Page 22 of The One Before

I don’t think I’ll ever get used to being labeled as that. Like my only purpose exists through Coop. “That’s right.”

She sits on the bench. “You should know all about theGazettethen.”

I sit beside her messy stack of papers. “I’m actually a former journalist myself.”

“Oh yeah? Which paper?”

I tell her and see her eyes light up. That’s what I’m used to being known for, the gritty writer at the famous paper. I miss being that girl. “Of course, I’m not doing that now,” I say. “Coop started running theGazette, so we moved here.”

She nods, not saying anything. She’s scanning something on her laptop, then slams it shut. “Well, I wish I could say you’ve made a wise decision in moving, but I’m sure you’ve figured out there’s not much to do here.”

“It’s very different from the city.”

“Call it like it is. There’s no opportunity in this town. Barely any culture, which is part of the reason I startedThe Falls Report. I wanted to offer something that wasn’t funneled through the great Douglas machine.” She stops, clearly wondering if she’s offended me.

“I think that’s great,” I say. I’m certainly not going to fault the woman for trying to usher reluctant Whisper residents into the new century. And she’s right about the Douglas reach. They own the town’s best restaurant, produce its news source, sponsor its sports—all of it coming from the same family with the fancy house by the lake. I’m joining that clan, and yet a part of me will always feel like I don’t belong.

“When did you stop writing?” Bailey asks. “I’d love to look up some of your old articles.”

“It’s been a few months, but it feels longer.” I look down and pull the sleeves of my shirt. “I miss writing sometimes. Nothing like chasing a story.”

“Ain’t that the truth. Why don’t you have that fancy husband of yours get you a job at theGazette?”

“Nepotism.” I shake my head and roll my eyes. Coop and I have had this conversation a dozen times. His staff is limited. He can’t bump someone out for the sake of creating me a position, not that I’d expect him to. TheGazettedoesn’t have a high turnover rate, so it’s hard to say when I’ll return to the newsroom. Hopefully my former scandal will have subsided by then.

“I’m sure things will turn around.” She hoists her bag over her shoulder, misplaced papers peeping from the top. “Life’s not hard when you’re a Douglas. You’ll see.”

By now, my pulse has stabilized, and I no longer feel like running. Bailey walks away, leaving me alone on the park bench. She’s the first person I’ve met with whom I could see sparking a friendship. She’s a writer, wanting to track down stories and make people listen. I used to be like that, until I messed it all up.

My job at theChroniclewas the type of position undergrads dream about snatching after graduation. It didn’t come easy, either. I put in time making coffees and running errands. I proofread copy until my eyes stung, but I never complained. I never came in late and never argued about working a little later. Slowly, I started getting more and more assignments. I became one of the youngest staff writers at theChronicle. Soon after, Coop and I started dating. Eighteen months later, we were engaged. I had my city, my man and my paycheck. I was living the dream.

The ‘Chrissy’ feature had been live three days when my editor, Bill, called me into his office. He said questions had been raised about the authenticity of ‘Chrissy’s’ claims. Nothing unexpected given the controversial subject matter. I provided him the same information she gave me: old check stubs, photographs and the names of former co-workers.

Another two days passed before I was called into the office again; Bill explained our fact-checker had found further discrepancies. They couldn’t confirm ‘Chrissy’ had ever worked for Bernard Wright or any of his businesses. They couldn’t even confirm she’d attended college. It wasn’t just parts of her story that weren’t lining up—nothing she’d told me checked out. Her only connection to the Bernard Wright enterprise was that she once applied to work as a hostess in one of his restaurants and was denied. Everything she’d told me was a lie, and she’d taken extra measures to fabricate documents.

Bill called me into his office for a third time. “You’ve put us in a tough position, Madison,” he said, scratching his gray mustache.

“We’ll run a retraction,” I said, still convinced we’d be able to fix the situation. “The information she gave me checked out at the time. I believed her story.”

“We’re not the only ones fact-checking what you wrote,” he said, flapping the paper on his desk. “Bernard Wright’s defense team is using this to prove these women have a vendetta against their client.”

I closed my eyes to try and shake the nausea. That’s when I understood. Wright’s defense team planted this trap, a last-ditch effort to improve their client’s image, and I fell for it. “Just because ‘Chrissy’ fed me a fake story doesn’t mean these other women are lying.”

“I know,” he said, defeated. “But it raises doubt. It hurts their case.”

My intent had been to help them. Selfishly, I wanted to benefit myself, too. I wanted that promotion, which is why I was less vigilant about triple-checking everything ‘Chrissy’ provided. I believed her. I trusted her.

“I can do something to help. I can write a series on how rare it is for women to false report. Or talk to some of Wright’s other accusers. I can dosomething.”

“Madison,” he said, his voice stern and deep. “A retraction won’t be enough. We’re going to have to let you go.”

“This is the only mistake I’ve ever made—”

“It was a big one.” He looked away, clearly bothered by his decision, though convinced it was necessary. “You’re a good reporter. Give it some time, and you’ll still have a career. You can even use me as a reference.”

“I don’t want a reference! I want my job here. I want a second chance.”

“I can’t give you that right now.” His face softened, as he tried to make the situation appear better than it was. “Go live your life. Plan your wedding. Learn from this, and you’ll be better next time.”

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