Now Nana turns the full power of her coldness on Ella. “Oh, isn’t it? Tell me, would you like to go home and live with an infected mother and an abusive father, or would you rather go to Iceland with your well-off grandparents and enjoy a real education and proper medical care?” Nana sighs dramatically. “And of course it’s not fair. Life isn’t fair. Surely you know that much by now.”
“What’s Iceland?” Brooklyn says, pulling away from Nana to look up at Ella, who’s been answering a thousand questions a day for her these past few months while shielding her utterly from the news.
“It’s a country in Europe,” Ella tells her. “A very cold place. They eat lots of fish.”
Brooklyn’s nose wrinkles up. “Ew. I don’t like fish. Unless it’s crunchy fish sticks with ketchup.”
“They don’t even have passports,” Mom says, desperate.
But Nana just swipes a manicured hand through the air. “The judge has friends who can get what we need. We’re living in difficult times, darling.”
“Mom, you can’t be considering this,” Ella says, wanting to hug her or touch her but knowing on an animal level what her mom can do when she loses control.
“Sweetie, I—”
“Before things get maudlin, I think I need to remind you that you’re currently breaking several laws,” Nana says sweetly, sliding her phone from her pocket and gesturing with it. “You should be in quarantine, not gallivanting around with children, not driving, not visiting the elderly. You’re a danger to us all.”
“Mom—” Ella starts.
Before she can say anything, Mom lunges for her and pulls her into a tight hug and whispers, “If I don’t say yes, she’s going to turn me in.”
When her mom steps away, Ella feels like a little kid who’s been abandoned.
“She can’t,” Ella says at a normal volume.
“She can, honey. She will.”
And Ella knows it’s true, and yet she doesn’t want to believe that people can have this kind of power over each other, that money can make this sort of thing possible. She doesn’t want to believe that a mother could treat her own daughter so badly. She can’t understand why Nana even wants them; she’s never seemed to care about them before, except as decoration. Her grandmother must be powered by pure spite.
“It’s rude to talk about someone as if they’re not there,” Nana chides before gaping at them all. “Don’t you dare look at me like I’m some kind of villain. I’m the only one thinking clearly here, the only one with any concern for safety. And I’m the only one with resources. I’m doing what’s best for us all.”
“Bullshit,” Chelsea growls.
“Call it whatever vulgar thing you wish, but you know that I’m right. And if you don’t, then I suppose that’s why I’m forced to make this call.”
For a long, tense moment, they all just stand there, but then Brooklyn fidgets and says, “I have to go peepee before we go to Ice World.” She runs off for the bathroom, and as soon as she’s across the house, Mom lets out a big, sucking sob and starts crying. Violence or no, Ella runs to her and hugs her, fighting her own tears.
“Fine, I’ll do it. I’ll live in the pool house—”
“I’ve reconsidered that offer.” Nana looks down her nose, cold as a Disney villain. “I don’t think it would suit. I’ve spent enough of my life trying to help you help yourself, trying to guide you in making good decisions. This time, you really are on your own.”
“No!” Ella shouts into her mother’s shoulder. “No, you can’t make her leave!”
“It’s okay, baby,” Mom whispers. “This is temporary. I’ll find the money, I’ll get vaccinated, and I’ll come back for you. I promise it will be okay.”
“You can’t promise that because no one can.”
“Too bad. I already did.”
A few feet away yet a world away, Nana says, dismissively, “Chelsea, if you can just go home and get their things and maybe drop them by on your way out.”
Mom looks up, her red face a mass of snot. “On my way out?”
“Well, there’s no way to earn money here,” Nana says. “Florida’s a wreck. The job market is awful. I imagine you’ve got to go north and find something. The food and hospitality industries are bustling in the cool, overburdened areas where there are no mosquitoes.”
Mom is almost panting, and Ella wonders if she’s going to get Violent again. “How can you be so cold? So callous? Do you even have a heart?”
Nana steps forward, almost close enough to touch her daughter. She reaches out, then pulls her hand back as if Mom is surrounded by a force field. “I have a heart. But more important, I have a brain. And unlike you, I recognize that what’s most important is keeping these children safe, even if it’s from you.”
Mom sticks her chin out. “Let me talk to Brooklyn first.”
Nana just rolls her eyes, mutters, “If you must,” and goes to the fridge for a glass of unsweetened tea.
When Mom heads for the bathroom, Ella follows her. Brooklyn is inside with the door cracked, singing a handwashing song and splashing around; she loves Nana’s fancy, flower-shaped soaps.
“Come here, baby,” Mom says, and there’s a grim finality in it. Brooklyn dabs her hands on the lavender towel and rushes directly into a hug. She’s just like that—dancing through life, living for hugs and cozy things. Not like Ella, who’s always been shy and standoffish and prone to question things in a way that adults find annoying.
“Mommy, are you crying?” Brooklyn asks.
“Sweetie, you’re going to stay with Nana for a little while. You and Ella. Ella’s going to take care of you, okay? So you have to do what she says.”
“I like it better with Nana when Ella’s not here,” Brooklyn pouts.
“Yes, because then there’s no one to tell you no when you eat too much candy. But, baby, promise me you’ll be good, okay? I’ll be back soon.”
Brooklyn cocks her head, ponytail swinging. “So for the weekend?”
“For the weekend,” Mom agrees, kneeling to pull Brooklyn into a hug, and Ella shoots her a questioning glance. That’s one lie she’s not looking forward to explaining, but Mom doesn’t look like she can take on another burden right now.
“I’m going to run home and get your pajamas, okay?”
“The pink unicorn ones! And my pillow! And Green Blankie! And—”
Mom closes her eyes and buries her face in Brooklyn’s neck, smiling through her tears. “I know, baby. I know everything you need.”
When Brooklyn starts squirming to get out of the hug, Mom stands and wipes at her face. She pulls Ella into a hug, and Ella clings to her like she’s drowning, breathing in her shampoo and perfume, squeezing hard.
“Text me what you need from home,” Mom whispers, which hurts, because she should already know.
“I love you, Momster.”
“I love you, too. I’m so sorry—”
“Don’t. I just can’t right now.”
They don’t have enough time for all the things Mom should be sorry for and all the ways Ella can tell her it’s okay even though it still won’t be true.