from a passing train. Glimpses into a different life, with a regular job and friends, and she’d feel unsettled for days.
When she arrived at the clearing, she was relieved to see she was alone. The scarred wooden picnic table still stood beneath a giant oak tree, a concrete trash can chained to it. She wandered over to the table and sat on it, checking the time again, the familiar location drawing her mind back in time.
* * *
Fish ran the drug underworld in Berkeley and Oakland, and Dex worked for him. “Most drug dealers get picked up quickly,” Dex had warned her at the very beginning. He’d taken her to lunch at a waterfront restaurant in Sausalito, so he could explain what she’d be doing. Across the bay, San Francisco had been swathed in a deep fog, only the tops of the tallest buildings visible. She’d thought of St. Joseph’s and the nuns who’d raised her, buried under the fog and the assumption that Eva was still enrolled in school, still on track to graduate with full honors in chemistry, instead of where she was—three days post expulsion, sleeping in Dex’s spare bedroom and getting a crash course on drug selling and distribution. Eva tore her eyes away and focused back on Dex.
“What you make has a very specific market,” Dex continued. “You will only sell to people referred to you by me. This is how you’ll stay safe.”
“I’m confused,” Eva had said. “Am I making or selling?”
Dex folded his hands on top of the table. They’d finished eating, and the server had tucked the check next to Dex’s water glass and then disappeared. “Historically, Fish has struggled to keep good chemists for long. They always think they can do better on their own and then things get complicated. So we’re going to try something different with you,” he’d said. “You will produce three hundred pills a week. As compensation for this work, you will keep half and Fish will let you sell them yourself, keeping one hundred percent of those profits.”
“Who will I sell them to?” she’d asked, suddenly uncomfortable, imagining herself face-to-face with strung-out addicts. People who might grow violent. People like her mother.
Dex smiled. “You will provide an important service to a very specific clientele—students, professors, and athletes. Five pills should sell for about two hundred dollars,” Dex had told her. “You can clear $300,000 per year, easy.” He smiled at her stunned expression. “This only works if you follow the rules,” he’d warned. “If we hear you’re branching out, or selling to addicts, you put everything and everyone at risk. Understand?”
She’d nodded and cast an anxious glance toward the entrance. “What about Fish? I thought he’d be here today.”
Dex laughed and shook his head. “God, you’re green. I forget you don’t know how any of this works. If you do your job well, you’ll never meet Fish.” She must have looked confused, because he clarified. “Fish keeps things compartmentalized. It’s how he protects himself. If any one person knew too much, they’d become a target—of either a competitor or the police. I’ll be your handler, and I’ll make sure you stay safe.” Dex dropped several twenty-dollar bills onto the table and stood. Their meal was over. “If you do as I tell you, you’ll have a nice life. It’s safe as long as you follow the rules.”
“Don’t you worry about getting caught?”
“Despite what you might see on TV, the police only know the ones they catch, and they only catch the dumb ones. But Fish isn’t dumb. He’s not in this for power. He’s a businessman who thinks about long-term gains. And that means growing slowly, being selective about his clients as well as the people who work for him.”
She’d been eager to get started. It had sounded so simple. And the system worked. The only hard part was being on campus among her peers, having to live alongside the life she’d just lost. Walking past her dorm where the same people still lived. The chemistry building where her classes went on without her. The stadium where Wade continued to shine, and one year later, the graduation ceremony that should have been hers. It was as if she’d stepped through some kind of barrier, where she could watch her old life still unfold, unseen. But as the years passed, the students grew younger and soon campus was populated by all new people. The loss had faded, as all losses did, replaced by something harder. Stronger. She