Chapter Twenty-Seven

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Greetings from afar, friends! Sorry for the long wait for any updates from me, but I’ve been doing a fabulous job of relaxing and unplugging on my trip. I didn’t want you all to think I’d forgotten you, so I decided to post a quick update to let you know I am alive and very, very well. Thank you all for respecting my privacy and still enjoying your Sinfully Good treats during this crazy time. Your support of our stores and me, personally, has meant the world to me. Until next time, ciao!

June 13

I SEND SAM an email after writing the blog post asking for an update on how things are going back home, then send a few emails and pictures to Kim and Meg while I’m online. I’m assuming all is well, or someone would have reached out to me by now. Maybe my absence was enough to get Gossip A to Z off my back and on to some other poor soul to torture. I shouldn’t feel better about them targeting someone else, but in lieu of the site shutting down completely, “not me” feels like a decent alternative.

Carter and I are lounging at the villa today, making plans for our other adventures, including Rome. We’ve decided to book a place to stay in Rome so that we can spend two days there instead of one. I’m not sure even that will be enough, but we can get there early the day we leave if we want to see anything else and I do love it here away from the noise of the bigger cities. I’m just looking up the best tours and tips for us to try when I hear my phone ding, which is odd, because I don’t have regular service here.

I reach for my phone and realize it’s a WhatsApp notification, something I don’t use often at home because normal texts work just fine.

Sam: Hi! I haven’t wanted to bother you because Carter said not to, but since you reached out…

Me: Oh no. What is it?

Sam: Well, the protestors are still coming. There’s not a ton of them and it’s nothing I can’t handle, but they’re getting nastier, and I think it’s because of the new article.

I realize I’m holding my breath, so I exhale in a reverse gasp before bracing myself for what’s to come. I turn back to the laptop and log on to the Gossip A to Z site, then let out an actual gasp as the page loads.

SINFULLY GOOD IN BED?

The headline is bad enough, but then I see a grainy video start to load below it and I want to throw up. It’s really hard to see who the people are in the video, but it’s a young, blonde girl and a dark-haired man clearly having sex. From the angle of the video, it’s likely the girl has no idea she’s being filmed, and her face is mostly obscured, but it would be pretty easy for people to assume it’s me, especially with that headline.

Carter comes into the room and sees me staring at the screen in horror, asks something I can’t hear, then sits beside me as I finish watching the video and read the text below.

Is this the kind of person you want to buy your kid’s ice cream from? Cynthia Blake has always made herself and her stores out to be a family-friendly establishment, but would someone who appreciates family values ever allow themselves to be filmed having sex? And excuse us, but we’re pretty sure she’s never been married, and yet here she is—flaunting her sins for all the world to see. For all intensive purposes, she’s basically advocating for young girls to sleep around and frankly, we’re sick of it. Join us as we #boycottsin and send a message to Ms. Blake that we don’t want her kind of business in our neighborhoods.

Carter looks equal parts furious and concerned for me.

“We’ll call the police,” he says. “Or a lawyer? Who do we call to get them to take this down? They can’t just put up some video and say it’s you. This is libel. Or defamation. Or something. Are you okay?”

My lip is quivering and there are tears on my cheeks before I even realize I’ve started to cry. They are tears of rage, shame, and fear, but also maybe a little bit of relief to not be facing this alone.

“And how are they posting a video of two people having sex and claiming to have the moral high ground?” Carter says, continuing with his tirade. “That’s pornography. And who knows where they got it. It looks like she doesn’t even know she’s being filmed.”

“She doesn’t,” I say in a weak voice. “She’s me.”

*

IT TAKES ME a minute to find my courage, but I know I can’t get through this alone, so it’s time to see if Carter can handle me and the baggage I would bring to our lives.

“I was nineteen,” I say. “I have never seen this video before, but I know it’s me. It’s me and the boy I was dating at the time. I can’t believe he kept it all this time, but they must have paid him well for it. I don’t even have his number anymore.”

“Who was it?”

“I don’t want to tell you that. You’re a doctor. You could probably kill him and make it look like an accident.”

Carter laughs, but it looks like the thought had crossed his mind.

“I, uh, understand if you want to head home,” I say. “This isn’t going to go away any time soon and I don’t want you to get caught up in the chaos.”

“Cyn, listen to me,” he says, kneeling and taking my hands. “I’m not going anywhere. I still think we should call someone and see about getting this taken down though.”

“Wouldn’t that be admitting it’s me? I think I should just ignore it.”

“Ignore it?” His voice rises. “How do we ignore this?”

“Getting a reaction out of me is just what they want. They haven’t been able to get pictures of me since we left, so they dug up dirt from my past. Any response from me just adds more fuel to the fire.”

