Chapter 8: Live

By nine that morning the picture was on every gossip site in the country.

By eleven, Verity had a plan.

She came to my desk in a white wool dress with a printed page in her hand.

"We're going to get ahead of this," she said. "Together."

The foundation ran a livestream every Tuesday at noon.

Bring Them Home Live.

Verity hosted it from a little studio on the eleventh floor with a white couch, two cameras and a ring light.

It usually got about three thousand viewers.

"Today it'll get more," she said. "Everybody wants to see you."

She handed me the page.

It was a statement.

I want to thank everyone for their love.

Sometimes the pain comes out in ways I can't control.

I'm getting the help I need, with my family beside me.

"Just read it," Verity said. "Then I'll hug you, and we'll talk about the foundation, and it all goes away."

"Getting the help I need," I read out loud.

"It's honest," she said.

"It says I cut myself."

"It doesn't say that."

"It doesn't have to."

"And Arizona?"

She tilted her head.

"Arizona's still there, if you need it."

I folded the page in half and put it in my pocket.

"Okay," I said. "Noon."

At eleven-fifty I called Dez.

"You have the photos?"

"In your email," he said. "Every one's already on a national bulletin."

"Nobody looks at bulletins."

"Annabelle. What are you about to do?"

"Watch at noon," I said, and hung up.

Verity sat on the couch in white with her ankles crossed.

I sat beside her in jeans and a gray sweater with the sleeves pushed down.

A college girl from the tip line was running the camera.

The red light came on.

"Hi, everyone," Verity said warmly. "I'm so grateful you're here. As many of you know, my sister Annabelle came home this month."

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