Page 47 of The Perfect Marriage

“Can I have this?”

“It’s all yours… do you need my last name for the article?”

“Sure,” I say pocketing the receipt.

“It’s Brenda Johnson.”

“Great. You’ve been very helpful,” I say as I pack my stuff up.

“If you need any more quotes for your article, you know where to find me.”

I give her a wave, quickly walk out of the coffee shop, and get back into my vehicle.

Jesse Hook, who are you?Are you the third set of DNA? Is that why you haven’t come around since she was murdered? Are you the man we’ve been looking for?

Before I pull out of the café, I text Anne.

Hey, I need you to run a background check on a Jesse Hook. He should be located somewhere in the Prince William County area.

I hit send and moments later, I get a thumbs up emoji from Anne.

30

Adam Morgan

Istill feel uneasy about the way things happened last night with Sarah and Sheriff Stevens. He scurried off quick, and then she did too. What were they in a hurry to do? Go see each other? I need to stop thinking like this. It consumed my thoughts until I fell asleep and then it consumed my dreams. I dreamt that Sarah and Sheriff Stevens were having an affair—that he fucked her in the back of his police car after they left here. But Sarah wouldn’t do that. She’s not that type of girl, at least I don’t think she is. I think back to the first night I met her in that old dingy college basement. She was bored in the middle of a raging party. She didn’t care to overindulge in drinks, try drugs, and she barely had any interest in me. She didn’t care what others thought of her. She was just her. And now, she’s Sarah Morgan—top defense attorney. What happened to the woman I fell in love with? What happened to the woman I married? She’s a stranger to me now, and I’m sure she’d say the same about me.

Is our marriage over? Is she over me? I know I had an affair, but just because I slept with someone else doesn’t mean I stopped loving my wife.Oh God. What the fuck am I saying?Who am I trying to convince that I’m still a good person? I know I’m not. And clearly, everyone else does too, including my wife.

I get up from the couch and cinch the plaid robe I’m wearing over a pair of pajama pants and a white T-shirt. I don’t even remember changing into PJs. I wonder for a second if Mom changed me and I roll my eyes knowing she probably did. Immediately, the smell of bacon invades my nose. Mom is standing at the kitchen sink cleaning pans.

“Sweetheart, you’re up. There’s a plate of bacon, eggs, toast, and hash browns on the counter, all of your favorite breakfast foods.” She smiles and points at the plate.

I stumble into the kitchen and plunge my fork into the food, shoveling it into my mouth. I didn’t eat like this in jail.

“I’m going to do some shopping today, and I need to find a nearby hotel.” She turns off the faucet and dries her hands. “As much as I would love to stay here with you, that loveseat is just not up to my standards, and I’m sure I’m going to have to see a chiropractor today because of it.” She rubs her back and then sets a cup of coffee down in front of me.

“These trials can go on for a long time.” I take a bite of toast. “You can go back to Connecticut, Mom.”

“Nonsense. You’re my son, and this trial should be speedy because you’re innocent. We’ll see to it that Sarah gets this done quickly.” She nods encouragingly at me.

She picks up her purse and puts on her heels. “Just call me if you need anything. I’ll be back later tonight,” she says planting a kiss on my cheek. “Love you, cubbie-bear.”

“Love you too, Mom.”

It’s a little after 11am, and I don’t even know what to do with myself now. It’s only been two hours since Mom left, and I already feel alone. A knock at the front door startles me. Through the peephole I see a petite woman with fire-red hair, hazel eyes, and a face full of freckles. She has a laptop bag hanging from her shoulder. I kind of recognize her, but not really. I decide to open the door anyway.

“Hi. Are you Adam Morgan?” She looks me up and down, surveying my disheveled appearance.

“Depends on who’s asking.” Knowing full well I don’t care who is asking. I’d talk to just about anyone right now, anyone that would listen.

“I’m Rebecca Sanford. I’m a reporter for thePrince William County Newspaper.”

I put up my hand, halting her from speaking any more. “My lawyer doesn’t want me talking to any reporters. Sorry.” I start to close the door.

She puts her foot in front of the door stopping me from closing it. “I know. Mr. Morgan, I’m just a big fan of your work, and I really want to get your side of the story.”

“You’ve read my work?”

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