Marla slammed the laptop shut. Then opened it. The rooftop feed was gone. But the 2009 feed was still there—younger Marla, still crying, still alone. And the chat box beside the video, previously inert, now had a blinking cursor.
She remembered that night. The call from her father. The aneurysm. The twelve-hour drive she never got to make. ntitlequotlive view axis 206mquot top