“You’ll be fine. She can’t hurt you anymore. You’re Tallulah Hart, remember?”

That was what she needed. Smiling, feeling stronger, she pulled back and broke free, looking at the camera. She didn’t bother to wipe the tears from her eyes. “I guess I still want her to love me,” she revealed quietly. “Let’s go.”

They climbed back into the van and drove out to the highway. On Mill Road they turned left and drove down a bumpy, rutted gravel road until an old beige mobile home came into view. It sat on blocks in a grassy field, surrounded by rusted, broken-down cars. A refrigerator lay on its side in the front yard; a threadbare, broken recliner beside it. Three ragged-looking pit bulls were chained to the fence. They went crazy when the van pulled into the yard, barking and snarling and jumping forward.

“It’s Deliverance,” Tully said, giving a weak smile as she reached for the door handle.

They all got out at once, moving forward in formation: Tully in the lead, advancing with false confidence; Fat Bob beside or in front of her, capturing every instant on tape; and Johnny behind them, holding Marah’s hand, reminding her to keep quiet.

Tully went up to the front door and knocked.

No one answered.

She tried to listen for footsteps, but the barking dogs made that impossible.

She knocked again, and was just about to give in to relief and say, No luck! when the door swung open to reveal a huge, straggly-haired man in boxer shorts. A tattoo of a woman in a hula skirt covered the left half of his swollen, hairy belly.

“Yeah?” he said, scratching his underarm.

“I’m here to see Cloud.”

He cocked his head to the right and stepped out of the trailer, moving past her, going toward his dogs.

Tully’s eyes watered at the smell that came from the mobile home. She wanted to turn to the camera and say something witty, but she couldn’t even swallow, she was so nervous. Inside, she found piles of junk and old food containers. There were flies everywhere and pizza boxes full of leftover crusts. But mostly what she saw were empty booze bottles and a bong. A huge pile of pot lay on the kitchen table.

Tully didn’t point it out or make a comment.

Fat Bob mirrored every step, filmed her journey through this mobile home hell.

She went to the closed door behind the kitchen, knocked, and opened it, revealing the grossest bathroom of all time. She slammed the door shut and went to the next door. There, she knocked twice and then turned the knob. The bedroom was small, made smaller by the piles of clothes everywhere. Three empty half-gallon Monarch Gin bottles lined the bedside table.

Her mother lay curled in the fetal position on the unmade bed, with a ragged blue blanket wrapped around her body.