The Last Flight (Julie Clark [Julie Clark])

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Names:Clark,Julie,author.
Title:Lastflight/JulieClark.
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Classification:LCCPS3603.L36467L372020|DDC813/.6—dc23
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Contents
FrontCover
TitlePage
Copyright
Prologue
Claire
Claire
Claire
Eva
Claire
Eva
Claire
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Claire
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Claire
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Epilogue
ReadingGroupGuide
AConversationwiththeAuthor
Acknowledgments
AbouttheAuthor
BackCover
Dedicatedtoallthewomenwhohavecomeforwardwiththeirstories.Whetheritbeinfrontofacongressionalpanelonlivetelevisionoraloneinawindowlesshumanresourcesoffice—wehearyou.Webelieveyou.
Tellmeaboutdespair,yours,andIwilltellyoumine.
Meanwhiletheworldgoeson.
—MaryOliver,WildGeese
Prologue
JohnF.KennedyAirport,NewYork
Tuesday,February22
TheDayoftheCrash
Terminal4swarmswithpeople,thesmellofwetwoolandjetfuelthickaroundme.Iwaitforher,justinsidetheslidingglassdoors,thefrigidwinterwindslammingintomewhenevertheyopen,andinsteadforcemyselftovisualizeabalmyPuertoRicanbreeze,lacedwiththescentofhibiscusandseasalt.Thesoft,accentedSpanishswirlingaroundmelikeawarmbath,blottingoutthepersonIwasbefore.
Theairoutsiderumblesasplanesliftintothesky,whileinsidegarbledannouncementsblareovertheloudspeaker.Somewherebehindme,anolderwomanspeaksinsharp,staccatoItalian.ButIdon’tlookawayfromthecurb,myeyestrainedonthecrowdedsidewalkoutsidetheterminal,searchingforher,anchoringmybelief—andmyentirefuture—onthefactthatshewillcome.
Iknowonlythreethingsabouther:hername,whatshelookslike,andthatherflightdepartsthismorning.Myadvantage—shedoesn’tknowanythingaboutme.IfightdownpanicthatImighthavemissedhersomehow.Thatshemightalreadybegone,andwithher,theopportunityformetoslipoutofthislifeandintoanewone.
Peopledisappeareveryday.ThemanstandinginlineatStarbucks,buyinghislastcupofcoffeebeforehegetsintohiscaranddrivesintoanewlife,leavingbehindafamilywhowillalwayswonderwhathappened.OrthewomansittinginthelastrowofaGreyhoundbus,staringoutthewindowasthewindblowsstrandsofhairacrossherface,wipingawayahistorytooheavytocarry.Youmightbeshouldertoshoulderwithsomeonelivingtheirlastmomentsasthemselvesandneverknowit.
Butveryfewpeopleactuallystoptoconsiderhowdifficultitistotrulyvanish.Thelevelofdetailneededtoeliminateeventhetiniesttrace.Becausethere’salwayssomething.Asmallthread,aseedoftruth,amistake.Itonlytakesatinypinprickofcircumstancetounravelitall.Aphonecallatthemomentofdeparture.Afenderbenderthreeblocksbeforethefreewayon-ramp.Acanceledflight.
Alast-minutechangeofitinerary.
Throughtheplateglasswindow,foggedwithcondensation,IseeablacktowncarglidetothecurbandIknowit’sher,evenbeforethedooropensandshestepsout.Whenshedoes,shedoesn’tsaygoodbyetowhoeverisinthebackseatwithher.Instead,shescurriesacrossthepavementandthroughtheslidingdoors,socloseherpinkcashmeresweaterbrushesagainstmyarm,softandinviting.Hershouldersarehunched,asifwaitingforthenextblow,thenextattack.Thisisawomanwhoknowshoweasilyafifty-thousand-dollarrugcanshredtheskinfromhercheek.Iletherpassandtakeadeepbreath,exhalingmytension.She’shere.Icanbegin.
Iliftthestrapofmybagovermyshoulderandfollow,slippingintothesecuritylinedirectlyinfrontofher,knowingthatpeopleontherunonlylookbehindthem,neverahead.Ilisten,andwaitformyopening.
Shedoesn’tknowityet,butsoon,shewillbecomeoneofthevanished.AndIwillfade,likeawispofsmokeintothesky,anddisappear.
Claire
Monday,February21
TheDaybeforetheCrash
“Danielle,”Isay,enteringthesmallofficethatsitsadjacenttoourlivingroom.“PleaseletMr.CookknowI’mgoingtothegym.”
Shelooksupfromhercomputer,andIseehergazesnagonthebruisealongthebaseofmythroat,concealedwithathinlayerofmakeup.Iautomaticallyadjustmyscarftocoverit,knowingshewon’tmentionit.Sheneverdoes.
“WehaveameetingatCenterStreetLiteracyatfour,”shesays.“You’llbelateagain.”Daniellekeepstrackofmycalendarandmymissteps,andI’vepeggedherastheonemostlikelytoreportwhenIdon’tarriveontimetomeetings,orwhenIcancelappointmentsthatmyhusband,Rory,deemsimportant.IfI’mgoingtorunforSenate,wedon’thavetheluxuryofmakingmistakes,Claire.
“Thankyou,Danielle.Icanreadthecalendaraswellasyoucan.Pleasehavemynotesfromthelastmeetinguploadedandreadytogo.I’llmeetyouthere.”AsIleavetheroom,Ihearherpickupthephoneandmystepfalters,knowingthismightdrawattentionatatimewhenIcan’taffordit.
Peoplealwaysaskwhatit’slikebeingmarriedintotheCookfamily,apoliticaldynastysecondonlytotheKennedys.Ideflectwithinformationaboutourfoundation,trainedtokeepmyfocusontheworkinsteadoftherumors.Onourthird-worldliteracyandwaterinitiatives,theinner-citymentoringprograms,thecancerresearch.
WhatIcan’ttellthemisthatit’saconstantbattletofindanyprivacy.Eveninsideourhome,peoplearethereatallhours.Assistants.Householdstaffwhocookandcleanforus.Ihavetofightforeveryspareminuteandeverysquareinchtocallmyown.Thereisnowherethat’ssafefromtheeyesofRory’sstaff,allofthemdevotedCookemployees.Evenaftertenyearsofmarriage,I’mstilltheinterloper.Theoutsiderwhoneedstobewatched.
