Page 46 of The One Before

“If she’d spent more time caring for Celia when she was alive, maybe all this would have turned out differently,” Regina says. Leaning against the porch banister, she flicks her cigarette butt toward the lake. It lands in a patch of weeds by the water.

“Here.” Coop walks closer to me, holding the paper in his hands. “This is the best picture I’ve found.”

The headline reads:Whisper Falls Remembers Missing Teenager. The picture appears to be taken at a vigil, as there’s a large crowd standing in front of an altar of candles and flowers. The smaller picture is a close-up of a woman. She’s covering her face with one hand, clinging to a teddy bear with the other. She’s crying.

“Is that her?” Coop asks.

I stare at the picture, trying to see past the black and white pixilation. The woman’s frame matches ‘Anne’, and they both have dark hair, but her jaw is the only visible part of her face. And the photo is thirteen years old.

“It could be her,” I say, feeling all their eyes on me. “I’m not sure.”

“I’ll keep looking.” Coop folds the paper and stuffs it back into the box. I wonder what other words and pictures are in that box. What other secrets.

“There’s no point in driving yourself crazy. There’s nothing we can do,” I say.

“There’s a lot we can do,” Roman counters. “We can charge her with fraud, identity theft. If she deposited the check you gave her, that’s even better.”

“Let’s just move on,” I say, walking closer to the water. “This woman has already ruined enough.”

“This is a setback.” Coop stands behind me and rubs my arm. “We won’t let her ruin the wedding.”

“We have two months. The vendors I thought we booked are unavailable,” I say.

“We can push back the date until spring. That will give us plenty of time to plan,” says Coop.

“I don’t want to push back the date because of her.”

“Then don’t.” Regina walks closer, still smelling like tobacco. “You have a dress. You have a location. I’m doing the food. This woman didn’t plan the whole wedding, just parts of it. We can find you a florist and entertainment.”

“For once, my daughter is right,” Josephine says. “It might inconvenience people to commit to something last-minute, but I can be persuasive.”

At least her checkbook can be. They’re right; the idea of having to book things months in advance and hire out every detail is a millennial concept. We’re planning a party, and I can do that in the remaining weeks.

“I’m in if you are,” Coop says, kissing the top of my head.

“I’m all in.” I place my ear against his cheek, watching ripples dance in the lake.

Thirty-Four

Helena

I think I left in time. I think. I got a quick glimpse of Cooper’s profile as he stood in the foyer, but I snuck out the back door before he could see my face. After I went to such great lengths to throw Josephine off my trail, I can’t believe Cooper arrived when he did. And right when I was on the verge of telling Madison everything!

I hadn’t planned on exposing my true motives during our conversation, otherwise I wouldn’t have wasted a week’s worth of motel money on those gaudy invitations. Or visited two different bakeries ordering slices of cake. I did that because I hoped for a little more time with Madison. I’d planned to call her up later in the week and instruct her to meet me outside of the house. I’d have her alone without fear of being interrupted. And yet, hearing her pine over Cooper and how wonderful he was—I couldn’t stand one more minute of it.

Madison must have enjoyed our visits more than I realized. The meal she provided proves that. If I’d had only another half hour, this entire mess would be over. Now the mess is multiplying. She’s called six times since I left, but I’m too afraid to answer. My nerves are still rattled from my close encounter with Cooper.

It’s now been four days since I darted out of the house without explanation; I make the decision to call Madison myself, hoping I can salvage the connection we’ve made. I’ll tell her some emergency arose and I had no choice but to leave when I did. I know she’ll have questions, but if I can only convince her to meet me one last time, I can finally finish this. Maybe it’s not too late for her to know the truth.

“Anne?” she barks into the phone when she answers. Her voice still carries all the worry and concern she must have felt when I left.

“Madison, I must apologize—”

“I know you’re not Anne Richards.” This time when she speaks, her voice lacks emotion. She’s severed the bonds I’d spent weeks trying to create.

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I smile, alone in my motel room, an attempt to sound at ease. “Let me explain—”

“I don’t know why you did this to me,” she says, a discernible quiver in her voice, “but I never want to speak with you again.”

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