Chapter 5: One Chair, No Smile

I got to the studio at ten to nine.

A production assistant in a headset saw me in the hallway and nearly dropped her clipboard.

"Mrs. Alder, they told us you weren't coming."

"I changed my mind."

She walked me past the green room to a stage door and held it open.

Randall was already on the set, sitting on a cream sofa while a woman dusted powder across his forehead.

He saw me in the monitor before he turned around.

For one second his face was pure relief.

Then he stood, took my elbow, and steered me to the side of the stage, where the cameras couldn't see us.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "I knew you would."

"I'm not here to smile."

"Helena."

"I'm here to answer a question."

"Just say what you said last time," he said. "Two sentences. You support us. We're a team. Then we go home."

"Go and sit down, Randall. They're waiting."

He looked at me for a long moment.

Then he went back to the sofa and arranged himself, and the powder woman moved in to finish his forehead.

Beside him there was a second armchair, a smaller one, with a card taped to the back that read: MRS. ALDER.

I sat in it.

The host was a pleasant woman in a blue dress who had interviewed us twice before.

"Helena, you look wonderful," she said, before the light came on. "We're so glad you're here."

"Thank you."

"Live in ten," someone called.

I looked at my hands in my lap. They were still.