Nessa hesitated. “There are a few decent people out there. People saying a death is always sad. Some of the comments are pretty neutral, some wondering who the woman was...” She sneaked a look at Joanna.

“I don’t know.”

“Of course you don’t. Why would you? You’re divorced from him. Whoever she is, I bet she’s wishing now she got into a car with a different guy. I mean, we’ve all had bad dates, but that—” Nessa shrugged, took a gulp of water and continued scrolling. “Some people are wondering if this will mean the end of the business. Will it?” She glanced up. “The business is called Cliff’s. And Chef Cliff is—” She stopped.

Joanna sat down opposite her.

“Dead. You can say it.”

And Nessa was right. It would affect the business. The business they’d built together. She’d given up on their marriage, but she hadn’t given up on that. She’d spent the past twenty years nurturing it, watching it grow. It was her baby.

She felt a pang, thinking of the actual baby she’d lost. One minute she’d been eleven weeks pregnant, excited about her future as a mother, the next she’d been sitting in the bathroom sobbing. Her son. She’d buried that pain deep, but that didn’t mean it had gone away. Sometimes she’d wake up and think, My boy would be ten years old today, and she’d imagine the gift she would have bought, and the adventures they would have had together and how much she would have loved him. Would her priorities have been different if she’d had a child? Her marriage?

Her phone rang again and Nessa glanced at her.

“Do you want me to answer that?”

“No.”

“It might be a friend.”

If she said, I don’t have any real friends, Nessa would feel sorry for her and Joanna didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for her. She wanted to protect the last fragile strands of her pride.

“If it is, then I’ll call them back.”

Of all the bad things about being married to Cliff, and there had been many, the media attention had been among the worst. Cliff himself had been emotionally bulletproof. Whatever they accused him of he’d laugh, wink, give them a “No comment” or a “Let’s focus on what happens in my kitchen, not my bedroom.” For some reason Joanna had never understood, his bad behavior had increased his appeal. He was shocking, but supremely watchable. His TV ratings rose, no matter what he did. He was unapologetic about his colorful personal life, so sure that his charm would ultimately guarantee him forgiveness for all his misdeeds that it was impossible to shame or embarrass him.