first night were gone, vanished into the ether. If any others had been received since then, they were gone as well.
Once I was in, I dialed Petra’s number again, imagining the relief I’d feel to hear her voice. To see her standing on Eva’s front porch, hired car idling at the curb, ready to lift me out of this nightmare and deposit me somewhere safe. A fancy hotel in San Francisco where we’d order room service and wait for Nico’s guy to make a new set of documents for me.
But the call ended again with the three tones. No longer in service. I tried a few variations, transposing numbers, swapping different ones in. I reached a deli, an older woman who spoke only Spanish, and a preschool before I gave up. Nico’s words floated back to me: You can never go back. Not once. Not in any way, ever.
I look out the coffee shop window and watch Berkeley come to life. A small trickle of people enter, order, and leave again, the morning rush aligned with a college town’s later start. By six thirty, it’s empty again, my coffee nearly gone.
The barista comes out from behind the counter and begins wiping down the table next to me. “You from out of town?” she asks.
I freeze, unsure how to answer, afraid that I’ve somehow been recognized. But she keeps talking a steady stream, giving me time to catch up. “I know just about everyone who comes in here—if not by name, then by face. But you’re new.”
“I’m just passing through,” I say, gathering my things and preparing to leave.
She gives the table one last swipe and looks at me. “No need to go,” she says. “Take your time.” Then she moves behind the counter and starts a fresh batch of coffee. I lean back in my chair and watch the light at the intersection blink from red to green and back again.
Around seven thirty, the shop grows crowded and I leave. The girl behind the counter gives me a wave and a smile as I exit, and I return it, feeling a tiny tendril of pleasure wrap around me.
* * *
I decide to push myself out into the world and go for a walk, knowing I can’t hide forever. So instead of heading back to Eva’s, I turn west on Hearst Avenue and trace the northernmost perimeter of campus, marveling at the giant redwood trees that stand, thick among the buildings and grassy expanses. When I hit the western edge of campus, I turn south, and circle back east again, this time on the south side. This is the Berkeley you see on television and read about in books. A drum circle has positioned themselves outside the student union, and people swarm past them, on their way to class or their offices, heads down in the brisk morning air. As I make my way up the hill toward the old stone stadium, I turn and look west, a sharp wind cutting through my thin sleeves. I shiver, staring at the white expanse of San Francisco, the gray water contrasting with the deep greens and golds of the hills to the north, the Golden Gate Bridge a dusty-orange silhouette. Somewhere out there is the convent where Eva grew up. An entire childhood lived and lost among the buildings that seem to shimmer in the distance.
As I cut across campus, I imagine what it would be like to be a student here, one of the many people hurrying to class, and try to picture Eva among them. I slow down as I approach a bridge that traverses a small stream and lean against the railing, looking down into the swirling water making its way downhill toward the ocean. Above me, the breeze whispers through the tall trees, a quiet rush that makes my thoughts slow. I can’t imagine ever wanting to leave a place like this.
I push off the railing and continue my walk back to Eva’s, past the coffee shop, where the barista is still working the morning shift, and past several other closed businesses—a used bookstore, a hair salon—until I’m back in Eva’s neighborhood again. My breath comes faster as I make my way up the winding hill, past apartment buildings and small houses and duplexes similar to Eva’s. I peer into them as I pass—a woman sitting at her dining room table, feeding a baby in a high chair. A messy-haired college student, eyes puffy and barely awake, staring out