Page 27

TWENTY-SIX

SARAH MORGAN

I hold the front door open, allowing Eleanor to enter my home. If she weren’t so elderly and feeble, I would have turned her away, but I know that would reflect poorly on me, given the circumstances. She’s traded in her Manolo Blahnik heels for sensible flats, and I’m sure she hates them, especially now that I have several inches on her. Her classic scent of Chanel No. 5 permeates my nose, but she wears too much of it now—most likely trying to overcompensate for her old-lady smell. It’s nauseating, to say the least. It’s been a little over a year since I last saw Eleanor, and she’s aged so much since then. I’m not surprised though. It must be difficult to live with the fact that she watched her only son die right in front of her eyes, and she couldn’t do a damn thing about it. The skin on her face is pulled so taut, it looks as though it could snap at any moment, like a rubber band stretched beyond its limits. It’s clear she’s done everything she can to slow the aging process, but her efforts have only left her botched.

Eleanor doesn’t ask whether she should remove her shoes and instead floats into my home like she owns the place. In the kitchen, she pauses to survey it, her hands gripping the back of a chair to keep her body upright.

“It’s quite small in here,” she notes.

I ignore her gibe and offer her something to drink.

“Coffee,” Eleanor says, jutting her chin.

I retrieve a mug from a cupboard, filling it from the pot I made this morning. I remember she takes it black just like her cold dead heart.

She stands near the kitchen table waiting for her beverage. I hand her the mug of coffee and pull out a chair for her. “Would you like to sit?”

Eleanor doesn’t answer but takes a seat anyway. Her hands tremble as she grips the cup and brings it to her lips. The last thing I want to do is have a conversation with her, but I know she won’t leave until she says whatever she came here to say, so I pull out a chair and sit too.

Shakily, she sets the mug down, making a sour face to show her displeasure for the beverage. “Are you having money problems, Sarah? This coffee tastes poor.”

“I’m doing just fine, Eleanor. Now, what brought you here today?”

“Well,” she says, narrowing her eyes, “I caught your little stint on the news.”

I figured that was the reason for her unforeseen visit. She needs to have the last word, the last dig. I knew she was watching and that she’d be furious. But I didn’t expect her to show up at my doorstep. I assumed she was too old to make the trip. Then again, she’s always been driven by spite.

“I heard the statement you put out as well.”

“Sarah, it’s no secret how I feel about the legal representation you provided for my son. I made that clear twelve years ago, and those feelings have not changed. But obviously, your feelings for me have.”

I lean back in my chair, furrowing my brow. “I’m not sure what you mean, Eleanor.”

“I know we’ve had our differences, but you were my daughter-in-law, and I always treated you as such.” She lifts her chin a little higher.

I keep my composure, forcing my eyes to stay put and not roll around in their sockets from her complete and utter delusion. Either she’s suffering memory loss or she’s messing with me, trying to act like she’s always been the bigger person. My gaze goes to her wrinkly hand adorned with gaudy rings and long scarlet nails. I remember that same hand slapping me across the face so hard that blood was drawn. The words she uttered before the strike echo in my head: You wouldn’t know a mother’s love, you little bitch. I guess that’s what she considers appropriate treatment for a daughter-in-law.

Boots clomp down the hallway, and Alejandro emerges into the kitchen, pausing when he spots us. He eyes me and then my former mother-in-law, or at least her side profile. Eleanor stiffly swivels in her seat to get a better look. Her head bobs as she surveys him before returning to her original position.

“I see your taste in men has deteriorated, Sarah,” she says, attempting to raise a critical brow. They’re permanently lifted though, stuck in a position of constant surprise.

Alejandro squints, but I faintly shake my head, signaling that I don’t condone her rudeness and that it’s not worth an acknowledgment. He picks up on my nonverbal cue and relaxes his face. Folding his lips, he returns the nod and heads for the door.

“Why are you here, Eleanor?” I ask curtly, my patience wearing thin. I think it was thinning as soon as I laid eyes on her.

The glass door slides open, sucking all the air out of the room. Alejandro steps onto the deck and closes it behind him.

She waits to speak until he’s left the room. “A couple of reasons.”

“Let’s hear them,” I say.

“The recent news regarding the former sheriff having been intimate with Kelly Summers was extremely disappointing, to say the least, and it was something you as Adam’s lawyer should have uncovered.”

“It was hidden from the prosecution and the?—”

She lifts her frail hand. “I don’t want to hear excuses, Sarah. It’s far too late for that.”

If Eleanor knew the truth—that I had uncovered the affair between Stevens and Summers in the midst of the trial and chose to keep it hidden—I’m sure she’d drop dead from pure shock and utter rage. But I can’t count on that. Like I said, she’s driven by spite and her resentment of me.

“Okay,” I say. “Why else are you here?”

“I want to know what you’re doing for my son’s case.”

I don’t owe her an explanation, but I’ll give her one if it’ll help shorten this visit. “I’ve already filed an appeal with the courts because of the Prince William County Sheriff’s Office’s concealment of exculpatory evidence. The process was expedited due to internal corruption and mishandling of the investigation as well as some connections I have, so we should hear back soon. With the media attention, I assume it’ll be in our favor,” I say matter-of-factly. “And if it has to go back to trial, the Morgan Foundation will be handling the case.”

