Page 45 of The One Before

“That stupid bitch.” I lift a slice from its box and throw it, missing the trashcan and splattering icing against the wall.

“Madison, what are you doing?” Coop asks, taking a step back.

“No telling what that psycho did. The food is probably poisoned.” I take another slice and throw it too. I discard the desserts and curse and cry. Coop lets me. He sees that I’m ashamed and embarrassed, and he knows he has some fault in this. This is our life together. Our future will always be impacted by his past.

Thirty-Three

Madison

I can’t ignore the flutter of intimidation I feel every time we drive past the iron gates leading onto the Douglas family property. We are going to Josephine’s house for Sunday brunch, her latest attempt at making us feel better. It’s been three days since I learned the woman in our home claiming to be Anne was an imposter. Several questions linger, and the answers I have received are disappointing. Josephine immediately reached out to the real Anne Richards—something she’s apologized profusely for not doing earlier—who confirmed no one in her company had anything to do with the Sharpe/Douglas wedding.

We contacted the florist and the band and the baker ‘Anne’ alleged to have arranged. None had our wedding on the books; in fact, they were reserved with other engagements, so there’s no chance of getting them. We lost precious time pretending. All the samples brought into our house were ploys, bait to keep me hooked. She probably got the cakes we were meant to sample from the Walmart bakery. The invitations we addressed are gone, likely already trashed. Not only did ‘Anne’ deceive me, she ruined our wedding in the process.

Josephine has gone to great lengths to ameliorate the situation. She’s contacted friends, asking them to pull strings, but there’s only so much that can be done for a wedding date fast approaching.

“I can’t believe someone would go to such lengths to ruin your wedding,” Regina says. Even she’s outraged by this. I’ve figured out she likes being the antagonist in her family, and anyone who tries to usurp that role pisses her off.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” I say. Sitting on Josephine’s back porch, staring at the lake in the distance. The sun is beginning to set, stretching its mirrored image across the still waters. It looks so peaceful here, yet all I feel inside is upheaval and uncertainty.

“I blame myself,” Josephine says. “I should have been more involved. I should have contacted Anne myself.”

I fear this event is setting a precedent for others moving forward. Josephine went against her nature in letting me organize the wedding on my own, and it turned into a complete failure. I don’t want his family to think I’m incapable.

“We wanted to handle this,” I say. “I was handling it. I didn’t realize another person could be so deceptive.”

“How could you know?” Josephine reaches over to pat my hand.

Regina lifts a heavy pot off the porch planks. There’s a pack of cigarettes and a lighter underneath. She takes one.

“Darling, don’t smoke,” Josephine says. “It makes you look so trashy.”

“They are your cigarettes,” she tells her mother.

“Only in times of stress,” Josephine says, looking over her shoulder.

Regina puffs a large plume of smoke in Josephine’s direction. She turns to me and smirks. Witnessing my upset in the past few days has softened her, at least toward me.

Roman and Coop join us outside. Coop is carrying a cardboard box. He places it on the table and pulls out a sepia-tinted newspaper.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“I’ve been trying to find a picture of her,” he says, flipping through pages. “I want to be sure it’s her.”

“Who?” I ask.

“Celia’s mother.” He scans the newspaper. “She should be in one of these articles.”

“Has anyone looked online?” Regina asks.

“She doesn’t have any social media,” Roman says. “To be honest, I figured she’d drunk herself to death ages ago.”

“I already looked through anything I thought might have her photo,” Josephine tells Coop. She looks at me. “Bless her heart, the woman wasn’t an upstanding member of society. Very forgettable.”

“This is the box with all the Celia articles,” Coop says. “Surely there’s a picture of her in here.”

My body tenses as I rock back in the chair. It’s strange Josephine would keep articles about such a traumatic incident—articles I can’t even find online because they’ve been wiped clean.

“Unfortunately, that woman wasn’t much of a mother.” Josephine closes her eyes. “I think that’s why she always had it out for Cooper. She needed someone to blame other than herself.”

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