Mom gets them out of Skokie when Laila is four. She talks about endless troops of kids and dead ends no matter which way you turn. Dad directs the operation of packing furniture, dishes, clothes, while Mom smokes with the neighbors and bitches if moving men come near her books. “These go in our car,” she says.
Laila sits on top of boxes with her brothers, screaming every time they take a turn. Dad yells, “Belt them in!” Mom says, “Enjoy the ride while you can, kids. Never know when you’ll be strapped in for good. God knows, I didn’t.”