MY FIRST MEETING with Jerrison begins pleasantly enough. I walk into his office. Gasp at the pieces of me scattered everywhere. Photos on his dresser. The fern I brought when he signed his first client. The paperweight we got on a trip to the Caribbean.
I tell myself not to pick up those memories. Not to run my fingers over them and remember the taste. Tell myself not to chase them down the rabbit hole. It will only lead to weak knees and even weaker convictions.
Doc's advice sticks with me. Two things.
Treat him like a stranger. Become a P.I.
I'm at an advantage because I know my husband. His tells. Eyes that skitter to the left when he lies. Hands that dive behind his back when he's hiding something. Fingernails with jagged edges from nerves and guilt.
