“Oh?” His face softens and he rises from the couch, slowly making his way into the kitchen, but still keeping his distance from me.

“Where’s your mom?”

“She got a hotel room to stay in.”

“I thought for sure she’d be the big spoon in your sleeping arrangement,” I jab.

“Oh, stop.” He chuckles. “She’s not that bad.”

I give a small smile and roll my eyes.

“You want a drink?”

“Yes.”

He walks to the wet bar and pours me a glass of ten-year-old Laphroaig. He returns to the opposite side of the island and places it down in front of me.

“I figured you would need some stuff. I brought you New York strip steaks, more scotch, some bagels, smoked salmon, cream cheese, eggs, vegetables, macadamia nuts, and ice cream,” I say as I pull out each item and begin putting them away.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

I look at him. There’s a smile on his face. There’s hope in his eyes. “I know.”

He takes a sip of his scotch. “Thank you.”

“I also brought you some writing supplies—paper, printer ink, ballpoint pens, and some stationery.” I unpack the other bag.

“You really didn’t have to do that.” He walks over and looks at the items. His eyes moisten.

“I know.” I pick up the glass of scotch he set out for me and take a sip.

We stand there sipping from our glasses in silence. I don’t know what to say to him, and I’m sure he doesn’t know what to say to me. To think that we were once the love of each other’s lives, linked as close as two humans can be, and now there is a chasm between us that is so deep and wide that it’s difficult to even call across to the other side.

Finally, he speaks. “What’s in the box?” He points at the cardboard box overstuffed with papers and folders.

I push it toward him. “I know you want to help, so I had Anne make copies of all the key evidence. It’s all in there and it’s yours to review.”

He looks at the box and then at me. His eyes bounce all over me.

“I just want you to know that I’m doing everything in my power to win this case. You have to trust me,” I add.

“I do trust you, Sarah.”

I nod and give him a small smile. “I’m glad to hear that. I have to get going but let me know if you find anything or if you need anything else.” I set my glass of scotch down and turn toward the front door.

“Sarah,” he says, his voice is quiet, almost like a whisper.

I stop and turn to look at him. “Yes.”