Chapter 8: Don't Worry About Her

The call was at six o'clock Boston time, which was eleven at night in my kitchen.

I made tea and put on my blue rain jacket, because I wanted to feel like I was leaving the house.

Then I opened the link.

There were nineteen faces on the screen.

Most of them I knew from three years of birthdays and group dinners.

Dylan was in the top tile, in a clean white shirt, with a lamp turned low behind him.

Piper sat beside him on a couch with a blanket around her shoulders and her hair in a braid.

Hallie had joined from her bed in Boston with her camera pointed at the ceiling.

She whispered, "I am here and I am armed."

Dylan began with a prepared statement.

"Thanks for coming, everyone. This isn't about blame. This is about taking mental health seriously. Piper has had a very hard week."

Piper nodded and looked down.

"And," Dylan went on, "I think we all want to understand why Corinne felt she had to do this publicly."

The tiles shifted.

Nineteen people looked at the corner where I was.

"I'll answer that," I said.

I had practiced it in the shower, and the shower version was angrier.

This version was a list.

"You all have the transfer record from the chat. I won't walk you through the dinner. Someone who sat at that table can."

"That's not what happened," Dylan said.

"I haven't said anything yet."

Somebody made a small noise that might have been a laugh.

"Third row," I said. "The girl who told him Piper's family never shows up for her. You were sitting next to him."

A girl in the third row of tiles looked up from her lap.

"She's not wrong," she said quietly.

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