Page 24 of The Wife

II

Kerry

16

Jason’s attorney worked fast.

Within thirty hours of her leaving our house, a left-wing gossip site ran the photo I found of Rachel Sutton kissing her fellow graduate student and intern, Wilson Stewart. Beneath it was the picture she had posted days later, showing off her engagement ring. The website had blurred her face, but the comments that followed repeatedly mentioned her full name, now easily searchable online.

By that evening, an entirely different narrative emerged. One website ran a quote from Rachel’s fiancé, saying that he was “hurt and confused” when he saw the picture of Rachel and Wilson together. More helpfully to Jason, the fiancé told a reporter that Rachel had never mentioned her complaint against Jason, and that she only called him about it after the news went viral. When asked whether the couple was still engaged, the fiancé said, “I doubt it.”

The fiancé wasn’t the only man distancing himself from Rachel. The following morning, Wilson appeared onNew Daywith none other than Susanna Coleman to confirm he had a “brief and casual relationship” with a fellow intern—still officially unnamed—that developed after a night of drinking on the rooftop bar at the Standard Hotel. “She told me the first night we hooked up that she thought Jason—Dr. Powell, I mean—was ‘sort of hot.’ I got the impression that she was into him. A lot of the students are. But he lets it be known that he’s happily married.”

Making every attempt to appear objective, Susanna asked Wilson, “But to be clear, you can’t say for certain what happened that day in Dr. Powell’s office, correct?”

“I didn’t see it with my own eyes, but I’ve never known Jason Powell to be anything but a professional, inspiring mentor. As for the complainant, she’s sweet, but she can be dramatic, and sort of hypersensitive. She has a tendency to blow things out of proportion, so...”

The trail of his thought was the perfect moment for Susanna to thank Wilson for his time and cut to a commercial.

The message was clear: Don’t believe a word she says.

An hour after Susanna’s interview with Wilson, my cell phone rang. It was from the 631 area code, Suffolk County. I hated that area code.

“Hello?”

“Is this Angela?”

“Who’s calling?”

“This is Steve Hendricks.”

His first name sounded weird. Years ago, when he was part of my regular vocabulary, we called him “Hendricks” or “the Detective.” I didn’t say anything.

“I... I saw the news about your husband. I don’t know how I can help. But if I can—”

I hung up, then hit “Block this Caller” for good measure.

When Jason and I were in bed that night, I asked him if Olivia had questioned his intern, Wilson, about whether he had ever mentioned those boxer shorts to Rachel.

“She decided it was better not to reveal that detail, since it’s not public yet.”

“But shouldn’t we find that out?” As things stood, that photograph of her kissing Wilson had been used to make her look promiscuous and not for any other reason.

“I think Olivia preferred Wilson’s statement as it was, especially that part about my being hot.”

“Sort ofhot,” I corrected. “I don’t understand why she wouldn’t have at least asked him about it in private.”

“Because that would be giving him information he doesn’t currently have.”

“Would that be so bad? I mean, Rachel could have seen something. You said you were tucking your shirt in when she walked in.”

“But the police don’t know that. She made it sound like I was flashing her or something.”

“But maybe she did see more than you thought?”

He rested the book he was reading on his chest and looked at me directly. “I’m just glad this looks like it’s over. Aren’t you?”

“Of course I am.”

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