Jeff took her phone and started a voice memo. “This is April seventeenth and Geri Bunker is way smarter than me.” He handed her phone back to her. “For your ringtone.”

She swallowed hard, like she was trying not to cry. “Make the call, Jeff. Talk to Mrs. Sokolov. She seemed very nice. Ask her how Miss Callahan is doing. And ask her for ideas on how you can best use this platform of yours to do some good, before your fifteen minutes of fame are over and you go back to being a regular college kid who doesn’t wash his socks.”

He started to get defensive about his having fifteen minutes of fame, but knew deep down she was right. He sighed dramatically. “I bet Ronan Farrow never has days like this. You know who Ronan Farrow is, right?”

She tapped her phone and showed him her ebook app. “I’ve read both his books. You told me last year that you wanted to do investigative journalism like he does, so I’ve familiarized myself with his work.” She pocketed her phone. “If you ever meet him someday, you can ask him if he has days like this. And then you can get his autograph for me.”

She’s been listening to me. Overcome, Jeff leaned over and pecked her cheek. “Love you, Mom.”

Her eyes glistened. “Love you too, son. Now make the call.”

He stared at his phone for a long moment, then shook his head. “I’m scared to. What if she hates me? I don’t want anyone to not like me, much less hate me.”

“I think a lot of people dislike Ronan Farrow,” she said lightly. “They’re probably the people whose crimes he’s exposed.” She grew serious then, leveling him with the same stare she’d given when delivering the pre-punishment this-hurts-me-more-than-you speech when he was a kid. “Not everyone is going to like you, son. And good people don’t do good so that they’ll win popularity contests. They do good because it’s the right thing to do.”

He made a face. “Do I get points for doing good even when I’m scared?”

She smiled. “Don’t know about points, but I will make you a pie.”

“Apple?”

“Yes. I even have ice cream to serve with it. Now call.”

Jeff dialed. And held his breath as the phone rang. At the last minute, he put it on speaker, so that his mother could hear, too. He’d lain awake all night, his mind concocting terrible images of Mercy hurting herself because of what he’d allowed to happen to her. People killed themselves over less than this, he’d thought, over and over until he’d been ready to tear his hair out.

Yes, he was dramatic, but if Mercy wasn’t all right, he wasn’t going to be in any shape to repeat the conversation to his mom.

“Hello?” It was a girl. She sounded young. “Sokolov residence. How can I help you? And if you’re a telemarketer, just give it up right now.”