“Celeste.”
The woman beside her looked sick to her stomach.
“Please don’t do this.”
Celeste didn’t even look at her.
“Stay out of it.”
The woman lowered her eyes.
She didn’t say another word.
The restaurant doors opened.
My husband walked back inside.
Exactly two minutes had passed.
One hand carried a large McDonald’s bag.
The other held a phone mounted on a small stabilizer.
Around his neck hung his press credential.
He walked straight to the restaurant manager first.
“I need one favor.”
The manager nodded cautiously.
“What is it?”