“So, the world will finally know my Adam was innocent?” Her eyes develop a sheen to them.

“An appeal alone doesn’t prove his innocence. It’s just a small step in the legal process, which can take years. But we’re lucky they’re even reviewing it this quickly.”

“Lucky?” she scoffs. “My son is dead, or have you forgotten?”

“No, Eleanor, I haven’t forgotten.”

“Mom,” Summer calls from the other end of the house. Her feet slap against the hardwood floor, growing louder. She calls for me again as she rounds the corner dressed in a pair of leggings and a plain long-sleeve top, and stops just a foot or so in front of me.

Eleanor squints her wrinkly lids, eyeing her suspiciously. There’s not a shred of kindness on her face, and I know exactly what she’s thinking.

“I finished my homework just in time,” Summer says.

“Just in time for what?”

My gaze keeps bouncing between my sweet daughter and the wicked old woman shooting daggers at her, merely because of her existence. Summer’s a reminder of what I never gave Eleanor, and something she will never ever have. A grandchild.

“I told you last week that Courtney’s mom was going to take us to the movies today for her birthday.” Her voice is high-pitched, showcasing her frustration.

I furrow my brow. “I don’t remember you telling me that.”

“I did!” she groans.

“Is Courtney’s mother going to watch the movie with you two?”

“Yes, Mom.” She rolls her eyes.

“What did I tell you about rolling your eyes, Summer?” I softly scold.

“Sorry,” she says, looking down at her feet.

A car horn honks twice in quick succession.

“She’s here.” Summer lifts her head and smiles. “Can I go?”

I move my mouth side to side, mulling it over. Did she really tell me? Maybe she did. I’ve had so much on my mind lately, I can barely keep it all straight. I can’t tell her no if I already told her yes, and she needs as normal of a life as I can possibly give her. Plus, the last thing I need right now is to have a spat with my daughter in front of Eleanor. She already has enough to say as it is, and I don’t need her judging me as a mother.

“Yeah, you can go.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Summer squeals as she wraps her arms around my neck and gives me a big hug. Pulling away, she races toward the front door to put on her shoes.

“Take forty dollars out of my purse for your ticket and concessions for you and Courtney,” I call out.

I hear my purse unzip and rezip. “Bye, Mom. Love you,” she says before she leaves the house.

I return my attention to Eleanor. Her wilted lips are firmly pressed together, and I can hear her teeth—actually dentures—grinding as she clenches her jaw, moving it back and forth.

“Who’s the father?” she asks.

“My husband.”

Eleanor scowls. “Did you ever even love my son?”

“Of course, I did,” I say. “But he’s been gone a long time.”

“No, he hasn’t. It’s only been a little over a year.” She narrows her eyes and shakes her head in disgust.

“You know what I mean, Eleanor.”

“No, I don’t know what you mean, Sarah. Adam wanted nothing more than to be a father, and you withheld that from him. Besides, what kind of name is Summer anyway? It’s not even a name. It’s a season.”

I don’t answer her because she wouldn’t understand, and I wouldn’t explain it to her either. Giving my daughter the name Summer was my gift to Kelly Summers, a way to honor her and her unborn child. After all, she was just a casualty in my war against Adam, and it was Kelly who freed me from him. I’m forever indebted to her for her sacrifice, although she didn’t have a choice in it. Wrong place, wrong time, as they say. And that wrong place was my husband’s dick, and that wrong time was the duration of our marriage. Bob never put two and two together, never even questioned it. I told him summer was my favorite season, and that was the reason for the name.

“Was that everything you came here for, Eleanor?”

“No,” she says, lifting her chin. Her bony hand disappears into her oversized designer bag and reemerges with a manila envelope clutched in it. “I thought I’d do you the courtesy before it was official.”

I squint as she extends it to me. “What’s this?”

She smirks. “Open it.”

I don’t want to give her the satisfaction, but I bend the clasp, lift the flap, and pull out a small stack of papers, quickly scanning them. “You’re suing me for defamation?” I say, meeting her gleeful gaze.

She nods. “That’s right. You made false statements about my mental state, which is detrimental to the civil lawsuit I’m bringing against the Prince William County Sheriff’s Office. I would have sued you for legal malpractice in Adam’s case, but lucky for you, the statute of limitations lapsed.”

“You know you can’t legally serve me. You’re a party in the lawsuit,” I say, cocking my head.

“I know.” Eleanor rises from her seat and picks up her purse, gripping the handles. “You’ll be properly served soon enough. I just wanted to give you the courtesy of knowing what’s to come.” She turns on her heel and starts toward the front door, signaling that her work here is done.

“I think you just wanted to revel in it,” I say.

Eleanor pauses, briefly glancing over her shoulder. “That too.” She smirks again.

I don’t say anything back, because I know if I do, she’ll just keep talking. The front door slams, punctuating her exit, and I sigh out of annoyance, flinging the papers onto the kitchen table. I’ll let her have the last word because it’s all she has left in this world.