“The guy did, yes.”
“Did he tell you his name?”
Adam shook his head. “He just said he was the stranger.”
“And after they left, you tried to find him. Or them. You got that parking lot attendant to give you their license plate. You tracked her down.”
“I got her name,” Adam said. “That was all.”
“So what did the guy say to you at the American Legion Hall? This stranger?”
“He told me that my wife faked a pregnancy.”
Johanna blinked twice. “Come again?”
Adam told her the story. Once he opened his mouth, it all just spilled out of him. When he was finished, Johanna asked him a question that seemed both obvious and surprising.
“Do you think it’s true? Do you think she faked the pregnancy?”
“Yes.”
Just like that. No hesitation. Not anymore. He had probably known the truth from the start—right from the moment the stranger first told him—but he’d needed the pieces to come together before he could voice it.
“Why?” Johanna asked.
“Why do I think it’s true?”
“No, why do you think she’d do something like that?”
“Because I made her feel insecure.”
She nodded. “That Sally Perryman woman?”
“Mostly, I guess. Corinne and I had grown distant. She feared losing me, feared losing all this. It doesn’t matter.”
“Actually, it might.”
“How?”
“Humor me,” Johanna said. “What was going on in your life when she went to that pregnancy-faking website?”
Adam couldn’t see the point, but he also saw no reason not to tell her. “Like I said, we were growing apart. It’s an old story, isn’t it? We became all about the boys and the family logistics—who was going to do the food shopping, who was going to do the dishes, who was going to pay the bills. I mean, this is all such normal shit. Really. I was also going through a midlife crisis, I guess.”
“You felt unappreciated?”
“I felt, I don’t know, I felt like I wasn’t a real man anymore. I know how that sounds. I was a provider and a father. . . .”
Johanna Griffin nodded. “And suddenly there’s this Sally Perryman paying you all kinds of attention.”
“Not suddenly, but yeah, I start working on this great case with Sally, and she’s beautiful and passionate and she looks at me the way Corinne used to look at me. I get how stupid it all sounds.”
“Normal,” Johanna said. “Not stupid.”
Adam wondered whether she meant that or whether she was humoring him. “Anyway, I think Corinne was worried I’d leave. I didn’t see it at the time, I guess, or maybe I didn’t care, I don’t know. But she had this tracker on my iPhone.”
“The one that showed you she was in Pittsburgh?”
“Right.”
“And you didn’t know about it?”
He shook his head. “Not until Thomas showed me.”
“Wow.” Johanna shook her head. “So your wife was spying on you?”
“I don’t know, maybe. That’s what I think happened. I told her I was working late a bunch of times. Maybe she checked that tracker app and saw I was at Sally’s more than I should have been.”
“You didn’t tell her where you were?”
He shook his head. “It was just work.”
“So why not tell her?”
“Because, ironically enough, I didn’t want her to worry. I knew how she’d react. Or maybe I knew on some level that it was wrong. We could have stayed in the office, but I liked being at her house.”
“And Corinne found out.”
“Yes.”
“But nothing happened between you and Sally Perryman?”
“Right.” Then thinking about it: “But maybe something was close to happening.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you get physical? Second base? Third base?”
“What? No.”
“You didn’t kiss her?”
“No.”
“So why the guilt?”
“Because I wanted to.”
“Hell, I want to give Hugh Jackman a sponge bath. So what? You can’t help what you want. You’re human. Let it go.”
He said nothing.
“So then your wife confronted Sally Perryman.”
“She called her. I don’t know if she confronted her.”
“And Corinne never told you?”
“Right.”
“She asked Sally what was going on, but she never did you that courtesy. That about right?”
“I guess.”
“So then what?”
“Then, well, then Corinne got pregnant,” Adam said.