Chapter 14: Live, Again

Hanna's POV

I watched my mother's funeral on my grandmother's kitchen tablet, with the sound turned low.

Dorota stood behind my chair with her hand on my shoulder.

On the screen, Cassidy was saying something about "the moments that made Hanna who she is."

Under her words ran my own sobbing, from a pew, in a black dress I had borrowed.

I did not remember a camera at the funeral.

But Cassidy had stood behind me for the entire service with her phone in her hand.

"Turn it off, kochanie," Dorota said.

"No."

I stood up.

"I need a ring light, the good tripod, and the rink," I said. "Now."

"All three are in the office."

"Where's the whistle?"

She took the silver whistle off the cord around her neck and put it in my palm.

"For luck," she said. "It's loud."

We set up at center ice, with the big overheads on and the boards empty.

It took six minutes.

Dorota held the lights and complained about the shadows.

I stood in my rink jacket with the folded page inside the front zip.

Through the lobby glass I saw a man in the parking lot.

He stood beside a truck with his hands in his coat pockets.

He had not come inside, and he was well out of frame, where no lens could find him.

I looked at him for one second.

Then I pressed the button.

The channel was called Hanna & Brady, and it had two point three million followers.

The notification went out to every one of them, from an account that had been mine again since that morning.

The numbers climbed.

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