video came down later that day.
Not before enough people had seen it.
Not before the room’s little nervous laugh had become something Madison could not control.
A few women from the shower called me.
One said she should have spoken up.
Another said she felt sick after watching it again.
Madison’s mother sent flowers.
I put them on the porch table, where they could be pretty without pretending to fix anything.
Weeks passed.
Kyle came by more often.
Sometimes he brought groceries I had not asked for.
Sometimes he sat at my kitchen table and asked about his father in a way he had not asked for years.
I told him the small things.
How Frank whistled when he sorted mail.
How he cut sandwiches diagonally because Kyle once said they tasted better that way.
How he bought bonds in years when we could have used the money ourselves
