Page 13 of The Perfect Marriage

He lets out a huff. “Fine. Fine. Fine. It appears I’ll be Uncle Matthew after all. Someone is going to need to teach that fetus to be fabulous.” He brings his vodka martini to his lips. “Should I order shots to celebrate?”

“You’re bad,” Anne teases.

“Oh, he’s…” My phone rings interrupting me. I pull it out, and on the screen, in all caps, it says ELEANOR. Immediately, there’s a lump in the back of my throat, and I swallow hard to force it down. I don’t want to deal with her now, and I almost don’t answer it, but something in my gut urges me to take the call.

“Sarah Morgan,” I say in an overly professional tone in an attempt to convey my importance to her.

“Sarah, Adam’s been trying to call you. Why didn’t you answer my son’s calls?” There is irritation and frustration in Eleanor’s voice. What else is new?

“I was in court.”

“Oh yes, I forgot you worked.”

I roll my eyes. “What do you mean you forgot? Adam hasn’t written a book in four years. Who do you think…?” I decide to not even finish the sentence as there’s no point. She has always hated the fact that I work. I’ve never been sure if it’s resentment or her credence in traditional and outdated gender roles.

“It’s neither here nor there. Adam needs you. He’s at the Prince William County Sheriff’s Station.”

Anne mouths, “Are you okay?” I nod.

Matthew sips at a fresh martini the waitress just delivered.

“Wait, what? In Virginia? What happened? Is he okay?” My thoughts blend into one another as if they had just been thrown into a Vitamix.

“I’m not sure. But it’s serious, and you need to get there. I’m trying to catch a flight tonight or tomorrow.”

Anne sets her fork down listening intently. Matthew leans in closer.

“Okay. I’ll go right now.” My voice becomes panicked.

The phone line cuts out. I freeze not knowing what to do. What could have happened? I just saw him this morning. But in my experience, everything can change in a moment.

“Sarah. What’s going on?” Anne asks pulling me from my frozen state.

“That was Adam’s mom. He… needs me. I-I have to go.” I stand up putting my black suit jacket on.

“I’ll come with you.” Matthew stands.

I nod, but I’m on autopilot. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m just doing it. I slip my phone into my Hermes tote bag. Before I take off, I place three hundred-dollar bills on the table for lunch.

“I can get this.” Anne tries to hand me back the money.

“No. Just finish up and go back to the office. I’m sure it’s nothing. I’m sure everything’s fine, and I’ll be back in a couple of hours.” In my gut, I know it’s not okay. Things may never be the same again.

“Okay. I’ll cancel your meetings for the day and please don’t worry about anything at the office. Just take care of whatever is going on and keep me updated.”

I bite my lip and nod. Matthew and I rush out of the restaurant.

It’s an hour later that I find myself face to face with a man by the name of Sheriff Ryan Stevens. He matches the rough description of millions of men on this planet. Sandy brown hair kept high and tight in typical, ex-military-turned-police fashion adorns his head, sitting just north of his intense green eyes. These eyes have seen a lifetime of experience already and show as much fatigue as the rest of his face. The detail that I notice the most, though, is how he carries himself. This is a man in charge; this is a man who cares about his work; and this is a man not to be crossed. Despite the lethargy and years of abuse to his body by his line of work, his spirit is matched by none, even deputies half his age.

I’m seated across from him in a small, disorganized office. Matthew is waiting for me in reception. I wanted him in here with me, but not until I knew what was going on. I still am unclear, and I have yet to see Adam, but I’ve been assured that he is all right and that I will be able to speak with him after I’ve talked to the sheriff regarding the incident my husband was involved in.

“Mrs. Morgan, thank you for your patience,” Sheriff Stevens says.

“Sarah is fine.”

“Ryan is fine as well.” There’s a bit of snark in his voice, but there’s kindness in his eyes. Whether that kindness is for me or not, I don’t know.

“What is going on?” I cross one leg over the other, leaning back in my chair.

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