I take a deep breath. The door opens and, in the doorway, stands Sarah. My mom turns her neck to look.
“Eleanor. Adam,” Sarah greets.
“Hello, Sarah.” My mother’s greeting is cold as usual.
“Adam isn’t supposed to have visitors until after his arraignment. How did you get in here?” Sarah questions.
“I have my ways.” Mom smirks.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. “Any good news?”
Sarah takes a couple of steps into the room and closes the door behind her. “I’m just here to tell you that they are officially charging you. You’ll need to enter a plea tomorrow.” She makes steady eye contact with my mother and me. “But I’ll be back in the morning to cover it with you. I just… I just wanted to give you a heads-up.”
“Officially charged?” I question.
Sarah nods.
“This is ridiculous, Sarah.” My mother stands from her chair. “You need to fix this.” She points at my wife.
“I’m working on it, Eleanor. The D.A. believes he can prove Adam’s guilty beyond a reasonable doubt, so he’s going for it.”
“But I didn’t do this!” My eyes get wet and my voice quakes.
“I know, sweetheart,” Mom says. “And we are going to get you the best attorney money can buy, and it’ll all be over soon.”
Sarah shakes her head. “I’m going to go.” She turns on her foot.
The guard pops open the door and stands there like a soldier at attention. “Visiting hours are over,” he announces.
Mom rushes around the table and hugs me. “I will be back tomorrow, cubbie-bear,” she whispers in my ear.
“Mom, don’t call me that. I’m in jail.” I push the words through gritted teeth trying not to let anyone hear me.
Sarah side-steps the guard to leave. My mother releases me and whips around. “Sarah, wait! I want to take you out for dinner. You know, discuss next steps,” my mother insists.
Sarah stops and looks back at us. “I have a lot of work to do and—”
Mom holds her hand up. “Your excuses won’t work with me. We’re going.”
23
Sarah Morgan
We are seated across from each other at Pineapple & Pearls, Eleanor’s choice. The restaurant has a fixed menu, and while I’m sure the selection will be divine, it is just another example of her being in control of the situation.
“Where do we start, Sarah?” she asks me.
“We? We don’t start anywhere. You aren’t a lawyer nor are you a law enforcement official, so there isn’t a scenario where you get to rummage through evidence or crime scenes or anything else to help Adam. You just need to let me do my job.” I deliver squarely to her. Hopefully, she will take the overt hint and drop the notion of teaming up to save her baby boy.
“And how do you expect me to do that?”
Of-fucking-course she doesn’t drop it. “Do what, Eleanor?”
“Leave this all in your hands. I mean how can we even trust you to do the best job here?” She scans the drink menu as she speaks as if she and I are talking about the weather or some other mundane thing.
“Excuse me?”
She looks up at me. “I think you need to accept some fault in this too. And if that’s the case then…”
“What?” Where in the hell does she get off? On what planet does this, any of this, make sense?
“I mean husbands don’t typically cheat on loving wives.”
“That’s wildly inappropriate.” I shake my head in disbelief.
She keeps going. “And Adam has always wanted to be a father… and I, a grandmother, and you have withheld that joy from us.”
I hold my hand up. “I’m going to stop you right there, Eleanor…” I would love to reach across the table and claw her Botox face off.
“Now, I know you had a rough upbringing with your dad’s passing and your mom’s drug addiction—but that’s not something you get to hold on to forever….” She pauses when the waitress arrives. “We’ll have two Manhattans.” She closes the drinks menu and hands it to the waitress.
I have half the nerve to storm out of here, but I know that won’t do Adam any good.
“Actually, I’ll have Tito’s double vodka soda with a lime,” I correct. The waitress nods. I give a small grin.
“Bring them both anyway. I’m going to need two,” she says to the waitress. “Now, what was I saying?”
My hands are beneath the table clenched so tightly, my nails are digging into my palms. The moisture and warmth tell me I’ve punctured the skin.
“Oh, yes… I’ve lost people too. My husband died, but you don’t see that stopping me from living my life.” Eleanor nods as she speaks as if she’s giving me some sort of motivational speech, but the only thing she’s motivating me to do is to flip this table into her and walk out the door.
I relax my hands, looking down at them for a moment. There are small bloody puncture wounds on each palm. I clutch my napkin and take a deep breath. I can get through this. I’ve endured worse. The waitress sets down my vodka soda and two Manhattans. I take mine and drink nearly the entire thing. Eleanor is still talking about how I should live my life and how Adam is not at fault.
“…and addiction clearly runs in your family, Sarah. You might just be addicted to your work. I’m just trying to help and I want to make sure Adam is getting the best defense possible.” She takes a slow sip of her Manhattan, while holding eye contact with me.
“He has the best defense possible and it bodes well for Adam that his wife of ten years is not only standing behind him but is also defending him in the matter.”
“It’s the least you can do, Sarah. Now, are you sure you’re equipped to handle this?” She attempts to raise an eyebrow, but her Botox infested face isn’t able to comply.
“I’m positive.”
“Well, I suppose your work addiction will provide a benefit for once.” Eleanor smirks.
My eyes nearly roll out of their sockets. “I suppose it will.”
“Ugh. I really wish you would have paid more attention to my son and upheld your wifely duties. Adam wouldn’t be in this predicament otherwise. Such a shame.” She shakes her head as she speaks.
She’ll keep going on all evening unless I tell her what she wants to hear. I take a deep breath.
“You’re right, Eleanor. I should have been a better wife to Adam. But I promise you this, I will be better now, and I’ll make sure Adam gets the justice he deserves,” I say with a stern nod.
The waitress sets down the first course.
Eleanor smiles back at me. “I knew you’d see it my way. Now, let’s enjoy our meal.”
24
Adam Morgan
Once again, I find myself lying in a metal bunk with a mattress I swear is as thick as a piece of cardboard. I’ve spent sixty of the last seventy-two hours lying in this bed thinking about how I got here. I’m still not sure how I went from having an affair to being the primary suspect for the murder of my mistress. How did I end up here?