Conscience by Alice Mattison

Author:Alice Mattison
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pegasus Books
Published: 2018-07-16T16:00:00+00:00

One morning early in summer, I go running before breakfast. At home, while I eat, I scroll through the New Haven Independent on my phone. A headline reads TIME OFF FROM BEING HOMELESS, so I stop, and the startling subhead is BARKER STREET’S NEW PROGRAM. This is impossible—how does the paper know? For a moment, I’m afraid without knowing what I’m afraid of. Darlene and I have talked about seeking press coverage—but not yet.

Then I understand that one of our group phoned a reporter, and the reporter happened to be looking for a story. Doing this without my approval or knowledge is outrageous, but interesting: Who on my staff is this gutsy? Anger is delayed for a few seconds, and by the time I do get angry (it must be Paulette, and when I have a face in mind, I’m furious with it), I am also impressed—but mostly scared that the story will harm us. The public is irrational when it comes to the homeless. I read it quickly.

As I read, I’m less troubled, because the story seems fine. It’s short, and I’m frustrated that I’ve missed the chance for a longer one later. I wonder if we can stage a ribbon-cutting and get the reporter to come back. But I see no mistakes. Yes, sure enough, there are quotes from “Paulette Strong, assistant director.” Then I come to the last paragraph, which says our agency plans to expand the third-floor program to include overnight stays within the next year. Now I’m seriously furious. Jason, Paulette, and I had precisely one conversation about this topic—one vague conversation.

Probably Joshua doesn’t read the Independent, which doesn’t have a print edition. Surely he reads the New Haven Register on paper, with his morning coffee, as his father and grandfather did. There will be no story there. Maybe I have a little time. I put my hand on my phone, and then decide an email will be easier and clearer—a couple of respectful paragraphs. I stand up, taking my coffee with me, to go upstairs and type an email to Joshua Griffin on my computer. I’ll apologize for the premature story in the Independent, in case he’s seen it, especially for the last paragraph. I’ll make clear that Paulette (“The board’s favorite, remember, Griff?” I say out loud, though I don’t dare call him Griff to his face) did this. It’s another instance of her poor judgment. Maybe the newspaper will run a correction.

When I turn on my computer in the bedroom, I see that a message has just come in from Paulette. The subject line reads “Look!” and the message is a link to the article. She doesn’t know she’s done anything wrong—or she’ll claim she doesn’t know.

Then one comes in from Zak. His messages are brief, about scheduling. This one cancels a date, but before I can reply, another arrives that reinstates it but moves it half an hour. I reply and start telling him about the story. By now he knows all about my job.

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