Chapter 20
The following morning, Charles stared at the item in his hand and felt his features darken. How much of this was true and how much had the media made up? He’d concluded that Sarah was a good person, but if he found he’d been wrong again . . . he slapped his palm on the armrest of his chair, “Damn it all to hell.”
He exhaled in frustration and threw the item across the living room. Hadn’t he promised himself he would avoid women and the trouble they caused? Hadn’t he been determined to focus on the secret and nothing else? He paused as something more important occurred to him.
Had his mother seen it yet?
***
As Sarah put her hand on the doorknob of her apartment, the sound of her cell ringing made her stop. She peered down at it. On its screen a name was flashing: Paul Parker. She rolled her eyes, continued out the door and down the steps, letting the call ring out.
Outside, Sarah walked to her letterbox and pulled out what she’d gone down there to get: the daily newspaper. She unrolled it and scanned the front page. Then gaped. What the heck? She blinked. Maybe her eyes weren’t working? But the image on the front page didn’t change.
Panicked words slipped across her tongue, “Oh no.”
It was one of herself and Joan Morgan, taken at what had to be their first session together. In the picture, they were out the front of Joan’s apartment. Sarah had a scowl on her face. Why was she scowling? Her mind paused and rewound a week. The answer came.
She’d tripped.
That’s not what the newspaper was implying had happened.
Sarah found the headline: No Love Lost: the Diva of Romance Can’t Make New Winner Love Her.
It was clear the photographer had chosen the worst photo to get the most sensational headline. She skimmed the article.
One part stood out: “Sarah told me that Joan avoided the Emerging Writers of America (EWA) awards because she thought it was beneath her,” said a source close to Ms. Woodward.
What? She’d never said that. It wasn’t true.
Sarah lowered the paper to her side. This was bad. Who had made up this lie and tipped off the press? Of the people she’d spoken to about Joan––her parents, Amy, and Mark––she trusted them all with her life. There was no way any of them would’ve betrayed her by speaking to the press. Or lied about what she’d said. Everything she’d told them about Joan had been positive, hadn’t it? She scrolled through her memories. She’d said Joan had been welcoming, kind, and sincere. And she had been. The article was complete nonsense.
Oh-oh.
Joan wouldn’t know it was nonsense. She would think Sarah had been bad-mouthing her. She had to contact Joan right away and set this straight. Scrunching the newspaper under one arm, she bolted up the steps.
Inside her apartment, she saw her cell flashing with a notice of a message. She sighed. It would be from Paul. She lifted the cell and pressed it to her ear.
Sure enough, his words filtered through after a few seconds: Hi Sarah, it’s Paul. I was calling to see how you are. Have you seen the newspaper this morning? If you need someone to talk to, I’m here. There was a pause, followed by, I was also wondering if you’d like to catch up for a coffee sometime this week? Let me know.
She pulled a face, hung up, and was about to replace the phone when the cell rang again.
From the shock of it, she answered without looking at the caller ID, “Hello?”
“Ms. Woodward?”
“Yes?”
“This is Bessie from First National News. How was your first session with Joan Morgan?”
Taken off guard, she mumbled, “Uh, fine.”
“My source tells me she was awful to you.”
Recovered, Sarah was able to say, “Really? Which source is that? Because I haven’t said that to anyone.”
“Do you wish to make any other comment?”
Sarah answered by ending the call then made her way to the computer. She didn’t know Joan’s contact number, but she knew the name of the retirement community the woman lived in. She would call. Sarah bit her lip. Hopefully Joan would talk to her and let her explain. At that moment, her cell rang again. Oh great. This wasn’t over.
***
Charles cupped his chin with one hand as he waited for his mother’s reaction to the news he’d told her. The newspaper article didn’t seem congruous with what he’d experienced with Sarah, but they didn’t really know her well, and others had betrayed them before.
His mother’s forehead wrinkled, “I can’t believe she’d do this, Charles. She seemed so different from all the others I’ve mentored.”
He nodded, “We don’t know the full story yet.”
Joan opened her mouth to speak when the sound of her home telephone ringing stopped her. She glanced at him. He could see she was thinking it was more reporters, calling to get a scoop, the same way they’d been doing all morning.
He lowered the hand from his chin and said, “I’ll take care of it,” then stormed over to the kitchen and reached for the phone attached to the wall there. Lifting the receiver to his ear, he snapped at who he assumed to be the receptionist calling through, “I thought I said not to put any more calls through, Debbie?”
There was a moment of silence, then, “Charles? It’s Sarah Woodward.”
He blinked. “Oh, Sarah. You’re calling about the headlines I take it?”
“I didn’t do what they said I did. I never said a bad word about Joan to anybody. I would never do that. You have to know I’m so grateful for everything Joan’s done for me. You too. I’d never do anything to jeopardize this opportunity . . .”
The more Sarah spoke, the more her voice increased in pitch. He could tell she was desperate for him to believe her. That meant she was telling the truth. The doubts and concerns he’d been battling vanished.
“If there’s anything you need me to do to convince you, I––”
He cut her off, “I believe you.”
“You do?”
“Yes, Sarah.”
She released a drawn-out exhale, “That’s such a relief. What about Joan? Will she believe me?”
He glanced at his mother, “I’m sure she will.”
“Thank you, Charles.”
“Just make sure you don’t talk to the media or post anything about myself or my mother on social media. That is a non-negotiable condition if this mentorship is to continue.”
She hesitated. “I should probably tell you the press have been calling me all morning then.”
“What did you say to them?”
“I told the first person I never said those things, but I hung up on all the others without saying anything.”
He smiled, “Good.”
She said nothing. He could sense something from her. Uncertainty perhaps? About their future sessions?
To quell it, he added, “Will I see you at nine on Sunday?”
“Yes. I’ll be there.”
He was almost sure he could see her beaming from the other end.