Page 55 of The One Before

“Madison?” Coop calls from downstairs, making my stomach flip. The front door slams. I sit in silence, waiting for him to find me.

I’ve had enough time to calm myself and go over what I want to say. It’s like I’ve uncovered he’s having an affair and I’m confronting him about it, but this is worse.

He walks into the bedroom and drops his bag on the floor. “Madison?” The smile on his face drops quickly; my silence must signal to him something is wrong. “Are you okay?”

“We need to talk,” I say, my knees curled in front of me for protection.

“What’s wrong?”

I nod toward the bed.

He takes a step forward and looks. When he sees the pictures scattered atop our comforter, he freezes. He doesn’t look shocked or angry. If anything, he’s sad. He picks up the photo closest to the edge and holds it between his fingers.

“Who is she?” I ask.

“Why are you going through my things?” he asks, calmly.

“Tell me who she is, Coop!”

“Laura,” he murmurs. He sits on the bed, and a collection of photos slide closer toward him. “We dated in college.”

“Why haven’t you told me about her?”

“I have. Here and there. When we’ve talked about our past relationships.”

“Why do you have all these pictures hidden in a bunch of old notebooks?”

“I don’t know.” Finally, he puts the picture down, but he won’t look at me.

“Come on, Coop. You’re not sentimental. I didn’t find pictures of anyone else, but over twenty of this girl.”

“I’m sorry. Okay?” He gets up and walks toward me, his face scrunched. “She’s an old girlfriend. These pictures don’t have anything to do with my feelings for you.”

“I’m not jealous,” I say, flicking his hand away when he tries to touch me.

“Then what is this?” He holds out his hands, trying to decide what exactly it is I’m upset about.

He’s rejected the opportunity I gave him to share the full story behind his connection to Laura. Instead of telling me about her disappearance, he assumes I’m insecure. He’s already failing this test. I bite my lip and look out the window.

“The woman posing as Anne Richards wasn’t Celia’s mother. She was Laura’s mother.” I look back at him. “Her name is Helena.”

I wait for him to say something, but he doesn’t. He returns to the bed and sits, resting his head in his hands.

“Helena told me you dated Laura in college. That you were dating her at the time she went missing,” I say. “Why wouldn’t you tell me about her?”

“It’s been so long,” he says. “I didn’t want to upset you.”

“You told me about Celia. That didn’t scare me away.”

“I’ve had one girlfriend die and another go missing,” he says, his tone biting. “It’s not exactly great first date material.”

“We’re well beyond a first date,” I say, placing my feet on the carpet and leaning forward. “I’m your fiancée. When were you going to feel comfortable telling me?”

“I don’t know.” He exhales and stares at the ceiling, then me. “I don’t like talking about either of them, but I knew if we were going to build a life together here, you’d have to know about Celia.”

“Well, now I want to know about Laura,” I say, holding eye contact. “Tell me everything.”

He cracks his fingers and stares ahead. “We dated during our sophomore year. We’d been together maybe six months when she disappeared. She was supposed to go to some music festival and wanted me to go with her. I didn’t, and she was never seen again.”

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