Eight
Denver
A petite woman who’s dressed the complete opposite of Cleo stands in the other room. You’d think we’re in the Arctic and preparing for a month-long blizzard. She’s wearing a huge parka that reaches her ankles, where there are rubber-soled boots lined with fur.
“Chip?” She smiles and extends her hand.
Nancy cries, and Cleo slowly steps in front of Nancy’s desk to block her from disrupting the conversation.
“Denver Bailey actually.” I shake her hand. “This is Cleo Dawson.”
“Nice to meet you.” Cleo shakes her hand, but the woman looks confused.
“Are you Chip’s wife?”
“No,” Cleo answers but offers no explanation.
Great. I see this is all on me.
Two men stand behind Selma and can’t stop looking at Nancy as she loudly blows her nose, adding to the stack of tissues next to
