We are seated across from each other at Pineapple & Pearls, Eleanor’s choice. The restaurant has a fixed menu, and while I’m sure the selection will be divine, it is just another example of her being in control of the situation.

“Where do we start, Sarah?” she asks me.

“We? We don’t start anywhere. You aren’t a lawyer nor are you a law enforcement official, so there isn’t a scenario where you get to rummage through evidence or crime scenes or anything else to help Adam. You just need to let me do my job.” I deliver squarely to her. Hopefully, she will take the overt hint and drop the notion of teaming up to save her baby boy.

“And how do you expect me to do that?”

Of-fucking-course she doesn’t drop it. “Do what, Eleanor?”

“Leave this all in your hands. I mean how can we even trust you to do the best job here?” She scans the drink menu as she speaks as if she and I are talking about the weather or some other mundane thing.

“Excuse me?”

She looks up at me. “I think you need to accept some fault in this too. And if that’s the case then…”

“What?” Where in the hell does she get off? On what planet does this, any of this, make sense?

“I mean husbands don’t typically cheat on loving wives.”

“That’s wildly inappropriate.” I shake my head in disbelief.

She keeps going. “And Adam has always wanted to be a father… and I, a grandmother, and you have withheld that joy from us.”

I hold my hand up. “I’m going to stop you right there, Eleanor…” I would love to reach across the table and claw her Botox face off.

“Now, I know you had a rough upbringing with your dad’s passing and your mom’s drug addiction—but that’s not something you get to hold on to forever….” She pauses when the waitress arrives. “We’ll have two Manhattans.” She closes the drinks menu and hands it to the waitress.

I have half the nerve to storm out of here, but I know that won’t do Adam any good.

“Actually, I’ll have Tito’s double vodka soda with a lime,” I correct. The waitress nods. I give a small grin.

“Bring them both anyway. I’m going to need two,” she says to the waitress. “Now, what was I saying?”

My hands are beneath the table clenched so tightly, my nails are digging into my palms. The moisture and warmth tell me I’ve punctured the skin.