Taylor and Alice tower over Turtle, holding on to each other with heads together and legs apart, leaning like a crooked teepee. They stand that way for a long time in the airport while people walk around them without looking, desiring only to make their connections. Alice’s empty white sweater sleeves hang from her shoulders. Turtle pushes her head against Taylor and holds the hem of her shirt, since there isn’t anything else. She met her Grandma Alice once before but that time nobody was crying.

“Mama, I haven’t been like this, I swear,” Taylor says. “I didn’t fall to pieces till just this minute.”

Alice rubs her back in a circle. “You go ahead and fall apart. That’s what I’m here for.” Turtle watches the hand with big knuckles move up and down her mother’s back, and waits for something to fall. After a while they move apart. Taylor tries to carry everything Alice has.

“What’d you put in this suitcase?” she asks. “Rocks? Harland’s headlights?”

“I’ll Harland’s headlights you,” Alice says, laughing, smacking Taylor on the bottom.

She comes down to Turtle with a hug. She smells like chewing gum and Kleenex and sweaters. Turtle thinks: this is the telephone Grandma. She is nice and this is how she looks.

“Turtle, you can carry this carry-on bag for Grandma, okay?” Taylor stoops to put the strap over Turtle’s shoulder.

“I can’t believe how strong you are. Look, Mom, doesn’t she walk like a queen? I swear I didn’t teach her that. It’s a natural talent, she has perfect posture.”

Turtle leans against the weight of the bag and puts each heel and toe on the long blue line in the carpet.

Alice blows her nose again. “Did you all eat? I’m starved.

I had roasted peanuts for lunch.”

“We had apricots for lunch,” Turtle says, and her mother starts crying again. It’s the crying that looks like laughing from the back, but isn’t. The most bad thing would be if her mother goes away and the bad place comes.

Turtle wishes she could put the words she said back in her mouth and eat them. They would taste bright and sour, like dimes. She feels the door of her back teeth closing. There are forty or a hundred people in the airport so she makes sure to follow the blue jean legs and the white grandma sandals. Their heads are big and too far away like dinosaurs.

The talking comes out like round bubbles. When they go outside the sun hurts a little, as much as water hurts when it runs out hot on your hands.

“Turtle, Turtle, Turtle,” someone is saying. “It’s okay, Mama, I told you about.” All the cars are shiny animals under water. They can’t get air.

Somewhere else in the old place was that shine of angels or stars too close, the underwater, shoes on the floor and no light and a man’s voice across your mouth and you can’t get air. A woman crying.

A woman turned on a flashlight and moved her arms that were like fish arms, and her mouth opened and closed.

“We can eat at the coffee shop,” her mother’s voice is saying. The bubbles break open and Turtle hears each one of those words come out. So much time has passed that it might be another day, or the same day but dark. It isn’t dark.

They are in the car, moving. The front seat is far away. A boy on a bicycle goes by, the gold bicycle lifting its front wheel off the sidewalk again and again like a scared horse.

The boy has a yellow shirt and blond hair in his eyes, laughing, not afraid. His feet move faster than he is going.

Turtle kneels on the seat and looks back, watching this one boy and bicycle that look the right way, until they are gone.

She sits down again.

“The good news is you can get a hotel room in this town for eleven dollars a night. If you stay in a junky place with a casino downstairs. I guess they figure on getting your money by other means.”

“They done got yours,” Grandma says.

“A hundred and ten dollars. I could shoot myself.”

Turtle sees her hands, and thinks: These are my hands.

“That’s if you would have stopped when you got to the top. That’s not what you started out with.”

“No, we started with fifty.”

“So that’s all you lost, really.”

“Why didn’t I stop?”

“Because you were speculating. If you could get a hundred and ten out of fifty, why couldn’t you make a thousand out of a hundred and ten.”

“Stupid.”

“Stupid as every other soul in this town, honey. Look at those neon lights, and tell me who you think is paying the electric bill.”