Page 32 of The One Before

“Let’s get you under a dryer,” she says. “Then we’ll wash you up.”

I bask in the silence of the heat around my head, then the warm water rinsing over my hair and Monica’s nails digging into my scalp. I’m able to relax for the rest of our session. I flip through a magazine as Monica cuts and dries my hair, but I’ll occasionally smile when I think about Coop and some of our happier memories back in the city.

“We’re all finished,” Monica says. She spins me around to face the mirror.

My natural hue is now the dominant color on my head. There’s only a few ashy blonde streaks, but they’re spread apart, only heightening the contrast. It’s like someone poured a bottle of ranch dressing over my head and let it sit. It’s not natural in the least, or unnatural in a trendy way. I look like a nineties pop star, and I hate it.

My eyes bounce around the salon, looking at the other patrons. I see this is the same look they all have. Like they’re all stuck in a different decade. If only I’d seen this pattern before.

“What do you think?” Monica asks. She must sense my silence isn’t good.

“It’s different,” I say. It’s the nicest I can be. The gleam of pride in her eyes tells me she thinks she’s done a good job. She’s desperate for my approval. I’d readily share my opinion back in Atlanta, where I think people are tough enough to take criticism. Here, the look on Monica’s face—I don’t have it in me to spoil her confidence.

“The colors should blend after a few washes,” she says, stroking the back of my hair. “What do you think of the cut?”

Dear God, the cut is even worse. It’s not been this short since college. My hair stops just above my shoulder and curves in. I look like a Stepford version of myself. Or, perhaps, a Whisper Falls version.

“It should grow out some before the wedding, right?” My voice is cracking as I speak.

“Plenty of time,” she says. Her smile is back, which must mean she thinks I’m happy with what she’s done. “Don’t worry. We’ll schedule some practice sessions before the big day.”

So, it’s already decided, at least for Monica, that she’ll be doing my hair for the wedding. I don’t know if I can trust her to ever touch my hair again. There’s nothing wrong with her technique per se, but the final product is just so… not me.

“You look beautiful,” Josephine says, standing behind my chair. Her hair looks exactly as it did before we arrived, only a few gray strands removed, and her fingernails have been painted a delicate color of pink.

“You think?” I say, trying hard not to let either woman sense my disappointment.

“Very mature,” she says, placing a hand on my shoulder. “I told you Inner Glow was the best in town.”

I stare at my reflection in the mirror, at this person who seems to be withering away by the day.Yeah, you’re a grown up now, Madison, a little voice says inside.Start acting like one.

Twenty-Three

Madison

On Wednesday morning, I return to Whisper Falls Park and run. I should be buying groceries, but I don’t feel like fighting off crowds. During my short time in Whisper, I’ve learned one thing: Walmart is always the busiest place in town. There’s no good time to go, and there’s no healthy alternative like Whole Foods nearby.

I’m rounding off my fifth lap when Bailey arrives. She occupies the same spot as last time, pulls out her laptop and starts typing. The only difference from last week’s encounter is she’s using a rock as a paperweight. I still can’t believe she had the gall to write such a suggestive article about Coop. After two laps of trying to forget about her and failing, I walk toward the bench.

She lifts her head, fingers still typing on the keyboard. “Like the new look.”

As though I weren’t irritated enough. I’d forgotten about the hair fiasco. Yesterday, Coop did his best to build my confidence about the whole thing. He swore he thought the style suited me, but that’s just him being optimistic. Staring at Bailey, I can’t decide if her compliment is sincere. “Why would you write something like that about Coop?” I ask.

“I write about all local events in Whisper Falls.” She gently shuts the laptop. “His return is interesting to a lot of people.”

“Coop isn’t a local event.” I say, plainly. “He’s not a celebrity.”

“Around here he is. Everyone knows the Douglas family, and the Celia Gray case is Whisper Falls’ biggest unsolved mystery. People never get tired of reading about it.”

“But it is solved!” I put my hands on my hips. Bailey, with her intellect and wit, assumes she knows everything about the Douglases. After speaking with Coop about Celia’s mother, I see how much pain he’s been carrying as a result of these ugly rumors. Bailey couldn’t possibly understand how her article unlocked a Pandora’s box of unresolved emotions. “She drowned. It’s a closed case.”

“Only because the Douglases hired their own PI to close it.” She laughs, then continues typing. “Not everyone is so convinced the case is solved.”

“The police are. All you’re doing is creating drama.”

“You’re a writer,” she says, holding eye contact. “You know you can’t just accept what’s written on paper. You have to dig deeper. You have to investigate.”

I wonder if this is a dig about ‘Chrissy’, but that’s just me being paranoid. TheChronicleerased the article as fast as they could. Unless someone had a hard copy in hand, Bailey couldn’t know about it. That situation made me all too aware of the dangers in following the wrong story. Bernard Wright and his gang of lawyers actively planted lies to create doubt. People are malicious. They’ll take another person’s pain and use it to their advantage.

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