I can understand why Marissa would rather not text or email the name of the guy to me—a paper trail could come back to haunt her if Matthew has access to her accounts—but there’s no reason why she couldn’t have left the information on my voice mail, as I specifically instructed.
But she hasn’t.
Now it’s early evening, and I’ve got a few minutes before my last appointment of the day: a new client who told me she is grappling with an enormous betrayal, which is likely another case of infidelity.
I reach for my phone again. My call goes straight to voice mail, as if Marissa has turned off her cell.
It feels a little too convenient that her mysterious lover has been out of town all week, and suddenly Marissa seems to be avoiding me.
I wonder again if she is playing me.
I want to throw the coffee cup I’m holding against the floor and watch it shatter.
As soon as my final session is over, I’m heading over to the Bishops’. I’m going to corner Marissa tonight.
Romeo pads into my office and looks at me, his expression concerned, as if he has intuited my irritation. He nudges his cold nose beneath my palm, and I stroke his head, which is finally free of the cone, since the vet told me I could remove it.
I stand up and Romeo follows me as I enter my living room. I open the back door to let him out into the fenced yard, tossing his favorite squeaky toy hot dog onto the lawn. He bounds off to get it, but refuses to drop it at my feet, so we have a little rough-and-tumble game of tug-of-war that I probably need more than he does.
When my new client, Rose DeMarco, rings my doorbell at 6:00 P.M. sharp for her first session, Romeo is upstairs in his crate and I’m ready for her.
I peer out the peephole, noticing she looks better than the photo on her driver’s license—then again, most of us do. I never used to ask clients to send me identification in advance of our first session, but thanks to Acelia, I can no longer afford to let anyone in my house that I haven’t checked out.
I open the door and welcome Rose inside, showing her to my office and indicating the coatrack, where she hangs her navy blue belted jacket.
I take my usual chair, and Rose settles herself on the middle cushion of the couch across from me.
“So, what brings you here today?” I begin.
I know already from verifying the information on the driver’s license she scanned and sent to me that Rose is twenty-seven and lives in Adams Morgan. Through my own digging, I discovered she works as a history teacher at a private girls’ school in Bethesda, which makes it surprising that she can cover my fee, but perhaps she comes from family money.
Rose crosses her legs at the ankle. She’s wearing a below-the-knee skirt and flats, and her permed, shoulder-length hair and shapeless patterned sweater aren’t doing her any favors.
“I’ve experienced a terrible betrayal, but I have a feeling you can help me find the solution.”
“That’s what I do best.”
What usually comes at this point is a long pause. When clients first meet me, they need to take a minute to compose their swirling thoughts and lay out their confession in a succinct way. Trying to summarize the problem that has likely consumed many of their waking hours—for weeks, months, or even years—can be a big challenge.
But Rose doesn’t hesitate. “Someone discovered my very private information and shared it with the worst possible person.”
I wait for Rose to elaborate, but she doesn’t.
“Was it a boyfriend who betrayed you?” I imagine compromising photos posted on the internet.
“No.”
“A friend? A family member?”
Rose shakes her head twice.
“We could save a lot of time if you just tell me who did it.”
“A colleague,” Rose says evenly.
It’s not what she says that makes me put my notebook down in my lap, freeing my hands. It’s the way she says it.
The room is perfectly still; Romeo is upstairs in his crate. There’s no audible ticking of a clock or faint waft of music or distant honking from rush-hour traffic.
It’s as if Rose and I are suspended together in a glass globe.
I choose my next words carefully. “What makes you think I can help you?”
“I have a strong hunch.” A bead of sweat rolls down the side of Rose’s face, but she doesn’t make a move to wipe it away. “In fact, I think you’re the only one who can help me.”
I casually place my hands on my chair’s armrests, fighting my body’s instinct to clench. I need to appear relaxed and unconcerned.
“The only thing I was wondering about is your fee.”
I mentally begin compiling facts: Her skin is pale, and she has no birthmarks or scars or freckles on her face—unless she has covered them up. Her eyes are hazel, but those could be colored contacts. It’s impossible to tell her body shape beneath her clothes.
I play along for the moment. “My fee is nonnegotiable. If we decide to work together, I’ll need to be paid up front.”
“That won’t be a problem. I already know I want to work with you.”
And I’ve already decided we aren’t going to work together, I think, mentally willing myself to memorize the precise sound of her voice.
“But if you do help me the way I think you will, I’m going to be so grateful I’ll want to pay you a lot more.”
I shift again in my chair, casually moving my left hand an inch lower on the armrest. “I don’t allow secrets in this room, Rose. Tell me why you’re here or this session is over.”
My index finger finds the smooth button on the underside of my chair’s armrest, but I don’t push it. Not yet. Rose’s clothing doesn’t contain any visible pockets, and her hands are clasped on her lap. Her purse is down by her feet. Her posture is unthreatening.
Still, I don’t take my eyes off her for an instant.
Despite the thermostat in my home being set at seventy degrees, another bead of perspiration rolls down her cheek, leaving a faint glistening trail.
I wonder what her real hair color is, beneath the wig that is making her head sweat.
If I passed her on the street, I wouldn’t give her a second glance. She blends in: medium height, medium weight; there’s nothing striking about her. Which is probably exactly why she was chosen to come see me.
“I didn’t come here under false pretenses. I’m being straight with you.” Rose’s eyes stay fixed on mine. “Like I told you, I experienced a huge betrayal by a colleague. This person has caused a lot of trouble for me … and my company. You know who it is. So how about it, Avery? Can we work together?”
Her words are so deliberate. To an outsider, they’d probably appear strange but innocuous. I force myself to smile. “I don’t think my methods are a good fit for you, Rose. Why don’t you see yourself out.”
This is it; the moment when everything could shift.
But Rose merely gets to her feet, reaching for her coat and slinging her purse over her shoulder. “If you change your mind, you’ve got my number and email address.”
Which are connected to a burner phone and untraceable electronic address, I’m certain.
I don’t reply. She cocks her head and gazes at me. “You’ve got such a pretty face.” She looks around my office. “And such a nice house. Sometimes we don’t realize how grateful we should be until we lose everything.”