
I shake my head. “I’m shopping with you. Whatever it is, it can wait.”
“Don’t be silly. Check your messages.”
I object further, but my phone buzzes again. If this is Maggie messaging me repeatedly, I just might scream. That girl does not know when to quit.
Unzipping my purse, I pull my phone out. I smile when I see Sloan’s name pop up on the screen. But my smile quickly fades.
Sloan
It’s happening again.
This has to be slander.
Here’s the link www.nycitylifenews/senatorklint/. I’ve seen more.
I’m so sorry Clover. Call me.
“Oh, please God, no.” I click on the link and squeeze my eyes shut. I’m terrified to see what the article has to say. Based on Sloan’s messages, it can’t be good.
“What is it, dear?” Mom rests her hand on my arm. “You’ve turned white as a ghost.”
I scan through the article, and my stomach drops. It outlines Senator Klint’s recent visit to New York City for the climate summit, but it discusses the shame involving him and the daughter of a wealthy socialite. There are pictures of the two of us together and more recent pictures of me since moving back to New York City. It states that I fled Cambridge because I was expelled from Harvard for getting caught up in a salacious scandal.
The pictures I could handle. If you know who I am, then you can tell it’s me. But I’m not famous outside of this scandal. What really makes me sick is the final line. New York politicians beware. Clover Davis is back in the Big Apple.
I hand my phone to Mom and slide down the closest wall and sit. Her eyes widen as she reads the article.
“Oh dear God. Will these vultures stop at nothing? Your father will take care of this.” She pulls out her phone and calls Dad. He picks up immediately. “Kevin, we have a situation on our hands.”
My dad got the article and pictures taken down within hours of me seeing it. Despite his quick action and the days that have passed, I’m still a wreck. It’s been four days, and it might as well have been four hours.
My stomach is tied up in knots. I haven’t slept more than a few hours each night. Everyone keeps looking at me and asking me if I’m okay. My skin is pale, and I’ve got dark circles under my eyes that won’t go away no matter how many different creams I use.
I keep waiting for someone to call me out for the scandal. If the wrong people find out why I really left Harvard, it could make it impossible for me to stay enrolled in this program. I can’t handle everyone knowing what I did.
But so far, no one looks at me like I’m a disgrace, and I’ve heard no whispers of my name. From what I can tell, no one saw the article. They’re just concerned about my health.
Hell, I’m concerned about my health too. This constant worry and stress is taking its toll on me.
I open the draft of my dissertation on my computer and read over the notes I made for the next chapter. If I could just get into the flow of my outline, it’d be the perfect distraction.
The grad student office is quiet. I’ve got it to myself today. If I can find my focus, it’s a perfect day to be productive. Lord knows I need a successful and productive day. I need something—anything—to make me feel worthy and alive.
Dr. Rosi has helped with that some. He’s expressed his own concern for my well-being, but for the most part, I’ve convinced him I’m fine. I’ve used grad school as my excuse for not sleeping. He knows how stressful this process can be. He’s living a similar level of stress as he works toward getting tenure. It’s the life we signed up for.
I’m not sure how long I sit there staring at my notes before a shadow looms over me. When I look up, Maggie grinning down at me. My defenses instantly rise.
“Do you need something?” I ask.
She sits on the edge of my desk and crosses her arms like she owns the place. “Join me for lunch today.”
I don’t like the tone of her voice. There’s something sinister behind her smile and the way she’s speaking to me. Plus, it’s not a question. She says it more like she’s ordering me to go with her.
“I can’t.” I pull my notebook out from under her and turn the page. “I’ve got too much work to do today.”
“I really think you should make the time.” She picks at her fingernails like she’s bored.
I shake my head. “Maybe another day.”
She pouts, but it’s not genuine. It’s a behavior I’ll never understand. Then she pulls her phone out of her pocket. “That’s too bad. I was really hoping to talk to you about these.”
She unlocks her phone, pokes around until she finds what she’s looking for. Then she turns it so I can see.
It’s the scandalous picture of me in a very compromising position with Senator Klint that nearly ruined my life. It’s the picture that forced me to leave Harvard and crushed my dad’s view of me.
“Where did you get that?” I ask. She shouldn’t have been able to find this. Dad worked tirelessly for months to make sure it was taken down from every site it was published.
Maggie’s smile grows. “Oh, come on, Clover. You’re a smart woman. You should know that once something is published on the web, it never dies.”
She turns the phone back around. She narrows her eyes like she’s studying the picture. “At first, I wasn’t sure it was you. But then I looked closer. It’s hidden in the shadow, but there’s no doubt that’s your pink hair. And right here …” she zooms in on the picture and points at the mole on my neck. “This is the same mark. And that’s definitely Senator Klint. Imagine how Dr. —”
“What do you want?” I ask.
“What makes you think I want something?”
I lean back in my chair and cross my arms. “Everybody wants something.”
She chuckles. “You make it sound like I’m blackmailing you.”
“Well, isn’t that why you’re showing me this?”
She taps her chin and looks up at the ceiling like she’s thinking. Then she looks back at me and shrugs. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“So I’ll repeat my previous question. What do you want?”
Her smile instantly vanishes, and she narrows her eyes. “I want you to quit. I don’t like you. You get far too much attention and it’s unwarranted.”
I snort. “I’m not going to quit.”
“Then everyone on campus will know who you are and what you did. They’ll know that your daddy bought your way into this program. Unlike the rest of us, you didn’t earn your place here.”
I push to my feet and glare at Maggie. “I did earn it. I was top of my class at Harvard.”
She stands up straight and tries to look intimidating. But it doesn’t work. She’s shorter than me and isn’t nearly as good with a stare down. “You destroyed your Harvard career. You don’t deserve this one.”
“Oh, and you do? Is that the point you’re trying to make? I’m excelling here and proving that I deserve this. What is it you think will happen if I quit? That you’ll get all of Dr. Rosi’s attention for yourself? Or did you want to work on this grant with him.”
Her face bunches up and she rolls her eyes.
“That’s it isn’t it?” I ask. “You wanted to work on this grant with him and you’re mad he selected me to do it instead.”
She shrugs. “I’ve got my own project.”
“Yes, but you want mine.” It’s not a question. I’m stating a fact.
“I want to be the best. That’d be easier if you were out of the way. Unless …”
“Unless what?”
She takes a few steps away, and then paces around me. “If you insist that I help you. Even suggest that I take the lead. Give me credit for your success. Then, and only then, will I forget I ever found this picture.”
I huff. “That will never work.”
“It will if you sell it.” She spins around and heads for the door. Just before she exits, she turns to face me. “You’ve got until the end of this semester to make it happen or else I’ll destroy you.”
She disappears out the door before I can argue my point further, leaving me alone in the grad student office to ponder my options.
I can’t concede to her. There’s no way Dr. Rosi would believe I’d want that anyway.
But I also can’t let her release that picture. I barely survived it the first time. There’s no way I’ll survive it a second time around.