I’velearnedhowtomakesurethere’snothingtosee.
ThegymisoneofthefewplacesDanielledoesn’tfollow,trailingaftermewithherlistsandschedules.It’swhereImeetPetra,theonlyfriendIhaveleftfrommylifebeforeRory,andtheonlyoneRoryhasn’tforcedmetoabandon.
BecauseasfarasRoryknows,Petradoesn’texist.
***
WhenIarriveatthegym,Petraisalreadythere.Ichangeinthelockerroom,andwhenIclimbthestairstotherowsoftreadmills,she’sonthelanding,takingacleantowelfromthestack.Oureyesmeetforamoment,andthenshelooksawayasIhelpmyselftoatowel.
“Areyounervous?”shewhispers.
“Terrified,”Isay,turningandwalkingaway.
Irunforanhour,myeyesontheclock,andwhenIstepintothesaunaatexactlytwothirtywithatowelwrappedaroundmybody,mymusclesachewithexhaustion.Theairisthickwithsteam,andIsmileatPetra,whositsaloneonthetoprow,herfaceredwithheat.
“DoyourememberMrs.Morris?”sheaskswhenIsitdownnexttoher.
Ismile,gratefultothinkofsomethingfromasimplertime.Mrs.Morriswasourgovernmentteacherinthetwelfthgrade,andPetraalmostfailedtheclass.
“Youstudiedwithmeeveryafternoonforamonth,”shecontinues.“WhennoneoftheotherkidswouldcomenearmeorNicobecauseofwhoourfatherwas,yousteppedupandmadesureIgraduated.”
Iturnonthewoodenbenchtofaceher.“YoumakeitsoundlikeyouandNicowerepariahs.Youhadfriends.”
Petrashakesherhead.“PeoplebeingnicetoyoubecauseyourfatheristheRussianversionofAlCaponedoesn’tmakethemfriends.”We’dattendedaneliteschoolinPennsylvania,wherethechildrenandgrandchildrenofoldmoneyviewedPetraandherbrother,Nico,asanovelty,slidinguptothem,asifonadare,toseehowclosetheycouldget,butneverlettingeitherofthemallthewayin.
Andsowe’dformedatrioofoutcasts.PetraandNicomadesurenoonemadefunofmysecondhanduniformorthebeat-upHondamymotherusedtopickmeupin,rattlingitswaytothecurb,belchingexhaustinitswake.TheymadesureIdidn’teataloneanddraggedmetoschooleventsI’dhaveskippedotherwise.Theyputthemselvesbetweenmeandtheotherkids,theoneswhomadecruel,cuttingremarksabouthowIwasmerelyadaystudentonscholarship,toopoor,toocommontotrulybeoneofthem.PetraandNicowerefriendstomeatatimewhenIhadnone.
***
Itfeltlikefate,thedayIwalkedintothegymtwoyearsagoandsawPetra,anapparitionfrommypast.ButIwasn’tthesamepersonPetrawouldrememberfromhighschool.Toomuchhadchanged.ToomuchI’dhavetoexplainaboutmylifeandwhatI’dlostalongtheway.AndsoI’dkeptmygazeaverted,whilePetra’sstaredrilledintome,willingmetolookup.Toacknowledgeher.
Whenmyworkoutwasover,Imademywaytothelockerroom,hopingtohideoutinthesaunauntilafterPetrahadleft.ButwhenI’dentered,shewasthere.Asifthathadbeenourplanallalong.
“ClaireTaylor,”shesaid.
Hearinghersaymyoldnamemademesmiledespitemyself.Memoriescamerushingback,foundinthetoneandcadenceofPetra’svoicethatstillcarriedatraceoftheRussianshespokeathome.Inaninstant,Ihadfeltlikemyoldself,notthepersonaI’dcultivatedovertheyearsasRory’swife,glossyandunknowable,buryinghersecretsbeneathahardsurface.
Westartedslowly,makingsmalltalkthatquicklyturnedpersonalaswecaughtupontheyearssincewe’dlastseeneachother.Petrahadnevermarried.Instead,shedriftedthroughlife,supportedbyherbrother,whonowranthefamilyorganization.
“Andyou,”shesaid,gesturingtowardmylefthand.“You’remarried?”
Istudiedherthroughthesteam,surprisedshedidn’tknow.“ImarriedRoryCook.”
“Impressive,”Petrasaid.
Ilookedaway,waitingforhertoaskwhatpeoplealwaysasked—whatreallyhappenedtoMaggieMoretti,thenamethatwillforeverbelinkedtomyhusband’s,thegirlwho’dcatapultedfromanonymitytoinfamysimplybecause,longago,she’doncelovedRory.
ButPetrajustleanedbackonherbenchandsaid,“IsawthatinterviewhedidwithKateLaneonCNN.Theworkhe’sdonewiththefoundationisremarkable.”
“Roryisverypassionate.”Aresponsethatconveyedtruth,ifanyonecaredtodigdeeper.
“Howareyourmomandsister?Violetmustbedonewithcollegebynow.”
I’dbeendreadingthatquestion.Evenaftersomanyyears,thelossofthemwasstillsharp.“Theydiedinacaraccidentfourteenyearsago.Violethadjustturnedeleven.”Ikeptmyexplanationbrief.ArainyFridaynight.Adrunkdriverwhoranastopsign.Acollisioninwhichtheybothdiedinstantly.
“Oh,Claire,”Petrahadsaid.Shedidn’tofferplatitudesorforcemetorehashthings.Insteadshesatwithme,lettingthesilenceholdmygrief,knowingtherewasnothingthatcouldbesaidthatwouldmakeithurtless.
***
Itbecameourroutine,tomeetinthesaunaeverydayafterourworkouts.Petraunderstoodthatbecauseofwhoherfamilywas,wecouldn’tbeseentalkinginpublic.EvenbeforeweknewwhatIwasgoingtoeventuallydo,we’dbeencautious,rarelycommunicatingbyphoneandneverbyemail.Butinthesauna,weresurrectedourfriendship,rebuildingthetrustweusedtoshare,rememberingthealliancethathadgottenusboththroughhighschool.