“If you say so,” he says. “But when you’re ready to fight, just know that I’m on your side. And I promise not to kill anyone.”

Now it’s my turn to laugh, but the sound feels unnatural coming from me. I try to put things in perspective. The tape is really grainy. It’s not clear at all that it’s me. People who want to hate me have probably already made up their minds, so this won’t sway the masses. People who didn’t care before either way might care a little more now, because, honestly, who can resist a sex tape? But maybe some people will hear about me and feel sympathetic. Or at least curious enough to come buy some ice cream? Even with the protests, our numbers have held steady. Maybe I can survive this.

The logical thoughts help, but I again feel a wave of shame and anger that I know I’m going to need to deal with. I want to unleash a bit of that on the jerk who filmed me without my knowledge, but if he was willing to sell a tape of me, I’m sure he’d love to sell an interview about me kicking him in the dick, which is what I’m picturing right now.

So, strike that, he’s not worth it. Maybe I’ll find out who’s behind all these posts on Gossip A to Z when we get back and…and what? I can’t yell at her or attack her, which also sounds cathartic. I don’t know who she is, but she seems like someone who would sue if I even look at her wrong. And why am I assuming it’s a woman? I mean, it has to be, with that kind of bitchy venom, but I should remember that it could be a man. Whoever it is, they suck.

I feel myself spiraling and realize I can’t stay here today. I don’t want this negative energy seeping into this beautiful place. I jump up off the couch, startling Carter in the process.

“Let’s get out of here,” I say. “Take me to whatever town is next on our list to explore.”

“You got it, dude,” he says, making me smile.

We’re out of the door in five minutes and I feel better already, knowing that we’re heading somewhere. I need to stretch my legs and find distractions. What better way to do that than to wander through another lovely Italian town? They’re all so hilly in this area that it’s pretty much been like hiking everywhere we’ve gone, so my achy legs post-Cinque Terre will just have to suck it up. The GPS is guiding us north and I let the views along the autostrada lull me into a daze. Is there no part of this country that’s not stunningly beautiful?

As we exit the highway for a beautiful town up on a hill, I look down and see that our directions are taking us to a city I’ve heard of: Assisi.

“Why do I know that town?” I say.

“Because you know who Francis of Assisi is,” says Carter. “Isn’t he your favorite saint?”

I’m not sure if one should have a favorite saint, but I suppose if I do have one, it would be Francis. He helped the poor and downtrodden, from what I can remember. Not that I’d compare myself to the starving and miserable people he worked with when he was alive, but I’d say I’m feeling pretty low right now. Going to his hometown seems like a great option.

We find a place to park and begin walking the streets. It really is a lovely town, but the true beauty takes my breath away as we approach the big church we could see as we drove in. It is stark white and looks like it goes on forever. As we get closer, we see a statue of a man on horseback. His shoulders slump and his head hangs low. Is that Francis? He looks so sad.

We wander through the church and marvel in its opulence. Every little detail is pristine. Clearly, this man was beloved. We make our way down to the crypt where the bones of St. Francis lay. There is a bit of a line leading up to it and I notice each person in turn kneels before his sarcophagus before moving on. I am struck with sudden inspiration, so I join the line. Carter raises an eyebrow at me but joins me.

As my turn arrives, I also kneel and say this silent prayer:

“Saint Francis, I wonder if you could help heal the hearts of the people who are judging me? I feel like they must have some real anger and hurt in their lives if they feel the need to take it out on a stranger. If you can do that, I’d really appreciate it. I try to do good things in my life, and I’ll definitely read more about you and do even more. I’ve probably been too selfish this year. Maybe always. Now I’m babbling. Long story short, if you could help those people feel better about their lives so they don’t feel the need to bash me, that would be awesome. And if you’re not too busy, I’d take some guidance on this huge, life-altering decision I’m supposed to make. Sorry to take so much of your time. Amen.”

Carter kneels and spends a few seconds with our dude, Francis, too, before we move on to the rest of the church and the town. As we sit down for dinner at a restaurant that overlooks all of Assisi and the area surrounding it, I breathe a sigh of relief.

“What was that for?” asks Carter.

“That was me letting go of my anger,” I say, truthfully. “I said before that I wasn’t going to give them a reaction, and I mean that internally too. I won’t let them ruin this trip or my life. That gives them too much power.”

“That’s very wise of you,” he says. “But are you sure you can do that?”

I take stock of my feelings and wonder if I really can. I do feel calm right now, but small twinges of those negative emotions bubble just below the surface. It’s not going to be easy.

“I’m not sure,” I confess. “But I’m going to try.”