Chapter 12 - THE UNINVITED VISIT
A week after the barbecue, the doorbell rang sharply while I was making lunch. I looked through the peephole and saw my mother standing on the porch, holding a Tupperware container of cookies like a prop in a bad play, her face locked in a mask of aggrieved maternal sacrifice. She knocked again, louder this time, expecting the usual submissive response. I didn't open the door. Instead, I simply unlocked my phone, opened our local police department's non-emergency line, and stood by the window watching her.