Itdidn’ttakelongforPetratoalsoseewhatIwashiding.“Youneedtoleavehim,youknow,”she’dsaidoneafternoon,severalmonthsafterwe’dfirstmet.Shewaslookingatabruiseonmyupperleftarm,theremnantofanargumentRoryandI’dhadtwonightsearlier.Despitemyeffortstohidetheevidence—atowelpulledhigheraroundmychest,hungaroundmyneck,ordrapedacrossmyshoulders—PetrahadsilentlywatchedtheprogressionofRory’srageacrossmyskin.“That’snotthefirstoneofthoseI’veseenonyou.”
Icoveredthebruisewithmytowel,notwantingherpity.“Itriedto,once.Aboutfiveyearsago.”I’dbelieveditwaspossibletoleavemymarriage.I’dpreparedmyselfforafight,knowingitwouldbemessyandexpensive,butI’dusehisabuseasleverage.GivemewhatIwantandI’llstaysilentaboutthekindofmanyouare
Butithadn’thappenedthatwayatall.“Turnsout,thewomanI’dconfidedin,who’dtriedtohelpme,wasmarriedtoanoldfraternitybrotherofRory’s.AndwhenRoryshowedup,herhusbandopenedthedoorandlethimin,oldboy-inghimselfrightalongsideRory,secrethandshakeandall.RorytoldthemIwasstrugglingwithdepression,workingwithapsychiatrist,andthatmaybeitwastimeforsomethinginpatient.”
“Hewasgoingtohaveyoucommitted?”
“Hewaslettingmeknowthatthingscouldgetalotworse.”Ididn’ttellPetratherest.Likehow,whenwe’dgottenhome,he’dshovedmesohardintothemarblecounterinourkitchen,I’dcrackedtworibs.Yourselfishnessastonishesme.Thatyou’dbewillingtodestroyallI’veworkedtobuild—mymother’slegacy—becauseweargue.Allcouplesargue,Claire.He’dgesturedaroundtheroom,tothehigh-endappliances,theexpensivecountertops,andsaid,Lookaroundyou.Whatmorecouldyoupossiblywant?Nooneisgoingtofeelsorryforyou.Noonewillevenbelieveyou.
Whichwastrue.PeoplewantedRorytobewhotheythoughthewas—thecharismaticsonoftheprogressiveandbelovedSenatorMarjorieCook.Icouldnevertellanyonewhathedidtome,becausenomatterwhatI’dsayorhowloudlyI’dsayit,mywordswouldbeburiedbeneaththeloveeveryonefeltforMarjorieCook’sonlychild.
“PeoplewillneverseewhatIsee,”Ifinallysaid.
“Youreallybelievethat?”
“DoyouthinkifCarolynBessettecameforwardaccusingJFKJuniorofhittingher,thecountrywouldhaverushedtosupporther?”
Petra’seyeswidened.“Areyoukiddingme?Thisisthe#MeTooera.Ithinkpeoplewouldbefallingalloverthemselvestobelieveher.They’dprobablycreatenewFoxandCNNshowsjusttotalkaboutit.”
Igaveahollowlaugh.“Inaperfectworld,I’dholdRoryaccountable.ButIdon’thaveitinmetotakeonafightlikethat.Onethatwouldgoonforyears,thatwouldseepintoeverycornerofmylifeandtarnishanythinggoodthatmightcomeafterward.Ijustwanttobefreeofit.Ofhim.”
TospeakoutagainstRorywouldbelikesteppingintoanabyssandtrustingthatI’dbecaughtbythegenerosityandkindnessofothers.AndI’dlivedtoomanyyearswithpeoplehappilywatchingmefreefallifitmeanttheycouldbeclosetoRory.Inthisworld,moneyandpowerwereequivalenttoimmunity.
Itookalongbreathandfeltthesteamreachdownintomydeepestcorners.“IfIlefthim,I’dhavetodoitinawaywherehecouldneverfindme.LookwhathappenedtoMaggieMoretti.”
TheedgesofPetra’sfacewereblurrythroughthesteamthatbillowedbetweenus,butIcouldseehergazesharpen.“Doyouthinkhehadsomethingtodowiththat?”
“Idon’tknowwhattobelieveanymore,”Ianswered.
***
Overthenextyear,PetraandIassembledaplan,choreographingmydisappearancemorecarefullythanaballet.Asequenceofeventssoperfectlytimed,therecouldbenoroomforerror,andnowIsit,hoursawayfromexecutingit.Thehissofsteamcloudstheairaroundus,Petrajustafaintshadowonthecedarbenchnexttome.“Didyoumaileverythingthismorning?”Iaskher.
“FedEx,addressedtoyou,labeled‘Personal.’Itshouldarriveatthehotelfirstthingtomorrow.”
Icouldn’triskhidingallI’dgatheredatmyhouse,whereanyone—themaids,orworse,Danielle—mightfindit.SoPetrakepteverything—fortythousanddollarsofRory’smoneyandabrandnewidentity,thankstoNico.
“Thenewgovernmenttechnologyismakingithardertomakethese,”he’dsaid,theafternoonI’ddrivenouttoseehim.WeweresittingathisdiningroomtableinhislargehomeonLongIsland.He’dgrownintoahandsomeman,withawifeandthreekids.Andbodyguards—twopostedathisgateddrivewayandanothertwoathisfrontdoor.ItoccurredtomethatRoryandNicowerenotsodifferent.Eachofthemthechosenson,pushedtocarrythefamilyintothetwenty-firstcentury,withnewrulesandregulations.Bothexpectedtodomorethanthelastgeneration—orattheveryleast,notloseeverything.
Nicoslidafatenvelopetowardme,andIopenedit,pullingoutapristineMichigandriver’slicenseandapassportwithmyfaceandthenameAmandaBurns.Iflippedthroughtherest—asocialsecuritycard,abirthcertificate,andacreditcard.
“You’llbeabletodoanythingwiththese,”Nicosaid,pickingupthedriver’slicenseandtiltingitunderthelightsoIcouldseethehologramembossedonthesurface.“Vote.Paytaxes.FilloutaW-2form.Thisishigh-levelstuff,andmyguyisthebest.There’sonlyoneotherpersonwhocanmakeafullpackagethisgood,andhelivesinMiami.”Nicohandedmethecreditcard—aCitibankaccountwithmynewnameonit.“Petraopenedthislastweek,andthestatementswillbesenttoheraddress.Whenyougetsettled,youcanchangeit.Ortossthiscardandopenanewone.Justbecareful.Youdon’twantsomeonetostealyouridentity.”
