I swallowed. It was impossible to hold back the tears, because I was dirty and Mom saw it. And even though she said nothing more than that, I suddenly knew what she really wanted to say: Come home with me and take a bath, come home with me. I’ll draw a bath for you, all the way to the rim of the tub, fill the tub with scalding-hot water and bubble bath—bubbles that smell clean, my own, you can help yourself, take as much as you want. And let me wash your hair with Timotei shampoo, massage it into your scalp for a long time and scrub your back with the hard brush that removes dead skin cells and makes your skin as soft as a baby’s. And let me lift you up and wrap you in the largest, cleanest towel I have and rub you down until you’re dry and warm and your skin is burning. And let me lend you my bathrobe, the big, thick one, and stay with you all the time, because this time I’m not going to leave you to go scream at your father, I’m not going to forget about you until the bathwater turns cold. This time I will stay with you until you fall asleep.

I could have gone with her, now, immediately. Got into her warm, clean car with an engine that ran more quietly than any other, and driven to the hotel, to the wing, driven home.

I drew a breath.

No.

No.

She wanted to bribe me, a double betrayal. She came here to flag her side, show everyone where her loyalties were, maybe even lead them. And simultaneously, she wanted to bribe me. Were there no limits?

I turned away from her, walked away as quickly as I could, toward Magnus and the tent, hoping my back was enough of a rejection, but she followed me.

“Wait, Signe, stop!”

Now Magnus noticed her and stopped working; the tent was already halfway down.

“What are you doing?” I asked. “The tent stays up.”

But he just looked at Mom behind me. “Iris?”

Mom came all the way over to us, raised her arms toward me, as if she wanted to hug me, but I crossed my own.

“Sweetie,” she said. “I wish you could understand my thinking. That it’s you and the boys I’m thinking about.”

“You’re thinking about me?” I so wanted my voice to be calm, but I could hear how it trembled. “How can you be thinking about me when you’re doing something like this?”

Then she turned toward Magnus. “I told you it would be like this.”

“What?” I said. “Have you talked about this? Have you talked about me?”

“We care about you, Signe,” Mom said.

We?

“What is this?” I asked, noticing how my voice came back. “A sewing club where you discuss Signe’s well-being?”