FOURTEEN

Ann Arbor

March 2019

When Ella got to the park, she spotted Carla first, on the swings. And there was Marianna, on a bench, beaming.

“I did it,” Marianna told her. “I took your advice. I saw a therapist and she helped me realize how right you were.” She sat up straighter. “And even better, I transferred some of our money into a bank account that is under my name only.

“And soon, I’m going to tell Mark I want a separation. I have to make sure I have a job and money to support myself first. I’ve been looking at housesitting listings. There are some for a whole year—professors who need someone to water their plants while they’re on sabbatical or vacation and they just don’t want to give up the house. I could do that, Ella.”

Ella felt a stab of worry.

“I couldn’t have done any of this without your support,” Marianna said.

Ella smiled weakly. What if Mark found out Marianna had her own money? He might be kind to Carla now, but he had been kind to Marianna at first, too. What if his ire turned on her child as well?

Ella couldn’t let that happen.

Marianna told her that ever since that day at the office, they’d slept in separate beds, and now he barely came home from work. She said that he was always shouting and angry and when she finally told him quietly that maybe he should get counseling or anger management therapy, he had mocked her for being middle-class and stupid.

Ella’s heart pinched.

“If I told him the truth, that I was going to leave him, he’d go ballistic, so instead I told him I was going to move out for a while, to give us some room to breathe.”

“What did he say?”

Marianna sighed. “He wasn’t happy. He told me I’d never find a place of my own that I could afford, that he’d never let Carla go. He said he was the reason I even had a life, because he inherited our house from his parents. He kept reminding me that it was his house, not mine.” She threaded her hands together. “Ella, he got so furious. I told him I wouldn’t stop him from seeing Carla, that he could see her whenever he wanted and vice versa.”

“Can’t you tell him you want a divorce?”

“Jesus, no. One step at a time,” Marianna said. “I have to see a lawyer first.”

Ella didn’t know what to say. She placed a hand on Marianna’s.

“You are such a good friend,” Marianna said. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. Mark’s driven everyone else away.” And then Carla came running to them from the swings, and Marianna laughed as Carla jumped into Ella’s lap. “I don’t think Carla would know what to do without you, either.”

THAT EVENING, ELLA paced her apartment. She had answered the Dear Clancy letters for the week, one from a man who was afraid to put himself into a romantic situation.

Me too, Ella thought, and left the letter up on her screen.

She couldn’t help it. She felt like everything was coming to a head. There were too many feelings scrambled inside her—her worry about Marianna and Carla, plus her growing feelings for Henry, whom she had been seeing a lot of. They met for dinner every other night, always at a different restaurant and once at his place, where he proudly made her lasagna. They went to see live shows at the Ark. In the evenings, they went for long walks, braving the cold nights of March in Ann Arbor. She liked him more and more, which felt dangerous, especially because he seemed to be liking her more and more too. She knew what that meant. Sooner or later, she’d have to tell him about her past.

But thinking about him made her miss him, so she grabbed her jacket and walked to Wood You, hoping he’d still be there.

When she arrived, the shop was closed, and she felt a scratch of disappointment until she saw the light on in his backroom. She knocked on the door loud enough to grab his attention. She waved and smiled, and then he grinned back at her and came to let her in.

“I’d invite you in, but I have a cradle to finish,” he said.

“Oh, I won’t intrude—” she said, a little deflated, but he perked up.

“Wait,” he said. “I have something for you.”

He went into the back and came out holding a small, intricately carved box. He put it in her hands.

“It’s beautiful,” she said.

“It’s for your secrets.”

“Henry—”

“So they won’t bottle up inside you. Put them in this box. Honor them.”

Ella ran her hands over the lid.

“Will you do that?” Henry asked, looking into her eyes. Ella could only nod.

WHEN SHE GOT home, she placed the box on her desk, where she could always look at it. She knew he’d never check if she actually wrote down her secrets, but she felt compelled to, because look how beautiful this box was, how special. She got a piece of paper and a good pen and wrote, I really like Henry. She folded it up and put it in the box, and to her surprise she felt better.

She got another piece of paper and wrote: I have a daughter here who I gave up. No one knows but me. I don’t know what to do about it.

The notes came quicker: I tried to kill Jude’s father.

I need to be part of my daughter’s life.

I need her to know me.

And then her cellphone buzzed, and she carefully shut the lid of the box. The screen read PEARL, and for a moment she felt that throb of fear the way she always did when the phone rang. Someone was coming for her. Or something.

Please don’t fire me. Not now.

“Hey, Pearl,” she said, standing up to talk. “Glad I grabbed this before it went to voicemail.”

“So,” Pearl said, “things are going to change around here now.”

Ella dug one nail into her palm. She tried to think of any other job she could get now, and her mind went completely blank.

“Dear Clancy has been syndicated in newspapers across the Midwest and East Coast!” Pearl said, her voice pealing into laughter, and Ella’s legs folded under her, dropping her back into her chair. “And there’s talk it could go further. You are so getting a raise!”

After chatting about the specifics, Pearl hung up, but Ella stayed on, her cell pressed to her ear as if she were holding a conch shell, listening for an imaginary ocean.

Then she dialed Helen, to tell her, to have someone who might truly understand what this meant for her.

DURING THE LAST weekend of March, late in the day, Ella found herself in Marianna’s house, helping her finish packing to move into a housesit over by Green Tree Elementary on West Jefferson Street, which wasn’t too far from their house on Third. The sky was darkening, and Ella couldn’t shake a sense of dread—that Mark would burst in on them.

“He knows I’m moving,” Marianna insisted. “I just didn’t tell him when because I didn’t want a scene.”

It seemed to have happened so quickly, finding the house and then a job as an accountant for a small business with flexible hours. The house was fully furnished, so there wasn’t much that Marianna needed to move—mostly her clothes, some dishes, some things for Carla.

The owners of the housesit had already left to stay four months in France, and maybe even longer, so that the wife could do research for a book she was writing about Paris. All they needed was someone to watch the house, water the plants, and feed their cat, Nora.