Helaughedathisjoke,andIcouldseetheboyheusedtobeflashacrosshisface,sittingnexttoPetraandmeatlunch,eatinghissandwichwhiledoinghismathhomework,theweightofwhohewasexpectedtobecomealreadybearingdownonhim.
“Thanks,Nico.”Ipassedhimtheenvelopecontainingtenthousanddollars,asmallfractionofthemoneyI’dmanagedtosiphonoffandsquirrelawayoverthepastsixmonths.Onehundreddollarshere.Anothertwohundredthere.CashbackwheneverIcould,slippingthemoneyintoPetra’sgymlockereverydaysoshecouldholdituntilIwasready.
Hisexpressiongrewserious.“Ineedyoutoknowthatifsomethinggoeswrong,Ican’thelpyou.Petracan’thelpyou.Yourhusbandhasresourcesthatwouldputme,mylivelihood—andPetra’s—atrisk.”
“Iunderstand,”Itoldhim.“You’vedonemorethanenough,andI’mgrateful.”
“I’mserious.Allittakesisonetinythreadconnectingyournewlifetoyouroldoneandit’llallfallapart.”Hisdarkeyeslatchedontomineandheld.“Youcannevergoback.Notonce.Notinanyway,ever.”
***
“Rory’sscheduledtheplanetoleavearoundten,”ItellPetranow.“Didyouremembertoincludemyletter?Idon’twanttohavetorewriteitonhotelstationerytenminutesbeforeIleave.”
Shenods.“Inwiththerestofit.Addressedandstamped,readytobemailedfromDetroit.Whatdidyousay?”
IthinkaboutthehoursI’dspent,themanyversionsI’dshredded,draftingaletterthatwouldclosethedooronanypossibilitythatRorymighttrytofollowme.“ItoldhimIwasleaving,andthatthistime,hewouldneverfindme.Thatheshouldannounceourseparationpublicly,tellthemitwasamicableandthatIwasnotgoingtobegivinganypublicstatementsormediainterviewsaboutit.”
“OneweekbeforeheannounceshisrunforSenate.”
Igiveherasmirk.“ShouldIhavewaiteduntilafter?”
OnceI’dsavedenoughmoneytocarrymeintoanewlife,Ibegantolookfortheperfectopeningtoleave.IstudiedourGooglecalendarofupcomingevents,searchingforatripI’dbetakingalone,focusingoncitiesneartheCanadianorMexicanborders.IfounditintheDetroittrip.I’mscheduledtovisitCitizensoftheWorld,asocialjusticecharterschoolfundedbytheCookFamilyFoundation.Anafternoonschooltourfollowedbyaneveningdinnerwithdonors.
Ileanbackonthebenchbehindmeandstareupattheceiling,obscuredbyalayerofsteam,andrunthroughtherestoftheplan.“Welandaroundnoon.Theschooleventstartsattwo,soI’llmakesurewegotothehotelfirstsoIcangetthepackageandputitsomewheresafe.”
“Icalledthecarrentalplace.They’reexpectingaMs.AmandaBurnstopickupacompactaroundmidnighttonight.Willyoubeabletogetacab?”
“There’saHiltonjustdowntheroadfromwhereI’mstaying.I’llcatchonefromthere.”
“Iworryaboutsomeoneseeingyouleavewithasuitcaseinthemiddleofthenight.Followingyou.CallingRory.”
“I’mnottakingit.Iboughtabackpackbigenoughforacouplechangesofclothesandmymoney.I’mleavingeverythingelse—includingmypurseandwallet—behind.”
Petranods.“Ifyouneedit,IbookedaroomwiththecreditcardattheWinToronto.They’reexpectingyou.”
Iclosemyeyes,theheatmakingmewoozy.Orperhapsit’sthepressureofhavingtogeteverydetailexactlyright.There’snoroomforeventhetiniestmistake.
Ifeeltheminutesslippingaway.PushingmetowardthemomentwhenI’lltakethefirststepinaseriesofstepsthatwillbeirrevocable.Apartofmewantstoforgetitall.GotoDetroit,visittheschool,andcomehome.HavemoredaysinthesaunatalkingtoPetra.Butthisismychancetofinallygetout.WhateveroptionsIhavenowwillnarrowtonothingonceRoryannounceshisrunfortheSenate.
“Timetogo.”Petra’svoiceissoft,andmyeyesopenagain.
“Idon’tknowhowtothankyou,”Itellher.
“Youweremyonlyfriendallthoseyearsago.Youdon’thavetothankme.Thisisme,thankingyou,”shesays.“It’syourturntobehappy.”Shetightenshertowelaroundherbody,andIcanseetheflashofhersmilethroughthesteam.
Ican’tbelievethisisthelasttimewe’llsithere.Thelasttimewe’lltalk.Thisroomhasbeenlikeasanctuary,darkandquiet,withjustourwhisperedvoices,plottingmyescape.Whowillsitheretomorrowwithher?Orthedayafterthat?
Ifeelthefinalityofmydeparturelooming,howabsolutethatendingwillbe,andIwonderifit’llbeworthit.Ifit’llbebetter.Soon,ClaireCookwillceasetoexist,theshinypiecesofherfacadecrackedanddiscarded.IhavenoideawhatI’llfindunderneathitall.
Thirty-threehoursuntilI’mgone.
Claire
Monday,February21
TheDaybeforetheCrash
ImeetDanielleoutsidetheCenterStreetLiteracyoffices,fifteenminuteslate.“Notaword,”Iwarnher,thoughIknowshe’sprobablyalreadytextedRorythreetimes.
Shetrailsmethroughthedoorsandintothelargecommonareatheyuseforbooktalksandwritingworkshops.Theroomisbusyatthishour,filledwithstudentsandtutors.IimaginehowdifferentitwouldbeifRorywerepassingthrough,thewaveofexcitedmurmuring,startingatthefrontandripplingbackwardashemadehiswayintothespace.Butnoonegivesmeasecondlook.WithoutRory,I’mjustanotherface,thereandgone.Unremarkable.Whichwillbemyadvantageverysoon.
Ipassthroughandupasetofstairstothesecondfloor,whichhousestheCenterStreetadministrativeoffices,andintothesmallconferenceroomwhereeveryoneisalreadyassembled.
“Sonicetoseeyou,Mrs.Cook,”thedirectorsayswithawarmsmile.
