Page 28

This time, Ulla didn’t need to fake confusion. Her mother and Peter were her only family. Her mother wouldn’t lie to her, would she?

Kellee twisted her lips and pawed through her purse. She emerged with a checkbook, the same kind Ulla had seen her mother rip sheets from, hand over to tellers at different banks, and use to walk out with a stack of cash. Kellee clicked a blue ballpoint pen. She flipped to the back pages and drew a box with a triangle on top.

“A house.” Kellee laughed. “Oh dear, I am a terrible artist.” She scribbled in the windows and a door. “This is where I’m taking you.” She drew KELLEE and pointed at herself. “My name is Kellee—Kell-ee.” She then pointed to Ulla.

Ulla dropped her shoulders. She really wanted Kellee to stop calling her sweetie. “Ulla,” she said loud and clear.

Kellee frowned in disappointment but then brightened. “Wait. Did you say . . . Ul-la?”

Ulla nodded.

“You did understand me last night! I can’t believe . . . ” Kellee shone with excitement. She clapped her hands together. “Ulla. Wow. Ulla? Huh. Can you write it?” She gestured emphatically with her pen next to her name.

Ulla puffed audibly in annoyance. She crossed her arms.

Kellee’s excitement deflated, but she still popped to her feet and beckoned Ulla. “Come, sweetie—I mean, Ulla.”

Ulla clutched her brown grocery bag. Baby and Beskyddaren were safe inside. She followed Kellee outside to a forest-colored Dodge Colt parked in the alleyway behind the shelter. Ulla remembered the first time her mother pointed out a Dodge Colt: “They have four eyes, like their cylinders, you see, and their body is shorter.”

Kellee helped Ulla into the cold, vinyl passenger seat.

Once comfortable in the driver’s side, she asked Ulla, “Music?” She revved the engine and turned a dial on the dashboard. From the speakers came a scratchy, peppy tune with high-pitched vocals.

“Love the Bee Gees.” Kellee hummed along and bobbed her stiff hair.

They drove through streets filled with gas stations and car repair shops, the only places that mattered to Ulla because they fueled Tina, her mother’s T-bird, who’d also been their mobile home these past days when they weren’t at different motels overnight. When she sensed her mother’s distress, the urgency, how she bit her lip and darted her head at their surroundings while jiggling the motel key. During the daytime there were secret appointments to attend, people she’d meet inside grocery stores, serious-looking men in brown coats and hats. Her mother passed envelopes to them.

Because, Ulla thought to herself with pride, my mother is a spy.

Kellee brought the Colt to a stop in the middle of a busy street with large houses barricaded by chain-link fences and dilapidated shingles. Many of them had signs staked in the lawns. The majority of them were green with white lettering. Ulla recognized the word PRESIDENT.

They exited the car and walked toward a house. It wasn’t nearly as beautiful as Ulla’s former home. The lone tree in the yard was naked, and shriveled leaves poked out from the snow on the lawn. A gust of wind sent them running. Ulla hugged her jacket around her body.

Kellee unfastened the fence’s latch, and they clipped along the concrete walkway and up wooden porch stairs. Their footsteps sounded dull and creaky. Kellee rang the doorbell and they waited. Ulla eyed the porch’s green chipped paint, leaving a sad gray color underneath. It matched the sad gray sky that had taken over the world. That had taken over Ulla’s heart.

When the door opened, though, Ulla was transported to a world that was not sad nor gray. Sunshine spilled out in the form of a woman, her fluorescent nails, red lipstick, and shimmering black hair that framed her smooth white skin. She radiated warmth and flowery perfume. When she crouched low and smiled, it sparkled from her eyes.

“I’m Melia,” she said with a thick accent that sounded like music. Like the German prayer her mother taught her. Melia touched Ulla’s cheek. “Liebchen, komm.” She gently took Ulla’s hand, taking her into a home that smelled of hot steaming sugar and butter. Ulla’s tummy growled.

The home was as colorful as Melia, from striped curtains to orange carpet, to a dining table covered in a white lace tablecloth, all reflecting her light. Melia sat Ulla on a couch with a yellow and green leafy pattern and spread crayons and coloring books onto a coffee table. Then came a bowl of rectangular chocolate mints in green wrapping, a glass of lemonade, and a plate of steaming cake. Melia tapped the plate. “It’s kuchen, liebchen. Eat it.”

Melia walked hastily to Kellee, and in her hushed accent by the entryway said, “How is she?”

Kellee patted her helmet hair. “I wouldn’t know. Doesn’t speak much English. You’d think she would’ve picked it up in school. She and her mother had been living out of a car. I don’t have many details.”

Melia touched her chest.

“Her mother was sent to the hospital,” continued Kellee, “got the shit beat out of her.”

Ulla lowered her chin to cascade her hair. She bunched her face to stop the tears. Hospitals made people better, right? Come back to me, Mamma, she pleaded and glanced at the brown bag that held Beskyddaren, then back to her paper. What was she even coloring? She ground the crayon into the bunny on the page. A blue bunny. The crayon broke, ripping the paper, and the sound shot through the room.

Melia gave Ulla a tender, backward glance, ushered Kellee outside, and closed the door. Their voices were unclear now.

Ulla moved to the sheets of blank paper Melia had also provided.

The conversation went on for some time, allowing Ulla to shade in her drawing. She didn’t look up when the door closed, or when Melia came over to sit gingerly beside her.

“That is a beautiful car you’re drawing. What kind is it?” She drew the words from her mouth like a harp.