“I have two houses now!” Carla said. “I’m so lucky!”

Despite her pretense of calm, Marianna kept glancing at the clock. “We don’t need to pack everything. I can always come back if I need to.”

Ella glanced up from folding Carla’s clothes into a box. Carla was pretend helping, but mostly playing with a bright blue Slinky Ella had given her.

“Don’t give me that worried look,” Marianna said. “Mark knows where the house is because we share Carla, but he’s not getting a key. I’m going to make sure this works out.”

The house was a medium-sized clapboard, painted green with a red door and set back from a pretty lawn lined with flowerbeds. As soon as they parked, Carla bounded from the car.

Inside was warm and soothing, full of plants and comfortable-looking chairs. Marianna seemed happier, calmer. Nora, a big tabby, wound herself around Carla’s legs. Carla talked to the cat soothingly. “This is going to be an adventure. You just wait and see, Nora,” Carla said, and the cat purred under her hands.

Carla was studying the bookshelves, then pulled out a book with a bright cover. “Look! The sun!” she said. She showed the book to Ella, pointing to the layers of the sun on the cover.

“The deeper you go, the hotter it gets,” Carla said. “More hotter than it gets here.”

“Just hotter, honey. Or more hot,” Marianna said, and Carla tapped her head as if she got it.

“Hotter. More hot,” Carla said, and then she scampered off to find Nora.

“Don’t worry,” Carla told Nora. “Your owners will be back, and in the meantime you have me to love, love, love you.” Then she crouched down and tenderly pecked the cat’s head with a kiss.

FOR THE FIRST few weeks, things seemed to be working out. Marianna told Ella about how much she loved the house, her new freedom from Mark. She liked her job, too. Carla seemed happy and told Marianna that Mark had bought her a whole new Hello Kitty bedroom set for her old room.

Even the hours were working out, because Mark would come get Carla early in the morning and take her to school, and then bring her home to Marianna. They didn’t speak much, but they didn’t argue either, and that was something.

One day, though, Marianna came home from work to find the housesit had been rearranged. New books and toys—things she knew she hadn’t bought—were displayed on Carla’s bed. When Mark arrived with Carla, he looked at her all innocently. “Hey, you refused to give me a key,” he said. “How could it have been me?”

“How did you get in the house?”

“Are you losing it?” he asked her, and then Carla ran in, calling, “Mommy is a stupid head,” and Marianna started.

“What did you call me?” Marianna said.

“Stupid head,” Carla said.

“That’s not nice. We don’t say those words.”

“Daddy does,” Carla said. “He says that all the time.” Then Carla romped to her room and Marianna frowned at Mark.

“You leave me for good, I’ll make sure you never see Carla again,” he said quietly.

She watched him walk out into a light spring rain.

Then she reached for her cell to call a lawyer.

THE NEXT AFTERNOON, Ella took Carla to I Scream, pandering to the little girl’s addiction to chocolate cinnamon cones. Ella couldn’t believe she had Carla to herself for two whole hours before she had to return her. Marianna had told her she had an appointment with a lawyer because Mark had threatened to take Carla away. And while Ella was relieved that Marianna was finally going, she was also terrified. If Mark won full custody, what would that mean for her relationship with her daughter? A chill ran through her body.

Across the plastic table, Ella couldn’t stop looking at Carla, touching her, making her laugh. Already a woman had remarked on what a “well-behaved daughter” she had, and Ella hadn’t corrected her. They were just about to go when she felt someone watching her. It was Henry.

“Oh, and who’s this charming young lady?” Henry said.

“Carla! I’m Carla!” Carla said, jumping up and down a few times. “Who are you?”

“I’m watching her. For a friend.” Ella felt the sweat prickling along her back. She didn’t feel ready to tell Henry the truth. She hadn’t told Marianna about Henry, either. She wanted to keep those two parts of her life separate, and yet, here they were, the dividing walls swaying, and she’d have to bolster them.

“Henry,” he said. “I’m Henry, and I’m so happy to meet you.”

“She’s Ella! She’s family! That’s what Mommy says,” Carla said, and Ella pointedly looked at her watch.

“Oh no, it’s late—I have to get her home.”

“I saw the two of you talking,” Henry said. “So deep in conversation! You’re a natural with kids, Ella.”

Ella flushed, partly because it mattered so much that she was good with Carla, and partly because she didn’t know how to explain this to Henry.

“Can I see you later?” Henry asked. Ella thought of all the questions he’d have, the answers she’d have to make up. Or maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe he’d believe she was just a sitter, that she’d be too young to have a school-aged child.

“Yes, she says yes!” Carla said, as Ella helped her put on her jacket.

“You heard what the little lady said,” Henry said.

“I guess I’ll see you later,” Ella said, because that could mean anything, that she might see him on campus, or she might show up at his doorstep. She pulled gently at Carla’s hand, and they stepped outside.

“Bye, Henry,” Carla called, and then Ella said it too.

The whole walk to Marianna’s, Ella tried to think of what to do, even as Carla chatted nonstop about electricity and plants and her new favorite color of yarn, which was burnt orange because how could you burn a color, and if there was burnt orange was there also burnt red?

“Anything’s possible,” Ella said distractedly.

AS SOON AS they got back to Marianna’s, Carla shouted, “We met a guy! He said I was a charming young lady.”

“A guy?” Marianna lifted one brow.

“Henry!” Carla said.

“He’s a friend,” Ella said.

“Ah, Henry,” Marianna said.

“Don’t you give me that wicked look,” Ella said, but she smiled. “I told you, he’s just a friend.”

“I can’t meet your friend?” Marianna said. “Your special friend?”

“Of course you can,” Ella said, but she didn’t look at Marianna when she said it.

“I think it’s apple juice time,” Carla said emphatically.

“I’ll get it,” Ella told her. She wound her way into the kitchen. On the fridge was a new drawing labeled MY FAMILY AT THE PARK. There were four people, Marianna with curly dark hair, Carla in pigtails, Mark, and then a woman with red-crayon curls who was surely her. Her breath stopped and she thought she might cry.

