Jackie hits a corner store on the way home for some chicken soup. Some Jewish penicillin. The irony didn't escape her: stare a woman in the eye and tell her that her addiction is killing the family she's only barely started. The woman from Ohio was allergic to penicillin, but had no problem shoving opiates into herself, just to forget ever having seen the Balkans. Jackie hits a corner store on the way home for some chicken soup, because back in ancient times, a Jewish mystic blessed the first pot, and to this day there's a little magic in every pot. Because she wants to believe.
Fiona and Kevin are asleep on the bed; Grace is on the floor, worrying at the screen with all her might. Grace carries her parents on her back, across the rocky cold landscape, and it's killing her. Crippling her, slowly. But she doesn't need Vicodin for this pain. She needs something better. It's about faith.
"Hey, sweetie," Jackie says, sitting on the floor with her, backs against the bed. Grace asks first whether the bubonic plague could ever happen again. No, Jackie explains: we have medicine, and sanitation, that they didn't have. But Gracie knows there's something wrong, something coming. An iceberg in the water; she writes it in her doomsday book. You have no idea how hard it is to watch your child falling, and you can't do anything to stop it.
But what about the flu, then? Is it the flu she feels coming for them? "Could a flu epidemic wipe out forty million people, like it did in 1918?" Jackie's exasperated: "Honey, these are not important..." Grace demands. "Could it!" No, Jackie says. No. She shakes her head, holding a bowl of the soup she brought all the way into this territory, to bring it back to life. Grace looks away.
"You want some soup?" Not really. "It's really good for you, Monkey. Chicken soup. Just a little bit?" Grace doesn't even look at her mother, eyes trained on horrors. Jackie blows on a spoonful and holds it across the cold space between them, and Grace opens her mouth without looking. Jackie watches her like a hawk. "That's good. Right?" Grace nods, and Jackie touches her hair. She doesn't take her eyes off the screen, staring at the Balkans, wondering how to save them all. If it's even possible.