Chapter EightI
spent the rest of the morning in the kitchen. I baked a dish of ziti and a pan of brownies and packed them in a large shopping bag. In the early afternoon, I brought the food to Laurel Gibson’s house.
Angela Ortiz, a woman in her early fifties with olive skin and a cascade of black hair, opened the door and pulled me into a hug. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I held up my offering. “I cooked up a mini-storm for Laurel and the family.”
“Wonderful. Laurel’s refrigerator is filling up fast. People are being so generous.”
Angela led me into the living room where Brooke’s mother sat with Ray Ortiz and a couple in their early thirties. I exchanged greetings with Ray, Angela’s husband and Garland High’s principal, and he introduced me to the younger couple. Tyler Driscoll was Gar
