Chapter 6: Declined

I walked out of the studio without my coat.

It was in the green room, and I was not going back for it.

Across the street there was a coffee shop with a television bolted over the pastry case.

They were already replaying my answer.

I stood in line under it and watched myself say: I did not know my husband was in a relationship with his costar.

The woman at the register had a nose stud and a name tag.

"Tea?" she said. "Hot?"

"Hot, please. And a croissant."

I handed her the joint card.

She ran it and frowned. She ran it again.

"I'm sorry, it says declined."

"Try it once more."

She did, and the machine beeped twice.

Behind me, someone said, "Isn't that her?" in a whisper that was meant to be heard.

I put the joint card back in my wallet.

Then I took out the other one, the debit card from the account I opened at twenty-two with my first paycheck.

Randall had called it my pin money for twenty-four years. He had never asked how much was in it.

The machine accepted it at once.

"Thanks," the woman said, and she looked at me a little differently. "Sit anywhere."

I took a table in the back corner.

A shadow fell across it.

"Mrs. Alder," Philip Llewellyn said. "I'm sorry to follow you in. I saw the broadcast in my office. I thought you might not have a coat."

He was holding mine.

I looked at it, and I looked at him.