Page 48 of Truth Be Told
“Don’t get all mushy on me.”
We both smile.
Then she stops. She spins and pulls something out of that same bag. I can’t see exactly what it is, but from here, it looks like a newspaper that’s been folded over on itself. She passes it to me, and I’m right – it is a newspaper, or part of one at least. It’s thin, so it must only be a few select pages. I watch as it unfurls in my hand, and the front page stops me dead.
“This is why I wanted to get together,” she says. “I thought it was important for you to know. You know, now that you two are a couple and everything.”
I try to swallow, but my mouth is dry. Cohen’s picture is looking back at me. Although the article is dated three years ago, he hasn’t changed much. I would have expected to see a formal picture, given his status in the community, but instead the one they chose shows him dressed down and holding a drink in one hand. His facial hair is slightly longer, too, giving him a more scruffy, rough around the edges appearance. That’s probably what the paper was going for, I think as I scan through the paragraphs below the photo.
The headline reads: WOMAN DROWNS ALONG RT. 1
A woman was found deceased after losing control of her car off the scenic Route 1 in Stonington. Brianna Sterling, 29, went down with her car after hitting an icy stretch of road.
The article breaks at an inserted picture of a woman, the caption underneath which reads her name and age. She’s an attractive woman with long, wavy blonde hair. In the picture, she smiles from ear to ear, and she’s obviously hugging someone next to her who the newspaper has cropped out.
Brianna Sterling. I repeat the name in my mind.
Shit. This woman looks perfectly normal, like any of the hundreds who I pass on the way to work every day. She could have been me.
Business mogul Cohen Thatcher, of Thatcher Industries, is said to have attempted to save the woman after stumbling upon her vehicle in Sunday’s early morning hours. Thatcher is under investigation for the incident, although blood alcohol levels came back under the legal limit.
My eyes dart back to the largest picture, the one of Cohen. “How did I miss this?” I whisper.
“What?” Lorelei asks.
“Nothing,” I respond.
She tilts her head, trying to get a better look at me since I refuse to lift mine. “Did you know about this?”
I take a breath, filling my lungs with frigid air, and sit up. “I did.” I re-roll the article. “He told me about it.”
“Well, it’s a good thing he’s honest,” she says gently, but I detect her disapproval.
“What do you mean?”
Her shoulders shrug under her heavy winter coat. “Some people say he was involved.”
Involved? Maybe that part of his dream was true, after all. “Involved how?” Relax. She can’t know if Cohen caused it or not. Maybe she’s talking about the fact that he tried to help her, not knowing that I already read it.
“Well, there was an investigation into what happened that night, and a lot of the investigation involved him. I don’t know any more than that. They didn’t release many details.” Her voice changes. “Stella, the reason I’m telling you all this is because I don’t want you to get hurt. Something could come up from his past that could hurt you. You know that, right?”
I look back down at the paper, my eyes settling once again on the heavy words. “And where did you get this?” is my only response.
“Remember how I said it was common knowledge around here who he was?”
I point to the paper. “So this is common knowledge, too, is that what you’re saying?” My anger grows at the thought of Cohen’s name being slandered over an attempted good deed.
“Not as much, but yeah. I’m surprised you didn’t know.”
All at once, I stand.
“Where are you going?”
“I have to go.” I hold up the article. “Thanks for this. We’ll get together again soon, okay?” I start to hurry away. “Call me.”
“Okay,” she replies, slowly waving, the disappointment thick in her voice.
She’ll just have to deal with it for now. There’s something I have to do.
