1972

February 7, Monday

Work has become a boring but predictable routine and I have enough money to pay the rent and get the boys what they need, even save a few dollars. My English is improving because I spend time every day practicing, learning new words and helping the boys do their homework. I carry a small notebook with me to write down things to look up or remember. Some of the guys in the kitchen have been here for years and still only speak Spanish, but I’m determined to learn English.

It’s a blustery day and I’m wearing my jacket under my big apron since I’m always taking out trash and have to sweep the parking lot. The boys are always hoping for snow but they were disappointed we didn’t have what Americans call a white Christmas. Cold weather like this is not my favorite but spring will be here soon. I’m imagining flowers in bloom and warm breezes when all of a sudden there’s a huge commotion and people running, being chased by guys in dark jackets with holstered guns on their hips.

I take off my apron, stuff it in the trash bag and walk calmly over to a lady who’s parked on the street eating her food. I knock on the passenger door and give her a pleading look when she turns toward me. She doesn’t object as I open the passenger door and sit down.

She is blonde and well dressed and doesn’t act like she’s scared. “Are you being chased by them? Do you know who they are?”

I nod. “Immigration.”

She starts the car and pulls out onto Franklin Street. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

I just nod and try not to look around, but I see one of the guys from the kitchen with his arms handcuffed behind him being pushed back toward the burger place by one of the immigration officers.

She looks over at me. “Where are you from?”

“Carrboro.”

“No, I mean, where are you from?” She raises her eyebrows.

“I’m from Brazil. I have two sons who go to school here. I can’t leave them.”

She’s a nice lady, she looks sad for me. “Well, you got away this time.” She pulls over to the curb on the university campus and turns off the engine. She reaches in her purse and hands me a twenty-dollar bill.

“Ma’am, you don’t have to give money. I thank you very much for help me.”

She smiles. “Go ahead, please take it. And I suggest you don’t go back to work at that place. Good luck.”

My heart is in my throat as I get out of the car and I walk around the campus to catch my breath and calm down. All I can think about is what could have happened if they had picked me up and found out I don’t have papers.

Lupe looks up as I walk into the house. “Pobrecita, you are upset, qué pasó?”

I begin to sob and haltingly tell her the story. She hugs me and murmurs that things will be okay and brings me a glass of water.

“Thank you.” I wipe my face and blow my nose.

Lupe looks concerned. “You are right, La Migra is danger. My friend got pick up and deportada back to Mexico. They took her kids, they in a inmigración place in El Paso. She have to pay lawyers to get them back. Muy triste. But you are okay, don’t go back the Burger Shack.”

I shake my head no. What would happen to Junior and Carlos if I’m deported? It’s just too awful to think about. I have to find work that won’t catch the immigration authorities’ attention. After the boys are in bed I call Joana, she’s over at David’s apartment. He answers the phone and hands it to her.

“Joana? I have to tell you what happened today.”

When I finish the story she’s silent for a minute. “Eva, you can do odd jobs for a while. I can use your help since I have more houses to clean. And we can buy the stuff to make cakes, we can get that business going by word of mouth. We might even make bikinis again, what do you think?”

“I think those are great ideas. I’m not going back to Burger Shack. I can’t take the risk. And I’m lucky to have a partner who studied business.”

“Okay, then. I’ll be back in the morning and we’ll make some plans.”