Page 90 of Lessons in Forgiving
Edward Smith went quiet as we walked to his office. Past the rec room and media labs and stray classrooms. Again, he beckoned me inside, and I started worrying when he almost closed his door. Only left it slightly ajar.
He sat on one side of his desk. I sat on the other.
For a while that felt too long, we looked at each other. His hands folded on the table between us, his jaw twitched. His eyes narrowed.
When I finally went to ask, “I’m sorry. What’s—” He cut me off.
“You’ve got sources on the record, right?” The question shot out of him like a bullet out of a loaded gun. Like he’d tried to find a better wording but couldn’t hold off any longer. “You quoted accurately, Paula?”
My brows pulled together. I didn’t know why my heartbeat picked up. “Of course.” My head shook in confusion. “Of course. Why—?”
“Someone complained. That you misquoted them. That they never said what you wrote. That—”
The ringing in my ear was louder than Eddie.
My face fell. Something inside of me shattered.
What?
What?
What?
“Paula? Do you understand? I’m not talking about some whining after realizing what they did and regretting it. They didn’t beg me to scratch their stuff out of the article. They went straight to the SPJ ethics committee. Filed an anonymous complaint.”
I knew it was Mark before he’d said names. Before he’d told me who had accused me of lying and bad-faith journalism, and who had left a permanent stain on my record.
I knew it was him because I’d had a feeling and ignored it. Because I’d told myself it would be fine,what could go wrong?a million times, instead of figuring out where that feeling had come from. Well, anything that could’ve gone wrong, did.
“I’m looking into it, but now I’m in trouble with the school board because they’re in trouble with Harvard.” Eddie’s hands ran across his face in frustration. “Paula, I don’t know how I could let you write again.”
“I thought they loved it,” I croaked.
“They did. Until they found out you lied—”
“But I didn’t!”
Even after what I’d deemed an accurate and damage-reducing account of the interview, Eddie’s features didn’t seem less distressed. He didn’t seem more open to letting me stay at the paper. He seemed like he had made up his mind, or at the very least that he couldn’t change anything about the outcome.
“Paula,” he sighed. “My hands are tied. Unless the source withdraws the complaint, or it’s been without-a-doubt disproven… let this die down. Focus on your classes and assignments, forget about writing for thePostfor a while. Until they won’t have my head for seeing your name in a paper again.”
Which, apparently, would be two-hundred-and-sixty-four days later. When he’d decided to give me Henry’s profile.
CHAPTER 36
NOW
Maybe a change of scenery had been what I’d needed. Looking out into Henry’s rose garden certainly made the whole process easier.
With all the new material from yesterday’s final interviews, I’d reconstructed—reimaginedthe entire profile. Themes, mentions, the when’s and how’s that turned a well-curated profile into an unputdownable PR-piece. Three hours into the day, and I was looking at a completely different story.
I sighed. “I can feel you staring at me.” My eyes reluctantly drew away from the screen. Henry sat on the opposite couch. Instead of scrolling through his phone, it was in his lap, the screen black and his attention on me.
“Good.” A smirk pulled at the corner of his lips. “My plan worked. Now you can come here.” His arms spread, inviting me into his lap. I wish I could, but—
“I can’t.” I nodded to the screen. “I need to finish this.”
We’d been in a similar situation before. Almost exactly a year ago. Where I had work to do, and he’d asked me not to do it. Begged and pleaded until I’d given in. When I’d been trying to figure out what felt off about Mark, and Henry had told me I was being paranoid.