“Hey, I’m thirsty!” Carla called from the other room. Ella quietly took the drawing down and tucked it under her shirt. She’d take it home. She’d look at it every day. Sometimes the walk to this house was hard, especially in the Michigan winter, but for moments like this, she’d travel five times as far.

IT WAS MAY now, nearly Carla’s birthday. It was a hard time for Ella because even though she’d get to spend the day with Carla (Marianna had told her she was going to bake a cake, have a party and invite a few friends of Carla’s, and neither she nor Carla would dream of having a celebration without Ella there), and she could have the pleasure of giving her the hand-knit sweater she had made for her, Ella felt thrust back in time, back to the prison, giving birth to a baby she wouldn’t get to keep.

Today, Ella was supposed to meet Carla and Marianna at a park, but it started to rain heavily, dampening Ella’s plan to surprise Carla by taking her to a petting zoo. Ella texted Marianna but got no answer, which worried her, so she took an Uber to the housesit. Standing on the stoop in the downpour, she had to ring the bell four times before Marianna answered. Her eyes were bright red from crying.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Marianna said. And then she opened the door wider and flung herself into Ella’s arms in tears.

“Tell me what happened,” Ella said, guiding Marianna back inside. “Tell me everything.” And Marianna began to talk.

It had started out so innocently. Just the two of them making a chocolate cake, Hershey bars melting and bubbling in a pot, the scent so intoxicating the two of them had been swooning.

When Marianna’s cell rang in another room, she had done everything right. She had turned the stove off. She had ordered Carla to sit, to not touch anything.

She never made it to her cellphone. Instead, she had heard Carla screaming.

Terrified, she had run back to the kitchen to find the pot flung across the floor, the walls spattered. Carla was slumped on the floor, drenched in chocolate and sobbing, her skin blistering from the burns.

Marianna had rushed her to the ER. She had shoved her way through the waiting room to get to a doctor, all the while shouting, “It’s a child and she’s been burned!”

A doctor came out and quickly took Carla in, but not before he had looked at Marianna through slitted eyes, as if judging her. He raised one hand to stop her from following them. “Go sit in the waiting room,” he snapped.

She had paced and wept, wept and paced. What were they doing to her baby? The hours thickened and hardened like candy until a nurse with a clipboard finally approached her, daring to ask Marianna if she had ever hurt Carla before.

“What?” Marianna had felt paralyzed. “Of course not!”

“She has second-degree burns—”

And then Carla finally came back out, chewing her bottom lip the way she always did when she was frightened, walking as if there were glass beneath her feet. Both of her upper arms had white bandages on them, which made Marianna want to weep again, but instead she forced herself to be calm, fending off the weight of the nurse’s scrutiny. She had stroked Carla’s hair, murmuring to her that it was going to be all right, that she loved her, that they were going to go home now.

“Here,” the nurse had said abruptly, holding out a bag for her. “Pediatric pain killers, extra bandages, burn cream, and instructions. Let’s hope we don’t see you here with this again.”

How dare you! Marianna had thought.

As soon as they had gotten home, she had let Carla watch as much TV as she wanted until she had fallen asleep. The next day, Carla had bounced awake, in a happier mood. Marianna had put new cream and clean bandages on the burns, and she had let Carla stay home from school.

“I want to go,” Carla had insisted. “I want to show off my bandages,” and that was when Marianna had told her to dress in long sleeves for school because no one had to know that she had been burned, that there was no reason for anyone to talk about it. The whole thing would have been just another terrible incident, faded with time, right along with the burns.

But of course, nothing was ever that easy.

Now, Marianna drew in a long breath.

“The school called child services,” she told Ella. “There’s this mandate to report anything they think might be abuse. The school counselor even talked to Carla.”

“Child services! What the fuck? They can’t do that—”

“Yes, they can,” Marianna said. “And they talked to Mark first. He told them that I drink, when everyone knows that it’s him who gets sauced, not me. He told them I have a temper, too, when he knows damn well that only happens when he provokes me, when he doesn’t stop. And even worse, Mark got to Carla first. She adores her daddy, always wants to please him, and that bastard must have coached her, because the social worker told me that Carla said I had deliberately burned her, that this wasn’t the first time, either. And they believed it.”

Marianna started to cry harder, wiping away her tears.

“Mark made sure to tell them I had moved out, only he called it abandoning my family. I had to let the social worker into my house while she acted like she owned the place. I had to stand there and watch her switch the lights off and on, the water too, to see if I had paid my bills. She checked the fridge to see if there was enough food, and I heard her cluck her tongue when she looked inside. How was I expected to go shopping when all of this was crashing down?

“I kept asking her, are you a mother? Are you a wife? For a second, she looked sympathetic, so I told her that things were even harder for me because I was separated from my husband and we were living at two separate addresses. And then she fucking frowned! She said that I should have told the school we were separated because it was school protocol. And then she said that she had to put this immediate safety plan in place, where Mark has Carla, where I can only be with her if he’s there too, because I might be a danger to my own child. Me, who would rather die than see her hurt. It’s all another chance for Mark to punish me. He’s never there when I’m supposed to come to see her. And when he is he finds a reason for why I have to leave early.

“Child services is investigating me, Ella! Not Mark. Me! This whole thing could take an entire month—maybe even two depending on the investigation. What the hell am I supposed to do?”

Ella felt her breath catch. If Marianna couldn’t see Carla without Mark being there, then neither could Ella. That couldn’t happen. “Can’t you get Carla to tell the truth to the social worker? Can’t you tell her how important it is?”

“And confuse her and make her feel horrible about herself, make her doubt her hero dad? Even if I did, he’d just pour on more coaching.

“I love her,” Marianna continued. “I would rather cut my own arm off than harm her. I don’t even raise my voice to her, you know that. She’s everything to me. She always has been. I had wanted a child so desperately, and I couldn’t conceive. Six IVFs. And then I had to convince Mark to adopt because he didn’t like the idea of ‘raising someone else’s kid’—his words. But the second they put Carla in my arms, I knew we were meant to be together.”

