Page 29 of The Perfect Marriage

“Okay. I just don’t want to hurt you.” I reach my hand out for hers.

She pulls away. “You already have.” She picks up her pen and writes the date and time on the piece of paper. “What time did Kelly Summers arrive at the lake house?”

“Sometime after 5pm.”

“Take me through what happened after she arrived.”

I tell her everything—how we drank scotch, fucked multiple times, how rough I was with her, how much I enjoyed it, how much Kelly enjoyed it, how she was begging for more without even uttering a word, how I left her in the middle of the night to come home, the note I wrote, everything.

Sarah doesn’t make any gesture, sound, or remark to let me know how displeased she is with me. To let me know how much she hates me. And then I wonder,Does she even care? Does she care that I was cheating on her? Or is she trying to be strong? Is she trying to be professional?I can’t tell. I can’t read her. She’s my wife, and at this moment, I don’t even know her. The look she gives me is cold and distant. Her movements are almost robotic. Her eyes are clear and calculating.

“Wait a minute.” She circles a note on her paper and pulls me from my thoughts. “What time did you two fall asleep?”

“I don’t know.” I try to think back and recall the time, but I don’t even remember going to sleep or even being tired. The last thing I remember is having sex with Kelly.

“You have no idea what time you went to sleep?” she questions again.

“We must have just passed out after sex.” I don’t have a better answer. I really don’t know.

“There’s a period of time you don’t remember from that night?” She gives me a quizzical look.

“I guess.” I shrug.

“You guess? You’re being accused of murder, and you guess? Are you kidding me, Adam?” She drops her pen on her paper and massages her temples with the tips of her fingers.

“Well, what the hell do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know. But it doesn’t look good that you can’t remember part of that night. The prosecution will easily turn that statement you just made into—well, if you can’t remember, maybe you don’t remember killing her. You need to remember. You need to be sure.” Her frustration is showing, which isn’t the norm for Sarah. She’s always so calm and collected. I need to be sure of everything that happened that evening, but if this goes to trial, I’ll have time to prepare.

“I do remember hearing a car door slam. It’s what woke me up.”

“Are you sure?” she asks with a bit of skepticism. “You’re positive it wasn’t a tree branch falling or an acorn hitting the roof? There are all sorts of sounds in the woods.”

“Yes, I am… at least I think I am.” I rub my forehead as if the misplaced memories from that night will suddenly become clear.

Sarah lets out a huff and scribbles some notes down on her notepad. “What about the photo?”

“What photo?” I look at her and then I look past her trying to recall.Shit. It hits me. My eyes widen.How could I have forgotten about it?In everything that’s happened, I forgot something so important, something that could help prove my innocence.

“When did you receive it?”

“A few weeks before. It was in our mailbox at the lake house. Someone put it there, because there was no postage or anything,” I explain. Sarah jots down more notes. “Someone is trying to frame me, can’t you see?” I stare into her eyes.

She takes a deep breath. Her eyes lock with mine. “I’m trying to help, Adam—but you have to tell me everything. You have to remember everything. You’re lucky I found that envelope. It’s a huge break, but we have to figure out who took that photo, who threatened you.” She breaks eye contact and flips through her notes.

She’s right. I’m not helping. I need to look at everything, like the way I examine one of my books when I’m editing it. Where are the plot holes? Which characters aren’t fleshed out? Who is really driving the story? And why? What’s the crux of the story and what should I be looking for?

“They found three sets of DNA in her,” she says with exasperation, changing the subject.

At first, I don’t understand what she’s saying. My eyes are wide again, and my mouth is partially open.

“One of them is yours. One of them is Scott’s. And the third is unknown.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you weren’t the only man she was cheating on her husband with. I’m saying you weren’t special. I’m saying she was a whore.” Sarah looks just as surprised as I do after the words leave her mouth.

“Jesus, Sarah!”

---