“When you run, you run. You don’t look back.”

I rest against him, shut my eyes. That fear has faded. After a while, he says, “You should tell Lidia. Maybe it will help your mother’s case.”

“It won’t.”

“Let her decide that.”

He’s tracing my knuckles with his thumb. I like to do that to him, as if to understand how his long fingers can do all that drawing. It sends a shivery, tingling sensation through me.

Carlos’s scars glow on his neck. I touch them. We are in the dark, which is why he can speak. “Tell me,” I say.

His memories rush like a river. It was night. A fence, meant for cows, for animals. The coyote explained that Carlos must go down through the hole beneath the sharp wire. And he did, crawling belly first, and then a sharp pain flared down his neck. Warm liquid soaked his collar. He cried out, but the man smacked him. Keep going. Pretend it is your jacket that is torn, not you.

“That was the only way to get across,” Carlos tells me. “I had to become a thing.”

Now I understand why Carlos holds himself tense, apart, and wary. When he draws, it is a way of saying, I am not a thing. A headline. I feel. I see.

I rest my head on his shoulder. There are so many ways to be held. This place with its heavy beams. The barn and its itchy hay. All these kind people, doing what they can. And Carlos, with his own stories, his arms around me, mine around him.

The door to the living room is shut, but I can hear voices murmuring on the other side. There’s a nip in the air—when I climb out of bed, my toes curl on the cold floorboards. Sam and another adult are talking. School. Registration. Appeal.

I twist the knob and when the door swings open, I see Carlos sitting on the sofa, Jayne and Sam opposite. Their eyes flash upward at me. “I’m sorry, Rania,” Jayne says. “If you don’t mind, we need to talk to Carlos alone.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Fine, dear. We’ll be done soon.”

I feel like I’ve been poked in the chest. I back away and try to busy myself in the kitchen, but all I’m doing is washing the same pot. I check emails. More stuff from Hunter. Freshman orientation. An advisor assigned. A book I need to read. And then an email from Amirah: Rania, I’m starting to wonder if you want this job…I slam the laptop shut, my eyes stinging. Then I force myself to write back. So sorry. I had a family emergency. End of August?

Someone is tapping me on the shoulder. I turn to see Sam. He looks grave. “What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Come.”