Ella remembered the hospital bed where she had given birth to Carla. The nurse not letting her see the baby. “It’s easier this way,” the nurse had said, her voice kind. Ella had turned her face into the pillow and shut her eyes.

Now, her throat turned dry.

“I talked to my lawyer,” Marianna said. “I got a consultation, but nothing’s been done or signed yet. The guy has a shaved head and the scales of justice tattooed on his forearm, but he said without a legal separation, there’s no custody agreement and that complicates things. He said that if I need money, Mark can’t withhold monetary support, either. But my ‘drinking’? The so-called ‘rages’? They can’t prove it; it’s just Mark’s word against mine. The lawyer told me he’d talk to the right people, and if a formal complaint isn’t filed, the case will be closed.”

“But that sounds like good new—”

“The lawyer said child services isn’t my enemy. They do give mothers a lot of chances. They don’t want to keep parents from their kids unless it’s necessary. Oh God, Ella, what if they say it’s necessary?”

“It won’t be necessary,” Ella said. “The lawyer will handle it.”

Marianna showed Ella the calendar on her phone, how she had marked the days when she could go visit her daughter at the Third Street house, but it always had to be when Mark was there to supervise, which even though he had changed his schedule so he wasn’t working nights, wasn’t a lot.

Sometimes, during the scheduled hours, Mark would purposefully leave the house so that Marianna couldn’t see Carla. He’d apologize later, make up some excuse, but then he’d always say that this was all her doing. All her fault. She made this happen. When she tried to challenge Mark on why he’d withheld their daughter, he’d say, “I didn’t burn her, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“How’s Carla holding up?” Ella asked.

“She bites her nails until they bleed. I try to get her to talk to me, but she won’t. All she says is that Daddy’s sad, and that she doesn’t want Daddy to be sad.

“Child services asked to speak to anyone who has seen me with Carla, who knows both of them. They don’t usually talk to friends, but you’re more than that, and you know her. You love her. Please will you speak to them? Be a reference? Tell them I’m a good mother?”

The uneasiness started in Ella’s legs, moving up to her belly and then circling to her chest.

“Will you?” Marianna persisted. “Mark has turned everyone against me, even the people at my old office.”

Child services would want to know things about Ella. Who she was. Whether she was a credible witness to Marianna’s mothering. What her past was like. Her experience with children. And all those roads would lead to the one place Ella wanted to forget: being in prison.

When Ella got out, she had promised herself that she would never be in a courtroom again, not even for a traffic ticket. She’d never meet another cop’s eyes or ask for anything. And even if it wasn’t in a courtroom, but a room with a lawyer, or even just someone from child services, she didn’t trust any of it. She couldn’t. Or maybe she just didn’t trust herself. She was a felon, and why would anyone believe her?

But what was just as terrifying was having to tell Marianna that she was Carla’s birth mother, that she had hidden that fact since the day they met. She wasn’t legally allowed to have contact with her daughter, and anyone who found out could make things so much worse for everyone.

“Please. Will you?” Marianna said.

Ella stayed very still. Her blood pulsed in her ears.

“And if it goes to court, will you testify on my behalf?” Marianna said. “You’d make such a brilliant witness. You speak so well, you know us both—”

Stones formed in Ella’s throat. “I can’t,” she whispered.

Marianna frowned. “What?”

“I am so sorry, but I can’t—”

“But why not? You love Carla. I know you do! And you know how she feels about you.” Marianna gripped Ella’s hands.

“You’re like ice!” Marianna started to warm Ella’s hands in her own, but Ella drew them back.

“I can’t. They wouldn’t listen to me—” Ella said, her voice high and skittish.

“Of course they will. Why wouldn’t they? You pay your taxes, you have a job, you know us—we’re practically family.”

Ella couldn’t breathe. She started gathering her things, getting ready to leave, when Marianna jumped to her feet and grabbed her arm.

“I told you, I can’t!” Ella snapped. Marianna stared at her, shocked.

“What are you saying?” Marianna said. “Aren’t we friends? I thought we were. All these talks we’ve had, these days we’ve shared—”

“I helped you,” Ella said, her words tumbling over one another, “as much as I could—”

“As much as you could? What the hell does that mean? Is there some kind of cap, some ceiling on being a friend? You know how vicious Mark has been. How cruel he can be. You’re the one who convinced me to leave him, something I should have done years ago. Why are you being like this?”

The roaring in her ears rose and fell like waves.

“Why can’t you?” Marianna repeated.

“Because I’m Carla’s birth mother!” Ella cried. As soon as she said the words, she wanted to choke them back.

“What?” Marianna said. Ella watched as Marianna seemed to morph into another person, stiffening, the air turning cooler around them.

“Is this a joke?” Marianna took a step back, stumbling, and blinked hard at Ella. “That can’t be true. You’re too young. You can’t be.”

“I am. I got pregnant at fifteen.”

“We never knew who Carla’s birth parents were and we didn’t want to know. The adoption was closed and the only way anyone could know is if one day Carla wanted to find you. And if you wanted that to happen, too—”

“I found the records—I went to the lawyer’s office and I saw them. I wasn’t supposed to, but I did.”

Marianna drew herself up, her body twisting with anger. “But why the fuck now? What do you want, Ella? You want to take my child away from me, too? You saw your fucking chance and now you’re grabbing it while I’m down?”

“I was barely sixteen when I gave her up. I was desperate. The father vanished and… I never forgot.” It wasn’t a lie.

“The father?”

Ella froze. “I don’t even know where he is now—my mother said he gave up his rights.”

“So did you. And you did it legally. You don’t get to have a do-over here.” Marianna’s mouth thinned into a line. She looked down at her hands.

“You know what hurts the most?” Marianna said. “That you pretended we were friends. That you cared about me. And I, the fool, believed you. I know we’re different in age, but I used to feel understood by you. Like you really got me. More so than I used to with friends my age. I couldn’t wait to see you some days. I needed that friendship. I loved it and I loved you. Why did you have to pretend?”

