Page 17 of The Wife

Olivia was leaning in for a closer look.

“The photo on Rachel’s page was nothing special—the two of them and a female friend. Strictly professional appearing. But onhispage, I found this.” I scrolled down to the photograph of him holding up a cocktail and getting kissed on the neck by someone who looked an awful lot like Rachel Sutton. “He didn’t tag her, so she may not even know that he posted it. But this was only two weeks ago, and supposedly she has a fiancé now. That’s how this whole thing came up—Jason said something that offended her when she told him she was engaged.”

I saw something flicker behind Olivia’s eyes. An idea. Something good, as if she were connecting my information to a fact only she knew. I had been worried that a female attorney might be offended at the thought of trashing the so-called victim, but she seemed pleased by my discovery.

“Okay, that actually helps a lot. Now, I’m sorry, but I’ll need you to leave us for a bit. I promise, Angela, I’m going to do everything I can for your husband.”

I felt like a child being sent away while the grown-ups talked. As I passed Jason, he mouthed a silent thank-you and grabbed my hand for a quick kiss. His lips felt warm against my fingertips.

Twenty minutes later, I heard footsteps on the stairs. I opened the bedroom door to see Colin reach the landing.

“Hey, I thought it would be Jason.”

“They’re still talking. I figured I’d come check on you. Crim law’s foreign to me anyway—”

“Am I being stupid?”

He looked at me, clearly confused by my question.

“Believing Jason. Am I being stupid? I mean, he says he made some sarcastic comment about her getting married too young, and she turns that into a sexual assault allegation? What am I missing?”

I felt myself begin to shake. He stepped toward me but stopped short of touching me. “You’re not stupid. Jason did not do this, okay? I think there’s an explanation.”

He glanced back downstairs. He didn’t want to tell me too much.

“Look,” he said, lowering his voice. Colin’s close-cropped dark hair was beginning to gray, but he still had the same clean-cut, heart-shaped face that had led me to nickname him Boy Scout when we first met. “Olivia made some calls before she came over. She basically found out that there’s no evidence except this girl’s say-so, and what she told the police sounds worse than what she supposedly said to Zack right after the incident.”

“Well, that’s good, right?”

“It’sverygood, but apparently the girl said something about being able to describe Jason’s underwear. Candy canes or something.”

I held up a hand to my mouth. “He said he was tucking in his shirt.”

“Wait,” he said, trying to calm me. “That picture you found of her sucking on that kid’s neck might be a better explanation. Jason said there are urinals in the men’s rooms at the econ department.”

I was able to connect the other dots myself. The interns get drunk. Rachel and Wilson hook up. Wilson says something about spotting their hero’s unexpected boxer shorts in the men’s room. Rachel uses that fact to strengthen a flimsy accusation she made for god knows what reason.

“So is that what happened? Did Olivia call Wilson already?”

“We don’t need him to say anything. Jason doesn’t have to prove his innocence. They have to prove his guilt. This gives us an alternative explanation for what she claims to have seen in his office. It gives us a legitimate reason to make an issue of that picture you found.”

Alegitimatereason. But we all knew therealreason that photograph had been a good find. It made Rachel look like “that kind of girl.”

I heard the staccato clicks of high heels on the hardwood of the first floor, and then spotted Olivia Randall looking up at us.

“We’re almost done, Angela. Sorry, again. Colin, you want to come down for a quick talk before I go?”

I returned to our bedroom and opened the top left drawer of our dresser. A pair of crisp cotton boxer shorts adorned with bright red candy canes were folded neatly at the back, behind a uniform row of Jason’s go-to black boxer briefs. The candy canes were a gag gift, something to fill space in his Christmas stocking. I remembered the first time I saw him in them as he was climbing into bed. He said I was shaking both the mattress and his manliness with my laughter.

I lifted them from the back of the drawer and placed them in the bottom of my gym bag. I would find a garbage can on the street tomorrow.

11

Corrine Duncan was making her fifth call to ADA Brian King since she’d seen the first story about Jason Powell that morning. Once again, no answer.

King had declined the case almost immediately after Corrine submitted her reports. Corrine had hoped that he would deliver the news to Rachel himself, but apparently he hadn’t. When Rachel called her yesterday, looking for an update, Corrine had delivered the message: it was one person’s word against another in a system where the government had to prove guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. It was a speech she had recited hundreds of times.

Rachel’s response still burned in her mind. “So is there no way to prove such a thing?” she asked, her voice jumping an octave. “Instead of pulling back, I should have waited until he raped me so I’d have scientific evidence?”

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