If the Witness Lied by Caroline B. Cooney

can do.
    Cheryl reenters the phone conversation. Her cheeks turn adull red. “Jack has already picked Tris up? Oh, yes, of course. How could I have forgotten that it’s a half day?”
    Madison assumes Cheryl does not have the slightest idea what anybody’s schedule is, which is nice. If asked, Madison will also claim a half day as her own reason for showing up.
    “Oh, goodness,” cries Cheryl. “I’m glancing at my cell phone, and I see there is a text message from Jack. No doubt he’s letting me know. I’ve been so busy with the television crew, I just haven’t been aware of other details. Well, it doesn’t matter. We’ll still drop by. I have the associate producer and assistant director here.”
    Madison studies Angus and the bad-hair woman. Associates and assistants should be in their twenties, shouldn’t they? These two are probably in their forties. Perhaps they are not as successful as they claim.
    But that will not help, because people without success
really
want to present a riveting, heartbreaking family drama. And as far as television is concerned, the Fountain story has no missing ingredients. It will be a nice career move for these two.
    Coming down, her eyes averted from all those stares, Madison gets a momentary glimpse of kitchen cabinets at the far end of the hall. Her mother was the cookie maven: chocolate chip cookies, peanut butter cookies, molasses cookies, iced cookies, spritz cookies. Her mother loved that kitchen. Lived there. Sang there. Danced. Wiped away tears and celebrated triumphs. Read library books and—
    Madison is going to cry.
    Slowly, as if capturing a wild animal apt to spook, the cameraman lifts his camera to his shoulder.
    “Emotions are going to be very high,” says Angus, this man whose emotions are probably like a cotton shirt, just something to wear. “You know what, Maddy?”
    Only Mom called her Maddy. When Mom died, Madison never wanted that nickname again.
    Angus trots out his smile. It’s a rich smile, as if anybody he shares it with will become healthy, wealthy and wise. “Let’s you and I both meet Smithy at the railroad station! After all, we can get the day care anytime. And without Trissy, it’s lost any real meaning, hasn’t it? But you—the beautiful sisters, your first reunion—is it your first reunion?—I mean, think of it. The beautiful moment when you start to rebuild your family, facing tragedy with courage because you’re together.”
    They are beautiful sisters, and Madison has been dreaming of the moment in which she and her sister face their tragedy with courage because they’re together. But not in front of a TV crew sniffing the air like dogs. “Gosh, it sounds like fun, but I have a dentist appointment. Bye.” She walks straight into them, and they are forced to part. In a moment she’s outdoors.
    It’s drizzling. The drops feel cool and good against her feverish skin. But the tenacity of TV is not slowed by a mere damp sky. The bad-hair woman follows so closely they could share a sweater. Madison cannot go to her car and she cannot call Jack.
    *   *   *
    Friday creeps by. Diana has a sense of being too late; of being wrong. It’s a heavy, dark feeling. She’s been wrong and latealready today, wasting the entire morning before making the decision to interfere in Jack’s life. The brief conversation with Jack’s aunt Cheryl keeps repeating in her mind. Mrs. Rand was awfully excited about a paint event. And when Diana strapped Tris into his car seat, what was with the smug little smile? Even Cheryl can’t gloat over clutter removal.
    In spite of the fact that Cheryl’s a big spacious woman, covered with attractively tailored clothing, adorned with well-chosen jewelry, she seems slimy to Diana. Diana thinks of her as a jellyfish floating on the surface, poisonous tentacles reaching down. Diana’s mother disapproves of talk like this. “That’s just plain mean, Diana. Where would those children be without Cheryl