“I didn’t—” Ella said. “I need our friendship, too. For the longest time, I didn’t have a single friend.” She felt a coil of desperation tightening inside her.

“Bullshit. I was just Carla’s mother to you. That’s all. Don’t tell me that’s not true. Fuck you, you basically stalked us.”

Ella swallowed hard. “That was true at first,” she said. “I did stalk you. I needed to make sure that my daughter had loving parents, that she was taken care of, that she was happy.”

“And then what? What if she hadn’t been? You would have tried to take her?”

“You would have too if you were me! Don’t tell me you wouldn’t. Look how hard you’re fighting for her with Mark.”

Marianna grew still. “Fine. You care about her. But you don’t give a fuck about me,” she said finally.

“That’s not true and you know it. I listened to you when you cried about Mark. I encouraged you to move on, to get a lawyer, a bank account. I helped you move. Is that what people who don’t give a fuck do? I saw from the first how you shower Carla with love. How you look at her like you can’t believe your luck. You think I’d tear her away from that, ruin her life? You are the best mother.”

She paused, taking a deep breath.

“And you’re an amazing friend to me. You treat me like… like I have worth. Like I matter. You make me feel like we’re our own little wonderful family, and for me that has meant everything.” Ella slashed at her sudden tears. “I don’t want that to change.”

“You’re not my family. Right now, I’m not even your friend. And neither is Carla.” Marianna’s eyes flashed with anger. “Stay the hell away from us. I don’t ever want to see you again.”

It was the us that really hurt.

Ella watched Marianna march through the living room toward the front door. She wanted to call out, to say fine, yes, all right, I’ll speak to child services, testify, whatever. Because what did it matter now? Why should anything matter more than Carla’s welfare? But she was frozen in place, hating herself more than she ever had before because she was putting her terror ahead of her daughter. Maybe Marianna was right, she didn’t deserve Carla. Her little girl deserved so much better. She knew she was a terrible excuse for a mother, a terrible excuse for a friend.

Marianna opened the door for her, expectant. “Leave,” she said. “Leave now.”

ALL THAT NIGHT, back in her apartment, Ella tried calling Marianna, but she wouldn’t pick up. In the morning she went back to the house and stood outside, but couldn’t catch sight of her through the windows. Forgive me, Ella wanted to say. Forgive me.

She turned and walked home, bundling into her jacket. She couldn’t forgive herself. Not for any of it. Marianna probably thought Ella had completely unburdened herself, but Ella hadn’t told her the worst parts, all those terrible memories she wanted to erase. If something in life reminded her, she shut her mind like a trapdoor, barring entry. What good did it do to think about any of it? It changed nothing.

For the first time, she noticed how lonely her apartment was. She had done her best to make it feel homey—hanging a few prints, buying a pretty rug—but it still was the place of one person, isolated, desolate.

A FEW DAYS LATER, when it was Carla’s birthday, Ella was still shut out. She felt frantic with longing, as if someone had scooped her heart right out of her body. She couldn’t bear the thought of Carla thinking that Ella had forgotten her or, even worse, had deliberately ignored such an important day. She hadn’t been able to wrap Carla’s birthday sweater, and there it was, lying in a basket, like an accusing finger pointing and blaming her.

She did her job, she walked around Ann Arbor with no destination, and then she came home and stared at the ceiling. She often walked to the house on Jefferson, but no one was ever there. She went to Mark’s as well, but his house was always dark. Henry kept calling her, but she couldn’t answer. She didn’t know what she could possibly say to him.

And then one day, he was there, standing outside her door.

“You have to let me in,” he said, his voice insistent.

She did, and as soon as he saw her, his face softened.

“Wow,” he said. “You don’t look so good.” And then he quickly regrouped. “I mean, you always look beautiful, but—are you ill? Can I make you soup?”

“No. No soup,” she said. “I’m just exhausted.”

“I can see that. Why don’t you nap? I’ll just sit here and make sure you’re okay.”

She let him guide her to her bed. She felt him sitting beside her, waiting for her to fall asleep, but she couldn’t because of the cascade of worries storming through her. She tried to slow her breathing, pretending to be asleep, and finally he quietly got up and left. As soon as she heard the apartment door close, her eyes flew open.

Everything bothered her. The old movies she tried to watch seemed silly. The books she tried to read spilled their words off the page. She even tried taking an Excedrin PM, but nothing helped.

Ella kept going to the park by Green Tree Elementary, day after day, evenings, mornings too. Even when it was raining. The drenching was a punishment she deserved. She stayed out for hours, and then she went to Literati Bookstore and then the yarn store and then to Marianna’s house, but Marianna was never there, nor was Carla. She felt their loss like an amputation. She had had a friend. A real friend. She had had her daughter, at least a little, and she had thought their relationship was blooming into something real, something permanent. And now she had nothing, and she felt as if she were nothing, too.

She bet Mark had been able to fool the social workers the way he did everyone else, putting on his charm, pretending to be warm and loving, one arm around Carla in what wasn’t really a hug, but a proprietary hold, a vise. He’d play doting father. He’d show off a clean house filled with dolls and toys. And Carla adored Mark. She’d be ecstatic, getting all this extra attention from him.

None of this is your business. That’s what Helen would tell her. Sometimes Ella told this to people who wrote to her column. If you couldn’t be sure that you could help someone, if there was any chance you might harm them by helping, then maybe it would be better to do nothing at all until you had more information. But how were you supposed to get that information? How were you supposed to know? All she knew was she didn’t want Mark to be Carla’s father.

SHE THOUGHT THAT spending more time at work might save her. Thinking about other peoples’ problems, being able to suggest ways to get out of their labyrinths, had always made her feel stronger, of some value. She was syndicated now in papers throughout the Midwest, and would soon be on the East Coast as well. She pulled up some of the Dear Clancy letters. She’d pull herself out of this slump.

Dear Clancy,

My child is making me crazy and I’m afraid I might hit her.

