Page 83 of The Perfect Marriage

By the time I was fifteen, we had lost the house and bounced around between women’s shelters and motel rooms. I waitressed early mornings before school and on nights and weekends to afford the necessities like food, clothing, and shelter, while my mother prostituted herself to afford her growing addictions. I stayed under the radar at school by keeping out of trouble and maintaining a high GPA. I preferred taking care of myself than living in some foster home.

On my sixteenth birthday, I found my mother’s body in a cockroach-infested motel room we had been staying at. She had overdosed on heroin, her gift to me. I would no longer have to care for her, work forty hours a week to support us both, have to fight off the men that thought I would be a sweet indulgence after she had passed out.

I stared at her pale, thin body for over an hour, a hollow, lifeless shell. Four empty needles were stuck into her arm. I packed up our things and walked to a pay phone to call 911. That was the last I ever saw of my mother, and I vowed to never be like her.

But even my mother still did more for me than Eleanor has for Adam. My mother made me wise, made me independent, made me learn how to fight for myself.

Eleanor made Adam weak, her love smothering out his ability to exist on his own. My mother and Eleanor aren’t so different, the way most addicts aren’t, the only difference is that Eleanor is still feeding her addiction, while my mother’s took her long ago.

52

Adam Morgan

Moments after Scott Summers stormed out of the interview room, I notice the door slightly ajar. I stand and pace, listening intently for anyone in the hall. I tap the large mirror, seeing if anyone is in there watching me.

After a few minutes, I work up the courage to do something I’m most certainly going to regret. Pulling open the door slowly, I peek out into the hall and I’m met with silence. I creep out of the interview room and make for the front of the building, crossing paths with no one.

Before entering the lobby, I spot Marge at the front desk muttering to herself as she pushes papers around. She picks up her coffee cup and disappears into a side room.

It’s now or never. I move quickly but silently, glancing back only once as I jump the barrier, cross the lobby and exit through the front doors. Sarah’s car is still in the parking lot. I turn right and head down the street. I’m not sure where I’m going or what I’m doing, but I can’t stay here. I have to find Rebecca. She’s the only one that can help me now.

53

Sarah Morgan

Ididn’t bother to set an alarm after last night’s clusterfuck, and I instead just let myself sleep until I naturally woke up. It was the first good night’s rest I’ve gotten since I took on the case. After a nice long shower, a cup of French press coffee, and a big savory breakfast, I feel I can handle everything again.

Bob and Anne are at the top of my to-do list. But there’s also the matter of Adam and his ridiculous outburst. Then there’s the third set of DNA, and I still have to smooth everything out with D.A. Peters before the trial. Christ, I don’t even have my fucking defense strategy laid out yet. But if anyone can do this, it’s me. I mean, it has to be me.

I drive to the office. I’m not even sure if both Bob and Anne will show up today, but knowing them, the odds are pretty good. Anne will want to spend the entire day groveling at my feet until I forgive her. Bob will not want to appear broken or defeated in any way to his subordinates at the firm.

I’m sure I’ll be reprimanded by Kent at some point. Lucky for me, Kent was out of the office yesterday, but the news will get to him quickly.

Not thirty seconds after I enter my office, I hear a faint knock on my door frame. Anne is peeking into my office, the lower half of her torso still out of view in case she needs to make a quick dash to escape my wrath.

“May I come in, Sarah?” she asks sheepishly with a heavy vibrato in her voice. This is the hyena approaching the downed wildebeest while the lion is still eating. Maybe the lion will share. Or maybe it will decide to have two meals this morning.

“Yes, Anne, you may,” I say, taking a deadpan and emotionless tone to convey my reserved and cautionary judgment of her as a person.

“Look, I just wanted to say I’m sorry again. I’m sorry for not telling you about Adam and Kelly. I’m sorry for breaking your trust. I’m just sorry, and I understand if you want me to leave. I can have my desk emptied by end of day.”

I say nothing. I let her sweat.

She bows her head and begins to back out of my office, fully defeated.

“Anne, stop,” I call to her. She lifts her head, and I see hope in her eyes. I should let her go. I should let her quit all by herself. It’ll save the firm money. It’ll save me the headache. But I know she meant well. I know at the end of the day, she is loyal to me. And whether I like it or not, I still need her. I don’t have time to find another assistant in the middle of this trial.

“Is Bob in the office this morning?”

“Yes, he is, would you like me to call for him?”

“No. Not yet, Anne. But in the meantime, please set up a meeting with D.A. Peters for later this afternoon.” Anne smiles at me and nods and turns to walk out the door. “And, Anne,” I add.

“Yes, Sarah?” she asks with all the anticipatory excitement of a puppy waiting for a command.

“From this point on, until I’m ready, you are just my assistant.” I let the words hang heavy as I swivel my chair away from her.

“Yes, Mrs. Morgan,” she murmurs as she leaves my office.

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