Chapter 18: Row Nine

Casey's POV

Rafe's text came in Friday night, from an airport.

Saturday, seven o'clock. The Strip District theater. Row nine, seat twelve. I know what the clause says. Come anyway.

I read it standing in my grandmother's kitchen with a dish towel in my hand.

Then I called Eli.

"Wear the flannel," I said. "We're going to the show."

The theater held six hundred people, and every seat was full.

A banner over the stage said ROAD TO NOWHERE LIVE: THREE YEARS, with the paper boat under it. Two cameras on cranes pointed at the crowd.

"That's the stream," the usher told us. "Two million people have the link."

"Two million," Eli said. "That's the entire population of Philadelphia."

"It's closer to one and a half."

"Are you going to correct everybody tonight?"

"Only the ones who are wrong."

We found row nine. Row one held a single reserved seat with a card on it.

Mrs. Tolland.

Lydia sat in it in a green dress, with a small bunch of carnations in her lap. She was smiling at nothing.

She hadn't seen me.

The lights went down, and the crowd roared.

Rafe walked out alone, in his canvas jacket, with the cord bare at his neck.

He held up one hand and waited for the noise to end.

"Thanks for coming," he said. "Three years ago I made a channel about noodles."

The crowd laughed.

"Tonight I want to tell you something else."

The camera swung to Lydia, who pressed a hand to her chest.

"For three years I've been married, and I've kept it a secret."

A sound went through the room, a gasp and a laugh together.

"I did it for the brand. I was told it was safer, and I said fine."

Nobody laughed now.

"I ate my anniversary dinner alone in Osaka, in Lisbon, in Mexico City, and I said fine."

He looked down at the stage floor for a second.

"I never once asked why."

Lydia's smile wavered. She leaned forward, ready to stand.

"I'm not going to take questions about my marriage tonight," Rafe said.

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