He would have preferred to cut off contact with Sharon completely, but, of course, this was impossible. They often saw each other around the neighborhood or at parties, and Sharon and Dana were good friends, and so were Marissa and Sharon’s daughter, Hillary. Adam and Mike occasionally played golf together at Adam’s country club got and along well. Sharon and Adam were always friendly with each other but, although they avoided discussing the affair, there was a simmering attraction between them that would probably be there for the rest of their lives.
Detective Clements asked Marissa if she’d come with him into the dining room.
Marissa, looking exhausted, asked, “Again?”
“It’s okay,” Adam said, glaring at Clements. “It won’t take long.”
When Marissa and Clements left, Dana said to Sharon and Jennifer, “You two should go home now, it’s late.”
“Are you sure?” Sharon asked. “Because if you want us to stay-”
“No, it’s okay, really. I’ll talk to you guys tomorrow.”
“I know,” Jennifer said, “we’ll bring over bagels and coffee in the morning.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Dana said.
“No, we want to,” Sharon said.
Sharon and Jennifer took turns hugging Dana and then came over and hugged Adam. Trying not to notice the very familiar scent of Sharon’s perfume and how it was starting to give him an erection, Adam said, “Thanks so much for coming.”
He meant it, too. It was very thoughtful of her to come over in the middle of the night to give her support. She didn’t have to do that.
“Of course I was going to come,” she said. “Why wouldn’t I?”
When Sharon and Jennifer were gone and Dana and Adam were alone in the living room, Dana asked, “Why does he want to talk to Marissa again?”
Adam didn’t want to tell her that Clements had mentioned the bong in Marissa’s room, knowing it would only upset her. He figured he’d tell her about it tomorrow.
“I think it’s just some more routine- type questions,” Adam said. “He knows how tired we are, so I think it’ll only take a few minutes.”
Adam could tell that Dana knew he was keeping something from her- a woman always knows; well, almost always knows- but she let it pass.
“So how’re you doing?” Dana asked.
“Okay, considering,” Adam said.
“Maybe you should talk to somebody.”
Earlier, Detective Clements had asked Adam if he wanted to talk to a psychologist, which Adam had thought was a slightly strange question to ask a psychologist.
“I’ll have a session with Carol,” Adam said.
Carol Levinson was one of the therapists with whom Adam shared office space. He wasn’t in formal therapy with her, but he talked to her on an asneeded basis.
“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine,” Adam said. “How’re you doing?” “I’m okay,” she said. “I guess.”
There was coldness in Dana’s tone, an undercurrent of distance, and Adam knew it had to do with the gun. She’d been opposed to having it in the house, and she’d asked him to get rid of it on several occasions. He’d explained to her that he felt it was necessary, that he felt too vulnerable and unprotected without it, and finally she’d agreed that as long as they kept it hidden she was fine with it. But now he knew she was harboring resentment and secretly blamed him for the shooting. Of course, she wouldn’t actually say something about it- not now, anyway. No, that wasn’t her style. In these situations, she always avoided confrontation and was frequently evasive and passive- aggressive. She’d let it simmer for a while first to create more drama, and then, maybe a couple of days from now, she’d bring it up.
“I’d tell you to go to sleep now,” Adam said, “but I think Clements is going to want to talk to you again too.”
“I just want all these cops out of the house.”
“Me too. But it can’t be much longer now.”
“Is the body still there?”
“I don’t know, I didn’t check.”
“Are the reporters still outside?”
“Probably.”
“I don’t want to be in the newspapers,” she said. “I don’t want my name, your name, and I definitely don’t want Marissa’s name in there.”
“I don’t think there’s any avoiding it.”
“My God, do you think it’ll be front- page news?”
Adam thought it could make the front page of all the major papers- a shooting in an affluent New York City neighborhood had to be a major news story- but he wanted to placate her and said, “I doubt it.”
“It’ll definitely be on the TV news,” she said, sounding not at all placated. “I saw all the cameras out there. New York One, for sure, and probably all the local news shows.”
“You never know,” Adam said. “By tomorrow there’ll probably be other big news stories, and this one’ll get buried.”
He could tell Dana still wasn’t buying any of this. Well, he’d given it a try, anyway.
“What about the other guy?” she asked. “Did the detective say they think they were gonna find him?”
“I’m sure they’ll find him soon, probably before morning,” Adam said. He could tell how upset she was, so he kissed her and hugged her tightly and said, “I’m so sorry about all of this. I really am.” He held her for a while longer, and he knew that she was thinking about saying something about the gun again, that it took all her self- control to not lay into him about it.
Instead they let go and she said, “I just want this all to go away. I want to go to sleep and wake up and find out none of this ever happened.”
Several minutes later, Marissa returned from talking to the detective, and then Dana went into the dining room to answer a few more questions. Marissa looked distraught, which made Adam feel awful. She’d called him daddy earlier, and how, despite all her acting out lately, she was still his little girl. He hugged her tightly and kissed her on top of her head and said, “Don’t worry, kiddo. Things’ll be back to normal soon, you’ll see.”
There were still cops and other police personnel in the kitchen, in the living room, and especially near the staircase, dusting for fingerprints and apparently looking for other forensic evidence. He looked out a window and saw that. News trucks were still there, and reporters were milling around on the lawn; and some neighbors were there, too. He knew the reporters were probably waiting to talk to someone from the family, to get a few good sound bites, so he figured he might as well get it over with.
He went outside and it was very surreal- standing in front of his house at four in the morning with all the lights in his face and the reporters shouting questions. He recognized a couple of the reporters- What’s Her Name Olsen from Fox News and the young black guy from Channel 11. Somebody was holding a boom with a mike over his head, and people were sticking mikes from ABC, WINS, NY1 and other stations in front of his face. He wasn’t used to this kind of attention; he normally tried to avoid being in the spotlight. For years he’d suffered from glossophobia, a fear of public speaking, and he usually tried to stay in the background, to be an observer. At psychology conferences, he never made a pre sentation unless he absolutely had to, and then he had to use a number of cognitive- behavioral strategies to overcome his anxiety.
“Why did you shoot him?” the guy from Channel 11 asked.
“I didn’t have any choice,” Adam said, already sweaty. “He was coming up the stairs in the middle of the night and when I shouted for him to get out he didn’t leave. I think anyone in my position would’ve done the same thing.”
“Did you know he wasn’t armed?” What’s Her Name Olsen asked.
“No, I did not,” Adam said.
“Would you do it all over again?” a guy in the back shouted.
“Yes,” Adam said. “If I was in the same situation, if someone broke into my house and I thought my family was in danger, I think I would. Absolutely.”
There were a lot more questions, and they all had a similar vaguely accusing tone. Adam was surprised because he’d thought that he’d be treated more sympathetically by the press. Instead he felt like he had when Clements was questioning him, like the reporters were trying to put him on the spot, trying to draw out some hidden truth that didn’t exist.