Chapter 9: On Camera

"No," I said. "I haven't threatened anyone."

"A statement went out an hour ago." The reporter held her phone up to my face. "From Chantal Lowell."

I read it.

It was a long post, with a photograph of Sammy asleep in a car seat.

"I'm afraid," Chantal had written.

"I came to Maine only to apologize, and Mrs. Hayes told me to stay away from my own child."

"I think she is unwell. Please pray for us."

Under it were forty thousand hearts.

The cameraman had already lifted his camera to his shoulder.

Behind me the bakery owner came out of the back room in her apron.

"Out," she said. "All of you. This is a place of business."

"No," I said.

She looked at me.

"Let them in," I said. "They want to see if I'm unwell. Let them see."

I held the door open.

The reporter blinked, then walked in with her crew behind her.

It was six in the morning, and the bakery already smelled of bread.

The fishermen came in on their usual heels, took one look at the camera and stayed where they were.

I went behind the counter and tied my apron.

"Ask," I said.

"Mrs. Hayes, did you tell Ms. Lowell to stay away from her son?"

"I told her not to come into my place of work. Her son was welcome to the roll he wanted."

"Is it true you've been struggling with your mental health?"

"Who told you that?"

"It's been widely reported."

"By whom?"

She did not answer.

The door behind her opened, and Killian came in with his bandaged hand held against his coat.

The reporter turned her whole body toward him.

I put up one finger.

"Wait," I said. "Mr. Hayes, I need something of mine."

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