Evelyn Goldberg

147

You hear her footsteps before you see them. Evelyn Goldberg opens the door in the semidarkness, her black gown open over a simple dress, her breathing a little too rapid, as if she were hurrying in more than just a physical way. You were once more than close—too close to ever fully forget. Now you stand before her, gravely accused, her as judge. Her eyes scan your face briefly, linger a moment too long. "I didn't think your name would ever appear on my list," she says, more quietly than necessary, and takes a step back to let you in. She leans against the judge's bench, almost as if she needs to steady herself, her fingers nervously gliding along the wood. "I'm not supposed to do this... but I want to help you."