Signed, Smack-happy Mama

You don’t deserve to have a child, Ella started to type, and then she stopped, her fingers hovering. She put her face in her hands. There was no way she could say such a thing to anyone. No way that she could concentrate on work tonight. She deleted the file.

She tried to exhaust herself physically, doing jumping jacks in her kitchen, walking ten thousand steps around her building. She drank half a bottle of wine, but that made her throw up, and more tired than before. She knew she was in trouble when she went to the kitchen and for a moment: Like a sign or maybe a warning, she envisioned Helen and Jude there, with Marianna and Carla, and Mark glowering at her, and when she took a step toward them, they vanished. All she saw was an old hoodie thrown over a chair.

THE NEXT DAY, Ella was once again heading for Marianna’s housesit, desperate to see her, to make sure she was okay, and to get news of Carla. She had even packed a blueberry jam sandwich, Carla’s favorite, just in case. Maybe after checking on Marianna she could go to Mark’s again. She might get something on him, something incriminating, so Marianna could get legal custody.

The sky was like hard concrete, the wind smelled like rain, and Ella told herself all she was going to do was a quick checkup and then she’d go home and hunker down.

There it was, Marianna’s housesit. She rang the bell, but no one answered. “Marianna!” she called through the door, knocking for good measure, feeling the catch in her voice. She dug in her purse for her notepad and a pencil and wrote Call me and slid it under the door. Then she headed toward Mark’s.

She had reached the end of his block when she heard Mark’s voice. Ella dipped down behind one of the bushes, watching and waiting. There was Carla in a flimsy jacket, holding a big stuffed moose. And walking toward Mark was a woman Ella had never seen before. She had a dark ponytail, and she rested her head on Mark’s shoulder as if she owned it.

Fucker, Ella thought, watching him crouch down to talk to Carla but still holding the woman’s hand. Ella couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she saw Carla’s face crumple. She saw the way Carla clutched the stuffed animal to her chest. Carla shook her head.

“We talked about this, Carla,” he said. “Remember?”

“No—” Carla’s voice was a note, falling.

“Honey, you get to watch all the TV you want inside,” Mark said. “Whatever show you want to. Pammie and I just have some things we need to take care of in the other room.”

“I can help you!” Carla said.

“No, honey, you really can’t. Watch TV. Isn’t Blue’s Clues on?”

“That’s for babies. And I want to play outside. You promised I could.”

“As soon as we’re done,” he said.

“Daddy—”

“What did I say?” His tone sharpened. “What did I tell you?”

The woman flinched. “Mark,” she said hesitantly. “Maybe—”

“Jesus,” Mark said to the woman. She took her hand away from his and stuffed it into her pocket, lowering her gaze to the ground.

Ella froze. She watched them go into the house, their heads bent toward each other in conversation.

She got up, her knees creaking, and then the door opened again and there was Carla, her jacket thrown open, winding her way to the backyard.

It was a shocking thing to see, a little girl left outside on her own, even in a backyard. Who allowed that to happen unless they were watching from a window, making sure all was okay? She wanted to text Marianna, but what if she then called the cops and told them Ella was stalking?

Ella walked to the side of the house, by the hedges ringing the lawn all the way to the backyard. Carla was sitting on the ground below the kitchen window, speaking quietly to her oversized stuffed animal. Ella waited five minutes, then ten, hoping maybe Mark and that woman had just run in for something and might be right out. But when they didn’t appear, she walked toward Carla.

“Ella!” Carla called, and ran to her, holding her animal by its leg.

Ella saw scrapes on her face. “How’d you get those?” she said. “Are those new?”

Carla shrugged. “I don’t know.” Then she looked up, smiling. “I missed you!”

“I missed you more,” Ella told her.

“That’s what Mommy says.”

“Where is Mommy?”

Carla looked down at her shoes.

“Have you seen Mommy?” Ella asked, and then Carla scuffed her feet on the ground. “Have you, honey?”

“Daddy says I will soon. But where were you? Why didn’t you come see me?”

Ella felt the pinch in her stomach. She crouched down beside Carla, rubbing the girl’s shoulders as if she were confirming she was real. Carla’s pink nail polish was chipped, and her nails were bitten down to the nubs. It made Ella hurt just to see them.

“Listen, honey,” she said, trying to make her voice soothing. “Should you be outside on your own?”

“I’m a big girl. I’m seven now.”

“Of course you are. But can you go inside if you want?”

Carla hesitated and then leaned forward to whisper. “I’m supposed to watch TV when Pammie comes over, but sometimes it gets boring. Daddy comes and gets me when he’s ready.”

“And how long is that?”

Carla dipped her head. “I don’t know. Sometimes it’s a long time. I’m supposed to be a good girl.”

Ella dug in her purse for the blueberry jam sandwich.

“Want this?” she said, and Carla grabbed for it. “Did you have breakfast today?” she asked, and Carla nodded. “What did you have?”

“Crackers.”

“And what else?”

Carla shrugged and then stuffed half the sandwich in her mouth. “Take your time,” Ella said, and Carla slowed down.

“So you don’t get to speak to Mommy?” Ella said.

“Daddy says I will,” Carla insisted. “I told you that.”

“I bet she must miss you so much.”

“I was with her before,” Carla said thoughtfully, “and now I’m with Daddy.” She looked up again at Ella. “Sometimes I wish I was with you.”

“I know,” Ella said carefully. She hugged her arms about her. “Hey, I know. Want to play a game?”

“What kind of game?” Carla wiped her hands on her pants until Ella fished out a tissue for her.

“We’re gonna learn a little song.”

“What song?” Carla asked, perking up.

“A number song. It’s a way for you to remember.”

“Remember what?”

“Do you know Mommy’s cellphone number?”

Carla shook her head.

“Well, then I’m going to give you my cellphone number, so you can call me if you ever need me.”

“I can call you?”

“Yeah, if you miss me, or if you think of something you want to tell me. You can call me anytime. For any reason.”

“Like if Georgie needs to find her shoe and I don’t know where it is?” She waved the moose’s foot.

