Page 74 of The Surrogate Mother

Sam.

“Mr. Adler?” the officer calls out. “Here she is.”

He lifts his head from his hands. There are purple circles under his eyes like the ones I had this morning. He doesn’t smile when he sees me. He doesn’t even look at me—not really. He struggles to his feet, fumbling with his jacket.

“I parked down the block,” he says in a hoarse voice.

“Okay,” I mumble.

I follow him wordlessly to his Highlander. I have no idea what they told him exactly, but by his reaction, it’s clear he’s heard a lot of the details. I wonder if they questioned him. If they did, I wonder what he told them.

My wife has a drug problem. I tried to get her help, but she’s refusing to admit she has a problem. She hated her boss and probably killed her.

We don’t say another word to each other on the entire walk to the car. When we get inside, I expect Sam to start up the engine, but instead, he drops his head against the headrest, his eyes glassy.

“Sam,” I say.

He rubs his face with his hands. “What?”

I don’t know what I want to say. I want to ask him if he thinks I killed Denise, but I’m afraid of the answer to that question. So instead, I say, “Did the police question you?”

He shakes his head no. “They just told me what happened. They wanted to question me, but I told them no.I’m not talking to anyone without a lawyer and I wish you hadn’t either.”

“Yeah,” I breathe. “I didn’t realize how bad it was till I was in there.”

“We’ll find you a lawyer tomorrow,” he says.

I feel a twinge of hope. He’s saying “we” will find me a lawyer. That means he’s still on board. He’s not packing up my belongings and throwing them out the window.

“I didn’t kill her,” I say. “I swear to you.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“Ididn’t. Do you honestly think I did?”

He shakes his head. “If you had asked me a few months ago, I would have said no. Definitely not. No way in hell. But now…”

“Sam!” Tears spring to my eyes. “You’re saying you think I’m a murderer? You really think I’d do that?”

He’s quiet for a moment. He rubs his face again. “No. I guess not.”

My shoulders sag with relief. He believes me. “I think I was framed, Sam. Apparently, someone sent an email that—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“But you need to know that—”

“I don’t want to hear it right now.” His Adam’s apple bobs. “I just want to go home, okay? We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

Silence fills the car. I don’t say another word. Even though Sam claims he believes me, I’m not so sure. At the very least, there’s doubt in his mind.

I always felt like Sam was a man who would stay by my side no matter what. Somehow, in eight short months, we’ve lost that.

31

“These charges are absolutely ridiculous. What you need is a good lawyer.”

My mother, in stark contrast to my husband, is absolutely convinced of my innocence. So much so that she thinks if they do arrest me, the police will have a wrongful arrest lawsuit on their hands. My mother is very into lawsuits. Last year, she got a pants suit she didn’t like from Saks Fifth Avenue and she called her lawyer to see if she could sue. (The answer was no. But shewasable to return it. It’s unclear why she didn’t do that in the first place.)