Page 75 of The Perfect Marriage

“Respectfully, Mr. Morgan, I don’t really think you are in a position to decide what is or isn’t best. So, if you could just kindly shut the fuck up and come with me back to central processing, I would surely be grateful.” There’s enough condescension in the sheriff’s tone to humble even the toughest of customers.

I want to come back with a clever quip, but my judgment tells me that it will serve me no good. I just do as I am told. At least I’m in better shape than Bob is right about now. The thought alone causes a small smirk to grow across my face.

“This should all be fairly familiar to you, Mr. Morgan. However, unlike last time, we will not be quickly trying to get you out of here so you can be on your merry way after a night or two. Something tells me you’ll be in for a little while. But hey, what do I know? I just bring the bad guys in. I don’t make the laws,” Sheriff Stevens informs me.

For some reason when he calls me Mr. Morgan, it is more of a slight than if he just referred to me as Adam. Almost as if the familiarity of that first-name basis isn’t something he wants with “scum” like me. “Mr. Morgan” is projected with the cold distance of a faraway observer as if I was on another planet receiving radio signals.

“Sadly, it is all familiar,” I say. I try to keep my sarcasm in check as all I want for this night is for it to be over.

“Hopefully, one way or another, it will be your last time with us.” This could be taken as kind or as evil, and I’m not sure what to make of it. Is he cheering for my conviction? Is he still convinced after everything he has seen that I did this?Fuck. If he thinks that, then what will a jury think?I feel the beginnings of a panic attack, but I do a breathing exercise and focus on the realization that I can’t solve anything, not here, not now anyway, and I come back down to earth.

“I’m gonna leave you with these guys for a minute,” Sheriff Stevens nods at a couple of blue-uniformed gentlemen with unpleasant expressions. “I just have to ask though… why? You knew you had the ankle bracelet on. You knew we would find you. You knew it would only make things worse. So why?”

“Because I didn’t do it, and no one is listening to me.”

“I see.” Sheriff Stevens stands still for a moment looking down at the floor as if he will somehow find an answer hidden within the pattern of the gray paint flaking off the roughly poured concrete floor. He then looks up at me and opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a breath. He closes his mouth, shakes his head, and walks back toward the entrance of the station.

“Mr. Adam Morgan, is it?” one of the deputies asks.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“Are we gonna do this the easy way or am I gonna have to drag you by those goddamn handcuffs to cooperate, because I’m good either way, but you scream ‘flight risk’ to me,” the deputy says with a full-toothed smile, all while smacking his gum as loud as possible for emphasis.

“I won’t be any trouble this evening, sir.” I’m too tired to fight anymore.

“Smart decision.”

I wonder what Sarah must think of all of this. I mean I know the obvious parts. The anger, disappointment, shock at my stupidity, but what about what I was saying? She must know deep down that I wouldn’t have made that all-for-nothing excursion for no reason, knowing full well it would land me in a world of hurt. I just hope somebody, anybody, will finally start listening to me. But based on that scene at the office, the only person who thinks I’m not insane, Scott Summers, decided to go Rodney King on a respected defense attorney and now looks more like Mike Tyson than a distressed widower.

Just how fucked am I at this point?

I’m not sure I even want to know the answer.

46

Sarah Morgan

The visitor’s lot is nearly empty when Matthew and I arrive at the station. We walk toward the entrance. Matthew gives me an encouraging look and a nod as he holds the door for me.

“You’ve got this,” he says.

“Thanks.” My lips form into a small, tight smile.

I walk into the waiting area, shoulders back, chin held high. I’m going to need to muster up all my strength and confidence to get through this evening.

“May I help you?” Marge asks through bulletproof plexiglass.

“I’m just waiting.”

“Need you to sign in,” she says, pushing a clipboard under the plexiglass.

Matt and I walk over and scribble down our info. We take a seat in the reception area, waiting for Bob and Anne to arrive. I’ll deal with Adam after I’ve heard both their interviews.

“Think they’ll come?” Matthew asks.

“If they’re innocent, they will,” I offer, although I’m not convinced them showing up would have anything to do with their innocence. But as they say, innocent people don’t run.

Less than twenty minutes later, Anne and Bob arrive. They sit on the opposite side of the waiting area. Bob stares off into the distance rubbing his temples, and Anne is still intermittently crying while hanging her head in shame. My face is twisted in a way that clearly conveys disgust, and the only question that repeats over and over in my head as I glower at Bob and Anne is,who are these people?

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