“Youtoo,Anita.Shallwegetstarted?”Itakemyseat,Danielledirectlybehindme.Themeetingbeginswithadiscussionoftheannualfundraisercomingupineightmonths’time.Icanbarelybringmyselftofeignenthusiasmforaneventthatwilloccurlongaftermydisappearance.Iamusemyselfbyimaginingwhatthenextmeetingwillbelike.QuiettalkabouthowIleftRory,howIneverletontherewasanytrouble,thatIsmiledthroughthismeetingandthenvanished.Wheredidshego?Apersondoesn’tjustwalkoutofherlifeanddisappear.Whycan’tanyonefindher?WhichoneofthemwillbethefirsttobringupMaggieMoretti?Towhisperthequestionthateverysingleoneofthemwillwonder,ifonlyforamoment:Doyouthinkshereallylefthim,ordoyouthinksomethinghappenedtoher?
***
RoryhadtoldmeaboutMaggieMorettionourthirddate.
“Everyonealwaysasksmewhathappened,”he’dsaid,leaningbackinhischairandcrossinghislegs.“Itwasatragedy,frombeginningtoend,andIstilldon’tthinkI’mcompletelyoverit.”Hepickeduphiswineandswirleditintheglassbeforetakingasip.“We’dbeenfightingnonstop,andMaggiewantedustogetawayforaquietweekend.Toreconnectandreallytalkwithoutthedistractionsofthecity.Butnothingwasdifferentthere;wewerejustrehashingthesameoldstuff,exceptinanewlocation.”Hisvoicehadgrownquieter,thesoundsoftherestaurantreceding.Thewayhespoke—theemotioninhisvoice—feltsorawandreal.Itdidn’toccurtomeatthetimethathecouldpossiblybelying.“Finally,Igotfedupandleft.IjumpedintomycaranddrovebacktoManhattan.Severalhourslater,ourneighborsupstatecalled911andreportedthehousewasonfire.Theyfoundhercrumpledatthebaseofastaircase.Ihadnoideaanythinghadhappeneduntilthepolicecontactedmethefollowingmorning.Itwasn’tinthepapersatthetime,butthecoronerfoundsmokeinherlungs,whichmeantshewasalivewhenthefirestarted.I’llneverforgivemyselfforleavingwhenIdid.Icouldhavesavedher.”
“Whydidtheythinkyou’dbeeninvolved?”
He’dshrugged.“Itmakesforabetterstory.Igetit,andIdon’tbegrudgethemedia,althoughmyfatherneverforgavetheNewYorkTimes.Itwasablessingmymotherwasn’talivetoseeit,toworryaboutwhatitwoulddotoherpollingnumbers.”Hisbitternesssurprisedme,buthecovereditquickly.“TherealshameiswhatitdidtoMaggie’smemory.Becauseofme,thewholeworldknowshernameforallthewrongreasons.Forhowshedied,notforwhoshewas.”Helookedoutthewindownexttous,lostinregret.Beyondit,theNewYorkstreetsparkledinasoftdrizzle,thelightsglitteringlikejewelsinthedark.Thenhepulledhimselfbackanddrainedhisglass.“Idon’tresentthepolicefordoingtheirjob.Iunderstandtheydidwhattheyfelttheyhadtodo.Iwasluckythatjusticeprevailed,becauseitdoesn’talways.Buttheexperienceshookme.”
Thewaiterhadapproached,clearlywaitingforabreakintheconversationtosliptheblacksleevecontainingthebillinfrontofRory,who’dsmiledthatwarm,charmingsmilethatcrackedmyheartinhalf,wantingmorethananythingforhimtofeelformewhatheoncefeltforMaggieMoretti.
***
“Mrs.Cook,wouldyoubewillingtochairthesilentauctionagainthisyear?”AnitaReynolds,thedirectorofCenterStreetLiteracy,looksdownthelongtableatme.
“Absolutely,”Isay.“Let’smeetonFridayandfigureoutwhowecanstartapproachingfordonations.I’vegotaquicktriptoDetroit,butI’llbebackbythen.Twoo’clock?”ShenodsandIentertheappointmentinthesharedGooglecalendar,knowingitwillpopuponDanielle’siPadrightbehindmeandRory’scomputerathome.ThesearethedetailsIhavetoremember—schedulingappointments,orderingflowers,makingplansforafutureIwon’tbeliving.DetailsthatwillcovermytracksandkeepeveryonebelievingI’madevotedwife,committedtothemanyimportantcauseschampionedbytheCookFamilyFoundation.
Thirty-onehours
***
WhenIreturnhome,IheadupstairstochangemyclothesandseethatDaniellehasrepackedmybagwhileIwasatthegym.GonearethetrendyclothesthatIprefer,replacedwiththemoreconservativesuitsandthree-inchheelsRorylikesmetowear.
Ilockthebedroomdoorandstepintomycloset,reachingintoatallpairofbootsandpullingoutthenylonbackpackIpaidcashforatasportinggoodsstorelastweek.Flatteningit,Islipitbeneaththezipperedliningofmysuitcase.Onepieceatatime,IremovetheclothesIplantotakewithmefromtheirhidingplacesandpackthem.Aform-fitteddownjacket,severallong-sleevedT-shirts,andanNYUbaseballcapIboughttheotherdaytohidemyfacefromhotellobbysecuritycameras.IpullmyfavoritepairofjeansfromtheirplaceontheshelfandslideeverythingbeneathwhatDaniellepackedfortheevent.Justenoughtogetmethroughthenextdayortwo.Notenoughforanyonetonoticeitemsmissingfrommydrawersorcloset.Izipthebagclosedandplaceitbythedoorandsitdownonthebed,relishingthesolitudeofalockedroom.
ItstillamazesmehowIendeduphere.Sofarfromhome,fromthepersonIoncethoughtI’dbecome.IhaveasummacumlaudefromVassarwithadegreeinarthistory.IlandedacovetedjobatChristie’s.
Butthoseyearshadbeenhardandlonely.I’dbeennumb,strugglingtostayafloatsincemymotherandViolethaddied,andfallinginlovewithRoryfeltlikewakingup.HeunderstoodwhatI’dlost,becausehecarriedhisowngrief.Hewassomeonewhounderstoodthewaymemoriescouldcreepuponyouandsqueezeuntilyouhadnobreath.Nowords.Whentheonlythingyoucoulddowaswaitforthepaintosubside,likeatide,allowingyoutomoveagain.
