Chapter 7: Wynn at the Door

By morning the video had a hundred and ten thousand views.

Strangers had found my school's name, my tutoring page and my mother's obituary.

Joanne took my phone away at breakfast and put it in the bread drawer.

"No," she said. "Not until you've eaten."

I ate dry toast and watched the drawer.

At ten, someone knocked on Joanne's front door.

Joanne looked through the peephole and said a word I won't repeat.

"It's her."

"Who?"

"Wynn. She's got the kid in the car and a box of something."

I stood up too fast and had to hold the table.

"Let her in," I said.

"Absolutely not."

"Then I'll go out."

I stepped onto the porch and pulled the door shut behind me.

Wynn stood on the bottom step in a hooded sweatshirt, holding a plate wrapped in foil.

Her eyes were swollen.

"I made lemon bars," she said. "That's stupid. I'm sorry. I didn't know what else to bring."

"You posted my face to a hundred thousand people."

"I know."

"With a caption."

"I wrote it Saturday night, when I was upset." She pressed her lips together. "I took it down an hour ago."

"It's still everywhere."

"I know. I'm sorry."

She sounded like she meant it, and that made me angrier.

"Why are you here, Wynn?"

She set the plate on the rail.