“Exactly,” Ella said. “But also, you can call me if you feel lonely or sad or scared even. Or if Georgie does.”

Carla frowned. “I don’t have a phone.”

“But your daddy does.”

Carla brightened. “That’s right!” she said.

Ella urged Carla closer. And then she began to sing to the tune of “Happy Birthday,” because she thought that was something Carla might remember. “Six, four, six, one, two, threeee, five, fi-ive, six, two-oo… Six, four, six, one, two-ooo-oo… three, five, five, six, two-oo,” she sang. “Got it?”

They sang it together, three times, then another, and then Ella asked Carla to sing it all by herself, which she did, her face glowing with pride. “There you go,” Ella whispered.

“Daddy says I’ve got a great memory.”

She tapped her chest and then Carla’s. “That’s good. This is something special, just like my coming to visit you now is special. It’s just for us.”

“Will you come again?”

“I will. Of course.” Ella cupped Carla’s little face in her hands. “Let’s sing it again, one more time, just for good luck.” Then she heard the front door open, and Mark’s voice calling Carla’s name. Carla frowned. “It’s okay,” Ella said.

Mark barreled toward them, his face dark. The woman raced out behind him, her hair, loose now, flying behind her.

“Hey! You!” he shouted. “Ella!”

He knew her name. She didn’t know what if anything Marianna had told him about her, but anything could bring new trouble. The little girl cowered, not looking at Ella, putting her hands to her face as if to make herself invisible.

“I’m so calling the cops!” he shouted, waving his cellphone. As he was punching in numbers, Ella, burning with rage and grief, ran.

SHE DIDN’T STOP running until she was back at her place, and by then she thought of all the things she could have said. The way she could have stood her ground. Go ahead, call the cops and we’ll see who they feel is in the wrong. Go ahead because I’m watching you. Go ahead because I am calling child services.

And she could have told him the one thing she couldn’t let him know: Go ahead because I have a right. Carla is my child.

But she didn’t have that right.

She dialed Marianna and the call went straight to voicemail.

Ella couldn’t breathe.

I’m a felon and I can never get her back.

SHE CALLED CHILD services anonymously. She told them a girl looked uncared for. They wanted to know how. They took the address down. They didn’t ask for Ella’s name.

THE MAY FLOWERS were beginning to bloom when she finally went back to Mark’s house. No one was there, not even in the backyard. She returned to her apartment to wait.

Time stretched like elastic. Ella still felt jumpy. Henry called and she told him she was buried in work. She felt the disappointment coming through the phone, so, forcing levity, told him Helen’s favorite joke about a duck who enters a lip gloss store only to tell the cashier to “put it on my bill.” She just wanted to him to laugh.

“I’m here, you know,” he told her.

“I know.”

“You and I can work here side by side, in my workshop. We can be together.”

“I know,” she said, but she didn’t offer to come over.

“Whatever it is, I can help you.”

But how could she ask him to start looking for Carla? To watch out for Mark or try to find Marianna? She’d have to tell him everything, and he’d never understand.

She missed him. But she missed Carla, too. The soft weight of her in her lap. The smell of her strawberry shampoo. The warmth of her skin when Ella kissed her cheek. She also ached for Marianna, to be able to talk to her, to explain. How was it possible that she didn’t know what was going on? Surely Marianna wouldn’t leave Ann Arbor when her daughter remained in the clutches of her abusive husband.

She walked for hours around the city, trying to find the family, but she never saw Marianna or Carla or even Mark—not by the elementary school, the parks, downtown or up. Instead of being exhausted, Ella became more and more wired. She didn’t know what to do about it, how to tamp down this growing ache that was taking over her body. She imagined things to make herself feel better, impossible things. Even if she could never see her daughter again, at least Carla might be safe and happy and loved. Maybe that was the best she could hope for.

ONE DAY, SHE went to the Old Town Tavern, where Mark worked, but he wasn’t there. There was only one woman bartending, swathed in black, her hair in a long braid down her back. Casually Ella asked about him.

“Fired,” the woman said, swiping a clean rag across the bar.

“Why?”

“The usual reasons. Drinking on the job. Hand in the till,” the bartender said. “That’s a big no-no around here.”

“I thought he owned this bar,” she said, and the bartender hooted.

“As if.”

“Do you know where he is?”

The bartender peered closer at Ella. “Why would I?” she asked. “You gonna order a drink or what?”

Ella shook her head and left.

WHEN SHE ARRIVED home, everything seemed so out of control that she listlessly rearranged all her books, dusted her tiny place, and even did the dishes. Then, because there was nothing else to do, she sat down to work on her letters, clicking on the first one.

Dear Clancy,

When my daughter was little, she clung to me like Velcro. Now that she’s sixteen, it’s all closed doors and buttoned lips. I know this is supposed to happen, but it’s breaking my heart. Will she ever love me again? And if she does, will it be the same way or something different?

Signed, Brokenhearted Mom

Ella typed, Dear Brokenhearted Mom, and then stopped. How could she possibly tell this woman—or anyone—anything anymore? She shut the computer down, even though she had a whole backlog of letters to sift through. She couldn’t concentrate and already Pearl had texted her and asked her where the column was. Ella didn’t know what to say. She used to be so good at giving advice, relying on her experiences, her hardships, her thoughtfulness.

If she hadn’t been able to escape her own mistakes, at least she could manage to help other people. Now, all she wanted to do was answer every letter with the same advice she told herself: Get used to the pain. Treat it like a splinter. It might work its way out, or it might work its way deeper, festering. There is nothing you can do.

She forced herself to write a column and, restless, watched one bad movie after another on TV, until it was suddenly six in the morning. She couldn’t sleep so she rearranged her tiny kitchen. She considered trying a hot bath, even though she didn’t particularly like baths, when her phone rang. No one ever called her, except Pearl and Helen, and neither one of them would be calling this early.

Unless it was Marianna. She grabbed her cell.

“Marianna—” she said, catching her breath. There was a rustling sound on the line, someone waiting, fidgeting. Through the receiver, she heard a small cough, and then a voice.