***
Outsidemylockedbedroomdoor,Ihearpeopleinthehallway,theirvoicesalowmurmurIcan’tmakeout.Itense,waitingtoseeifthey’lltrytoenter,bracingmyselfforanotherlectureaboutlockeddoors.Theycan’tdotheirjobs,Claire,ifyouinsistonlockingyourselfineveryroom.Downstairs,thefrontdoorclosesandRory’svoicefloatsuptome.Ismoothmyhairandcounttoten,tryingtowipetheanxietyandnervesfrommyface.Ihaveonenightleft,andIhavetoplaythepartperfectly.
“Claire!”hecallsfromthehallway.“Areyouhome?”
Itakeadeepbreathandopenthebedroomdoor.“Yes,”Icall.
Twenty-eighthours.
***
“HowisJoshuadoingthissemester?”Roryasksourchef,Norma,asshepoursourwineatdinner.
NormasmilesandsetsthebottleonthetablenexttoRory.“Verywell,thoughIdon’thearfromhimasmuchasI’dliketo.”
Rorylaughsandtakesasmallsip,noddinghisapproval.“That’showit’ssupposedtobe,I’mafraid.TellhimI’mhopingforanothersemesteronthedean’slist.”
“Iwill,sir.Thankyou.We’resograteful.”
Rorywavesherwordsaway.“I’mhappytodoit.”
Manyyearsago,Rorydecidedtopaycollegetuitionforeverychildorgrandchildofhishouseholdstaff.Asaresult,theyarefiercelyloyaltohim.Willingtolooktheotherwaywhenourargumentsgrowloud,orwhentheyhearmecryinginthebathroom.
“Claire,trythiswine.It’sincredible.”
Iknowbetterthantodisagreewithhim.Once,earlyinourmarriage,I’dsaid,“Ittasteslikefermentedgrapestome.”
Rory’sexpressionhadremainedimpassive,asifmywordshadn’tregistered.Buthe’dliftedmyglassfromthetable,helditinanoutstretchedhand,andthendroppedittothefloorwhereitshattered,redwinepuddlingonthehardwoodandrollingtowardtheexpensiverugunderneaththetable.Normahadcomerunningfromthekitchenatthesoundofbreakingglass.
“Claireissoclumsy,”he’dsaid,reachingacrossthetabletosqueezemyhand.“It’soneofthethingsIloveabouther.”
Norma,whowascroucheddowncleaningupthemess,lookedupatme,confusedabouthowmyglasshadendeduponthefloorthreefeetawayfromthetable.I’dbeenmute,unabletosayanythingasRorycalmlybeganeatinghisdinner.
Normacarriedthesoggytowelsintothekitchen,thenreturnedwithanotherwineglassandpouredmemore.Whenshe’dgone,Rorysetdownhisforkandsaid,“Thisisafour-hundred-dollarbottleofwine.Youneedtotryharder.”
Now,asRorystaresatme,waiting,Itakeatinysipfrommyglass,tryingandfailingtofindoakundertonesorthehintofvanillaRoryclaimsarethere.“Delicious,”Isay.
Aftertomorrow,I’monlydrinkingbeer.
***
Whenwe’redoneeating,wemoveintoRory’sofficetogooverafewtalkingpointsforthespeechI’mgivingattomorrownight’sdinner.Wesit,facingeachotheracrosshisdesk,mewithmylaptopbalancedonmyknees,myspeechpulledupinasharedGoogledoc.ThisisRory’spreferredplatform.Heusesitforeverything,sinceitallowshimtoaccessanythinganyofusisworkingon,atanymoment.I’llbeworkingonsomethingandsuddenlyI’llseehisiconpopuponmyscreenandI’llknowheisthere,watchingme.
It’salsohowheandhislong-timepersonalassistant,Bruce,communicatewithoutdocumentinganything.Inashareddoc,theycansaythingstoeachotherthattheymightnotwanttoputintoanemailortextmessage,orsayoverthephone.I’veonlyseenandheardlittlesnippetsovertheyears.IleftyouanoteaboutthatintheDoc.OrChecktheDoc,Iputanupdateinthereyou’regoingtowanttoread.TheDociswherethey’lldiscussmydisappearance,hypothesizeaboutwhereIwent,andperhapsoutlinetheirplantotrackmedown.It’slikeaprivateroomthatonlyRoryandBrucecanaccess,wheretheycanspeakfreelyaboutthingsthatnooneelsecanknowabout.
Ibringmyattentionback,askingseveralquestionsaboutthegroupI’llbespeakingto,focusingmyenergyonthesuccessoftheevent.Brucehuddlesinhiscorneroftheoffice,takingnotesonhislaptop,addingourcommentsintothespeechaswespeak,andIwatchhimonmyownscreen,acursorwithhisnameattachedtoit,thewordsappearingasifbymagic.Ashetypesaway,IwonderhowmuchheknowsaboutwhatRorydoestome.BruceisthekeeperofallRory’ssecrets.Ican’timaginehedoesn’tknowthisoneaswell.
Whenwe’redone,Rorysaystome,“They’regoingtoaskyouaboutnextweek’spressconference.Don’tansweranyquestions.Justsmileandbringtheconversationbackaroundtothefoundation.”
ThebuilduptoannouncingRory’scandidacyhasbeenexcruciating.Leakedrumorseveryfewdays,tonsofmediaspeculationaboutRorypickingupwherehismotherleftoff.
MarjorieCookhadbeenfamousforherbipartisannegotiatingskills,herabilitytoswingthemostdifficultandconservativesenatorstowardmoremoderatepolicy.Therehadbeenquiettalkofapresidentialrun,longbeforeHillaryorevenGeraldineFerraro.ButMarjoriehaddiedofcoloncancerRory’sfreshmanyearofcollege,foreverleavingamother-shapedholethatfilledwithapotentcombinationofinsecurityandresentmentthatoftenbubbledover,burningthosewhodaredtokeephismotherintheforegroundwhendiscussinghispoliticalfuture.
“Youhaven’tgivenmeanydetailsaboutthepressconferencetoshare,”Itellthem,watchingBrucepackuphisdeskforthenight,trackinghismovementsfromthecornerofmyeye.Pensinthetopdrawer.Laptopintoitscase,thenintohisbagtotakehome.
AfterBruceleaves,Rorysitsbackandcrosseshislegs.“Howwasyourday?”
“Good.”Myleftfootjiggles,theonlyindicationofmynerves.Rory’sgazelandsonit,eyebrowsraised,andIpressmyheelintothecarpet,willingmyselftobestill.
