Marta smiled. “Oh, honey, we all believed things when we were kids. I believed in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny when I was seven. That doesn’t mean I’m still that gullible.”
“You don’t get it,” I sighed. “I didn’t just buy Brent’s lies when we were kids. I believed him well into my teens. I believed all my ex-boyfriends when they told me they loved me. I believe people—whether or not they deserve to be believed.”
She shook her head at me. “You can’t paint everyone with the same brush, honey,” she said. “Does Phil seem like the kind of guy to do what he’s being accused of?”
“No, of course not,” I said. “He’s a firefighter, but that doesn’t mean anything, Marta. Professor John Gilbert was the best teacher in my entire college. He was a tenured professor who had the respect and admiration of the student body and faculty alike. I believed in him and his stellar reputation. I made excuses for him, even after he stuck his tongue down my throat.”
I stopped short, feeling a little drained and when I looked back up, Marta was looking at me with that sympathetic look again.
“Is that why out dropped out?” she asked quietly.
“Yes.” I nodded.
“I’m sorry.”
I shrugged. “I should have been smarter.”
“The two situations are completely different,” she pointed out.
“The bottom line is I’m a gullible fool and—”
I stopped talking when I realized that a police officer was walking directly towards me. Marta noticed him, too, and her mouth fell open a little. The officer came up to my desk, and it was obvious that someone had pointed me out to him.
“Are you Megan Jacobs?” he asked.
“Yes, I am,” I stammered.
“I’m Officer Pete Manolo,” he said. “Is it possible to have a few moments of your time?”
I looked around nervously and realized that everyone was watching the two of us. I sunk down low in my chair and nodded. The officer sat down in front of my desk. He had a kindly face, and he didn’t seem too intimidating, but it didn’t matter; I was scared, and my heart was beating faster than a bullet.
“You look nervous?” he observed.
“It’s not every day you get a visit from law enforcement at work,” I pointed out.
“I apologize for this,” he said. “But I visited your apartment, and you weren’t there.”
“Oh,” I said. “My brother would have been in. He told me he was going to be home all day.”
“Nobody answered the door, ma’am.”
“Oh, he must have gone out then.”
“I assume you know why I’m here?” the officer asked.
“You came to ask me about Phil.”
“Yes.”
“I had no idea he was dealing drugs,” I said before he could ask the question.
“Did he ever seem inebriated to you in any way?”
“No, not ever,” I said honestly.
“Did he have contacts you knew about, friends who came around his apartment often?”
“No, not ever,” I said again.