“Ella?” Carla whispered. “I remembered the number song. I got all the numbers right. Because I’m smart.”

Ella snapped to attention. “Honey. Honey, are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” Carla said. “I’m on Daddy’s cellphone.”

“Daddy’s there? Who are you with, honey?”

“Daddy. I was with a lady, too.”

Ella thought of the woman who had been with Mark, the one he had scolded. “And where is that lady now?”

“I don’t know. She left.”

“And where are you, honey?”

“A hotel.”

“What hotel?” she said.

Carla was silent.

“Honey,” Ella said. “What are the numbers on the hotel phone, tell them to me.” She heard the little girl shuffling, shifting the phone, before reading them slowly. Ella wrote them down. The area code was California. What were they doing in California? Did Marianna know? Was Mark even legally allowed to do this?

“Is there a number on the outside of the door? Can you go and look? Or is there a key, with a number?”

She heard the clatter of the cellphone falling, and then Carla came back. “Six-one-seven,” she said. “It’s on the key.”

“Now, is there a name on the key? Can you read it to me?”

She could hear Carla breathing. “Fairfax Inn,” she said finally.

“Good job,” Ella said, trying to calm her. “Honey, where’s your Daddy now? Did he go out for something? Did he say when he’d be back?”

Carla started crying. “I tried to call Mommy, and no one answered!”

“Honey, don’t cry. I’m right here. Where is he?”

“On the floor! He woke me up when he came back!”

“Wait, what do you mean?”

“He gets mad if I wake him.”

Ella felt her body tense. She glanced at the clock. It’d be three a.m. in California. What was going on? Drunk on the job, the bartender had said.

“Honey, listen to me. I want you go to where he is, and put your hand on his chest.” Ella tried to make her voice calm and casual, as if she were telling Carla something no more important than that she should make herself some soup. “Go on, I’ll wait for you to do it.”

She could hear Carla’s steps. “Okay,” Carla said.

“When you put your hand on his chest, does it move up and down?”

“No! He’s bleeding! It’s on my hands!”

“Honey, can you shake him? Try to wake him up? Or is there a cup in the bathroom that you can fill with water and toss it on his face?”

“He’ll yell at me—” Carla said, protesting.

“If he does, you put him right on the phone with me and I’ll take care of it.”

She heard Carla calling, “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,” louder and louder. And then Carla picked up the phone. “He’s not moving,” Carla said, starting to cry. “I’m scared. I don’t know what to do.”

“Sit tight,” Ella said. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

“Is Mommy coming? Are you coming?”

“Someone is,” Ella insisted. She’d call the police and not leave her name. Or the hotel and tell them. “I just have to get off the phone and call them—”

“Don’t leave me!”

“It’s just for a minute,” Ella said. “I’ll call you right back. I promise.”

“No, don’t go—”

“Have I ever broken a promise to you?” Ella said quietly, waiting.

“No,” came the small voice.

“Then listen,” she said. “You keep that phone in your hand. You count to two hundred and then the phone will ring. Do it now, honey. Start counting. Let me hear you.”

She waited until she heard the click of the phone. She found the hotel online, and thank God, there was only one with that name in that area code. She called and a woman answered, and Ella said that there was a little girl in room 617 and her father had been injured, and someone should get up there right away, and before they could ask who she was, she hung up and redialed Carla.

“Mommy?” Carla said.

Yes. No. “It’s Ella. There’s going to be someone coming to the room very soon to help you, honey. And I’m going to stay on the phone until they’re there with you, okay?”

She didn’t want Carla looking at her father, so she asked her if she could see outside the hotel window, if she could describe what was there. She asked her what she wanted for dinner, for breakfast, and then she heard a woman’s voice in the background, and that was when Carla dropped the phone and Ella hung up.

What was she supposed to do now? All that day Ella waited for someone to call her, knowing they could easily redial her number from Mark’s phone. She could tell them enough of the truth, that she was friends with the family, that she had given Carla her number. The rest could stay secret. But the phone never rang. She called the hotel again, but when she asked about Carla, a curt voice told her it was privileged information.

A WEEK PASSED and May slid into June. She began to search the online obituaries for a Mark Shorter, and when she found it, for a moment, it felt like everything stopped. Beloved father, it said. Beloved husband. Why didn’t it say monster?

She called the child services hotline again, asking about Carla, but of course they wouldn’t talk to her. More privileged information. She thought about talking to a lawyer, but what good would that do? Ella was shut out.

She hung up the phone, feeling a yearning so fierce, she doubled over with pain. She was so tired of taking care of things, of keeping secrets. She needed someone to listen to her, to let her lean against them. She thought about Henry, the blue of his eyes like a chip of ocean, the way he never combed his hair, but he let her comb it with her fingers. He had cooked her dinners at his place. He had kissed her neck, her shoulders, never going further unless she asked him to, as if he had known that she was being careful not to lose control. She could call him now and he’d come right over, his face serious but soft with understanding. He’d pull her against him, and he’d listen to her. He’d tell her how glad he was that she was finally opening up.

But what if she told him everything and it was simply too much?

She started to cry and then she thought about her mother, and she suddenly missed her more than she ever had. Helen’s constant anxiety had made Ella want to leave, to have her own life, but Helen had also traveled two hours every weekend, each way, to visit her in prison. For over six years. She had written her letters, cheerful, full of love, never once blaming, wrote them what seemed like every day so that Ella would have something to look forward to, even when she didn’t write back. When Ella had been little, her mother had wrapped her in her arms every night to tell her a story. She would make up songs and teach them to her. Every time Helen looked at her, Ella knew she was loved—there was so much wonder and adoration in her mother’s eyes.

Ella picked up her cell. The moment she heard her mother’s voice, she started to cry. She ached to see her. She needed to be held, to be comforted, and most of all, to not be judged.

“Baby girl,” Helen said, alarmed.

“Mom,” she choked out. “Please come. Please visit me. I need you. I need you.” And then she started to cry harder because this time she really and truly did.