“ItwasCenterStreetLiteracy,right?”Hesteepleshisfingers,histieloosearoundhisneck.Iwatchhim,asiffromagreatdistance,thismanIonceloved.Thelinesaroundhiseyesareevidenceoflaughter,ofhappinessthatweshared.Butthosesamelineshavebeendeepenedbyrageaswell.AdarkviolencethathasblottedouteverythinggoodIoncesawinhim.
“Yes.Theirannualfundraiseriscomingupineightmonths.Danielleshouldbetranscribingthenotesandwillgetthemtoyoutomorrow.I’llbetakingonthesilentauctionagain.”
“Anythingelse?”heasks.Hisvoiceisneutral,butsomethinginthesetofhisshouldersgrabsmyattention.Myinstincts—finelytunedafteryearsofreadingthesubtextofRory’stoneandexpressions—arescreamingatmetobecareful
“NotthatIcanthinkof.”
“Isee,”hesays,andthentakesadeep,meditativebreath,asifhe’stryingtocenterhimself.“Canyoupleaseclosethedoor?”
Istand,mylegsfeelingweakbeneathmeasIwalkslowlytothedoor,terrifiedhe’ssomehowfiguredoutwhatI’mabouttodo.Itakemytime,measuringmypace,tryingnottopanicyet.WhenIsitagain,I’vewipedthefearfrommyface,replacingitwithneutralcuriosity.Whenhedoesn’tspeakrightaway,Iprompthim.“Iseverythingokay?”
Hisgazeiscold.“YoumustthinkI’mstupid.”
I’munabletospeak,orevenblink.I’velostbeforeI’veevenbegun.Mythoughtsrace,tryingtofindafoothold,tryingtocomposemyself,toexplainawaywhateverhe’sdiscovered—theclothes,themoneyI’vebeensiphoningoff,mymeetingswithPetra.Ifighttheurgetothrowopenthedoorandrun,givingupwhateverI’vegained.Ilooktowardthedarkenedwindows,reflectingtheroombacktous,andmanagetosay,“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”
“Iheardyouwerelateagaintoday.MayIaskwhy?”
Iletoutaslowbreath,allmynervesloosening.“Iwasatthegym.”
“ThegymislessthanhalfamilefromtheCenterStreetoffices.”Rorypullshisglassesoffandleansbackinhisdeskchair.Hisfaceslipsoutofthepuddleoflightcastfromhisdesklampandintodarkness.“Whatareyounottellingme?”
IsuffusemyvoicewithawarmthIdon’tfeel,desperatetoallayhisfearsbeforetheytakeover.“Nothing,”Iinsist.“Idecidedtostayforaspinclassthatstartedattwothirty.”
“Withwhom?”
“Whatdoyoumean,likewhowastheinstructor?”
“Don’tbeobtuse,”hesnaps.“You’reconstantlyeitherheadingofftothegym,orcomingbackfromit.It’severydaynow.Isityourtrainer?Thatwouldbeapatheticcliché.”
“Idon’thaveatrainer,”Itellhim,mymouthsuddenlydryandsticky.“Iliftweights.Runonthetreadmill,ortakespinclasses.Iwassoreaftermyworkout,soIspentsometimeinthesaunaandlosttrackoftime.That’sall.”Ifighttokeepmyfaceblank,butmyhandsbetrayme,grippingthearmsofthechairasifbracingforablow.Rory’sgazecatchesonthem,andIforcemyselftorelax.Hestandsandwalksaroundhisdeskandsitsinthechairnexttomine
“Wehavealotofhardworkahead,Claire,”hesays,takinganothersipofwhiskey.“Startingnextweek,alleyeswillbeonus.Therecannotbeatraceofscandal.”
Ihavetodigdeeptodelivermylineconvincingly,onelasttime.“Youdon’tneedtoworry.”
Roryleansoverandbrushesasoftkissacrossmylipsandwhispers,“I’mgladtohearit.”
***
WhenRoryfinallyclimbsintobedaroundeleven,Ipretendtobeasleep,listeningtothesoundofhisbreathingsettleandslow,waiting.Whentheclockreadsone,Ieaseoutofbed,eagertogetthefinalpieceIneedbeforeIleave,swipingRory’scellphonefromthechargeronhisnightstandbeforeIslipintothedarkenedhall.Ican’triskhisphonebuzzingwithacallortext,wakinghimup.
Ourtownhousereeksofoldmoney.Darkwood,thickrugsplushbeneathmybarefeet.I’mnostrangertomiddle-of-the-nightwandering.It’stheonlytimeourhomefeelslikemine.Imovethroughtheroomsunobserved,andasItakemyfinallate-nightstroll,Ifeelasenseofsadness.Notforthetownhouse,whichhasbeennothingmorethanaluxuriousprison,butformyself.
It’sacomplicatedgrief,notjustthelossofmynameandidentity,butalsothelifeIoncehopedI’dhave.Thedeathofanydreamdeservestobemourned,allitsintricatefacetstouchedonelasttime.
IpassthroughthelivingroomwithitslargewindowsthatlookdownontoFifthAvenue,glancingatthedoorthatleadstoDanielle’soffice,andwonderwhatshe’llthinkwhenIgo.Ifshe’llbeblamedsomehow,forfailingtokeeptrackofme.Orifshe’llfeelbadthatshedidn’tdomoretohelpmewhenshehadthechance.
Iheaddownthenarrowhallthatleadstomyoffice,asmallroomdominatedbyaheavymahoganydeskandaTurkishrugthatprobablycostsmorethanwhatmymother’sPennsylvaniahousewasworth.Ilookforwardtocreatingahomewithfurniturethatisn’tworthsixfigures.IwantcoloronthewallsandplantsIhavetoremembertowater.Iwantmismatchedplates,andglassesthatdon’trequireacomplicatedreorderingprocesstoreplaceiftheybreak.
Iglanceovermyshoulder,asifIexpectsomeonetocatchmeinmyownofficeinthemiddleofthenight,readingmythoughts,knowingwhatI’mabouttodo.Ilistenhard,thesilencealoudrushinmyears,strainingtohearthehintoffootstepstwofloorsaboveme.Butthedoorwayremainsempty,andtheonlysoundisthepoundingofmyheart.
