Margaret glanced at our marriage certificate.
“That isn’t my story to tell.”
For a second, I wanted to demand an answer.
Then I remembered that the rest of Larry’s letter was still inside my purse.
He had specifically told me to visit the courthouse first.
He wanted me to see those records.
The hundreds of witness signatures.
Our marriage certificate.
The word spouse.
I left the courthouse and took the subway home.
But when the train reached Larry’s old station, I stepped off.
The woman at the coffee kiosk recognized me immediately.
“Two?”
For a second, I nearly said no.
Then I looked toward Larry’s empty place beside the station entrance.
“Yeah.”
She handed me my coffee with cream.
And Larry’s black coffee.
I carried both cups outside and sat in his usual spot.
In two years, I had never stayed there long enough to finish an entire cup.
