Geller leaned forward, and the smile disappeared. “Adrienne,” he said, “I’m going to tell you what I tell all my clients. Don’t lie to me. When you lie to your lawyer, you make me the stupidest one in the room. That’s bad when it’s just the two of us. It’s worse if this goes to trial. Whatever it is—”
“You know I had an affair,” I blurted, and the lawyer eased back into his seat.
“Go on.”
“I had an affair with Dwayne Cleaves. He was the handyman at the lake where we stayed in the summer. I was bored and unhappy, it was impulsive, and I just . . . I don’t even know.” I thought Geller might scold me for waiting so long to tell that part, but he just nodded.
“Okay,” he said. “And you had a visit from the Maine State Police yesterday, correct? Because Dwayne Cleaves was already wanted for questioning in the murder of his wife?”
“That’s what the detective said. His name was Ian Bird.”
Geller blew a breath out through pursed lips.
“Okay. Look, Adrienne, here’s the thing.” He sat back in the chair, a strange look on his face, and I felt my stomach knot up. Braced myself. The finger was going to come up now, he was going to point and scream: Here’s the thing. YOU’RE NOT ADRIENNE.
Instead, he shrugged a little, and said, “I’m not worried.”
I blinked. “You’re . . . not.”
“Dwayne Cleaves killed two people, including your husband. He drove Ethan’s car down to the city, broke into your home with a stolen key, threatened you with a weapon, tried to rob you. It’s clear-cut self-defense. So assuming that ballistics tell the same story, and based on what my sources in the department told me this morning? No, I’m not worried. The DA is up for reelection next month, and the brass is already lukewarm on her after that department probe she launched over the summer. The last thing she wants is to poke that beehive by dragging the police into another high-profile loser of a case.”
“I don’t understand,” I said, because I didn’t, and Geller shrugged.
“I don’t mean to be insensitive. But you must realize, you’re a highly sympathetic defendant. You’re a beautiful young woman who just lost her husband, who had the courage to shoot a killer who broke into her home in the middle of the night.”
“And the affair?”
“Again, not to be insensitive . . . but it’s the #MeToo era, Adrienne. If someone tried to use that against you, we’d mop the floor with him.”
I gripped the arms of my chair as hard as I could. Geller looked at me sympathetically.
“It’s a lot to process,” he said. “Can I get you a tissue?”
I just nodded.
But I wasn’t fighting back tears. I was struggling not to laugh.
Geller crossed the room and pulled a box of Kleenex from a shelf, then extended it to me.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said. “And for what you went through. I know this wasn’t an easy conversation, and I appreciate your honesty. It’s rare for a client to be so forthcoming so immediately.”
“Thank you,” I said, taking a tissue. I brought it to my face, then realized that Geller was still standing over me, still staring.
“It really makes me wonder,” he said, his voice mild as ever, “why I’m so sure right now that there’s something you’re not telling me.”
The world shrank to a point. My blood roared in my ears, which felt like they were on fire, as I stared up at Geller with my mouth open and my eyes wide. The tissue fluttered out of my hand and onto the floor. He stooped to pick it up, setting it gently back in my hand. My fingers curled automatically, but they were the only part of my body that seemed to be working. My jaw still dangled off its hinges, and my legs had gone entirely numb. Geller just meandered back behind his desk, settling again into his chair. His ageless face, so handsome a moment ago, seemed terrifying now, like a mask from behind which the real Kurt Geller was watching me. Seeing me. Seeing everything. Only the look in his eyes was familiar: it was the same one I’d seen on Benny’s face, on the faces of the police, even in Anna’s guarded expression as we made halting chitchat on the street. I’d been too distracted by my own lies, too worried about being found out, to understand what it meant. Now I couldn’t understand how I’d taken so long to realize: it wasn’t me that people didn’t trust. It was Adrienne.
Every person Adrienne knew, from her SoulCycle buddy to her lawyer, absolutely fucking hated her.