Chapter 12: Live

The Gift Foundation's press room was on the ground floor of the Sedgwick Grand, the same hotel where I had carried champagne.

I knew the service corridor by heart. I came in through it at ten past nine, with Anson half a step behind me.

I wore yesterday's jeans, a borrowed black sweater, and a folded printout in my back pocket.

The door to the room stood open a hand's width. Lights blazed white on the other side.

"Take your time," Anson said quietly.

"I'm done taking time."

I pushed the door wide.

A hundred people filled the room, with cameras on tripods across the back and a banner behind the podium.

Yvonne stood at the microphone, serene in her pale suit, one hand resting on the back of a wheelchair.

Lila sat in it, with an oxygen tube at her nose and a blanket over her knees.

Her eyes were open and frightened, and they found me before anyone else's did.

"Which is why," Yvonne was saying, "I am so proud of my daughter's courage."

A red light glowed on a camera, and a producer's voice murmured, "We're live, folks, on all three networks."

I walked straight up the aisle.

The reporters turned. A murmur started, and a photographer ran backward in front of me, flashing.

Yvonne saw me and her smile did not move.

"And here she is now," she said warmly. "Everyone, my brave Wynne."

I stepped onto the little riser and held out my hand for the microphone.

For one second I thought she would refuse.

Then, because the cameras were on her, she gave it to me with a gracious little nod.

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