Chanel laughed once.
Adele tapped Walter’s letter. “He doesn’t get to stand there and make himself the hero.”
I read the last line again.
“If I ever try to call it generosity, don’t let me.”
Adele grabbed my arm. “Your surgery is next week.”
“And I’m not going into it with his story sitting on my chest.”
Jeremiah held up the folder. “Then we go together.”
That Friday, at the senior golf club, the banquet hall glowed with white tablecloths and soft music.
Walter saw us and went pale.
He hurried over. “What are you doing here?”
“I came for the award.”
“You weren’t invited.”
“I was married to the honoree for fifty years. I think that counts.”
Marcy blinked. “Walter said you two had an understanding.”
I looked at her. “Walter had many understandings. Most benefited Walter.”
“Sylvie,” Walter whispered, “not here.”
