The room is quiet, Anna’s jacket is unzipped, sleeves pushed up to her elbows. She washes my face with a warm cloth. “And after that, we were afraid even to go outside to school. That’s how bad my village was.”

Her almond skin glows in the monitor’s light. She folds the steamy washcloth in half and presses it to my forehead as if treating nothing more serious than a headache.

“I always tell you I came here by airplane but really, my very first airplane ride was to my honeymoon with Sidney. First-class!” She chuckles softly and washes where the grime of childhood once collected behind my ears.

“I came with fifteen other people through Mexico, through the tunnels. Other men met us in Mexicali and took us in a bus. I watch a girl get raped in that bus. No one said a word. We were so afraid.” She crosses the room and retrieves another cloth. “Before you met me, I was already working two years in a sweatshop. Fourteen-hour days for a few dollars an hour. Hah! Stupid me, I thought that was a lot of money. I sent most home to my mother, paid twenty-five dollars a week to the cousins where I am living, sharing a small bed with one of the old aunties who would fart all night.”

She wrings the warm cloth and flaps it to cool before pressing it to my chest. “I ate food from 7-Eleven. One meal a day—I was so skinny. I should write a diet book of that!”

Sweat beads at her temples, a narrow path of silver outlines her widow’s peak, feathering into the strands of her black hair. When did she stop dying her roots? No. When did she start?

“The sweatshop was raided and shut down. I had maybe twenty dollars and was thinking my life is over. It’s funny what you think is a tragedy and don’t know is the miracle you waiting for.

“Then, a lady tells me about an agency for maids. I think no one will hire me, but they tell me there is maybe a job for live-in. But far away.

“Oh, that long bus ride to Malibu! I was already riding for an hour and still another forty-five minutes to go! But when we get to Pacific Coast Highway, I see the ocean. Maybe you can’t believe this, but in the two years I am in Los Angeles, this was my first time to see the beach. The air, fresh. No buildings. I could breathe!