Frommytopdeskdrawer,IpulloutthesmallthumbdriveIusedbeforeRoryinsistedeveryoneworkinshareddocs.Mygazecatchesonaphotographofmymotherandmysister,Violet,hangingonthewall.ItwastakenbeforeIleftforcollege,beforeImetRoryandchangedthetrajectoryofmylife.
“We’regoingonapicnic,”mymotherhadannouncedfromthedoorwayofthekitchenoneSaturdayafternoon.VioletandIhadbeenonthecouch,watchingTV.Neitherofuswantedtogo.WewereinthemiddleofaTwilightZonemarathon.Butmymotherhadinsisted.“Wedon’thavetoomanyweekendsleftbeforeClaireleaves,”she’dsaid.Violethadglaredatme,stillangrythatI’dchosentogotoVassarinsteadofthelocalstateschool.“Iwanttospendthedayoutsidewithmygirls.”
Threeyearslater,theyweregone.
I’dbeenonthephonewithmymotherlessthananhourbeforeithadhappened.We’donlychattedbriefly,butIcanstillhearhervoiceacrosstheline,tellingmeshecouldn’ttalk,thatsheandVioletwereheadedoutthedoorforpizzaandshe’dcallmewhentheygothome.Intheyearssinceithappened,I’veoftenwonderedifthey’dstillbealiveifIhadkeptheronthephonelonger.Orperhaps,ifIhadn’tcalledatall,theymighthavebeenthroughtheintersectionandgonebythetimethatdrunkdriverflewthroughit.
Inmydreams,Ifindmyselftherewiththem,thethump-thumpofthewindshieldwipers,thetwoofthemlaughingtogetherinthecar,mymothersingingalongwiththeradioandVioletbegginghertostop.Andthenasuddenscreechoftires,thesoundofbreakingglass,thecrushofmetalonmetal,thehissofsteam.Thensilence.
***
MyeyeslingernowontheimageofViolet,caughtmid-laugh,mymotherjustablurredfigureinthebackground,andIachetotakeitoffthewall,toslipitbetweenthelayersofclothesinmysuitcaseandbringitwithme,likeatalisman.ButIcan’t.Anditnearlydestroysmyresolvetohavetoleaveitbehind.
Itearmygazefrommysister’ssmilingface,foreverfrozenatageeight,withonlyafewmoreyearsaheadofher,andmakemywaytoRory’sspaciousoffice.Linedwithwoodpanelingtoppedwithbookshelves,hisenormousdeskdominatestheroom.Hiscomputersitsontopofit,darkandsilent,andIwalkpastittoasectionofthebookshelvesbehind.Ipulltheredbookfromitsspotandsetitdown,reachingmyhandintotheemptyspace,feelingaroundforthesmallbuttonhiddenthereandpressingit.Thepanelingthatlinesthewallbelowtheshelvespopsopenwithatinyclick.
Danielleisn’ttheonlyonewho’sbeentakingnotes.
IpullitopenandslipRory’ssecondlaptopfromitshidingplace.Rorydoesn’tkeephardcopiesofanything.Notreceipts.Notpersonalnotes.Notevenphotographs.Hardcopiesaretooeasytolosetrackof.Toohardtocontrol,he’donceexplainedtome.Thismachineiswhereeverythinghides.Idon’tknowexactlywhat’sonit,butIdon’tneedto.Noonekeepsasecretlaptopunlesshe’shidingsomethingbig.Perhapstherearefinancialrecordsthatoutlineundoctoredfoundationaccountsormoneyhe’ssiphonedoffandredirectedoffshore.IfIcangetacopyoftheharddrive,I’llbeabletoleverageitifRoryevergetstooclose.
BecausedespitewhatI’vedirectedhimtodoinmyletter,IhavenodoubtRorywillgotogreatlengthstofindme.PetraandIdiscussedthepossibilityoffakingmydeath.Anaccidentwherethebodycouldn’tberecovered.ButNicohadwarnedusoffthatplan.“Itwouldbealloverthenationalnews,whichwouldmakeyourjobharder.Bettertomakeitlooklikeyou’velefthim.You’llgetalittlebitofattentioninthetabloids,butit’llfadefast.”
Asexpected,whenIopenthelaptop,I’maskedforapassword.AndwhileRoryhasallofmine,Idon’tknowanyofhis.WhatIdoknow,however,isthatRorycannotbetroubledbydetailssuchasmaintainingpasswords.That’sajobforBruce,whokeepstheminasmallnotebookinhisdesk.
I’vebeenwatchingBruceforweeksnow,myeyestrackingthegreennotebookashe’drifflethroughit,punchinginpasswordswheneverRoryneededthem.IarrangedflowersonthetablejustoutsideRory’sofficeorsearchedthroughmypurseinthedoorway,trackingwhereBrucekeptthenotebookduringtheworkdayandwhereitwentatnight.
IcrosstheroomtoBruce’sdeskandrunmyhandalongthefarside,engagingtheleverthatreleasesasmalldrawer,thenotebooknestledinside.Iflipthroughitquickly,pastaccountnumbersandpasswordstovariousservices—Netflix,HBO,Amazon—myfingersshaking,knowingeveryminute,everysecondcounts.
Finally,IfindwhatI’mlookingforneartheback.MacBook.Itypetheseriesofnumbersandlettersintothecomputer,andI’min.ThetimeatthetopofthescreenreadsonethirtyasIslipthethumbdriveintotheUSBportandstartdraggingfilesontoit,theiconshowinganumberinthethousands,slowlycountingdown.Iglanceatthedooragain,imaginingallmyplanscomingtoahaltinRory’soffice,copyinghissecretharddriveinmypajamas,andtrynottopicturewhathewoulddoifhecaughtme.TherageI’dseeinhiseyes,thefourquickstrideshe’dtakeuntilhecouldgrabme,shovingmeordraggingmeoutofhisoffice,upthestairstotheprivacyofourbedroom.Iswallowhard.
Acreakfromsomewhereaboveme—afootsteporfloorboardsettling—sendsmyheartpoundingagainstmychestandathinsheenofsweattobreakoutonmyforehead.Icreepintothehallandlisten,holdingmybreath,tryingtohearpasttherushofpanicfloodingthroughme.Butallissilent.AfterafewminutesIreturntothecomputer,staringatthescreen,urgingittogofaster.
ButthenmyeyesfallonBruce’snotebookagain,filledwithpasswordsthatwouldallowmetolookintoeverycornerofRory’slife.Hiscalendars.Hisemail.TheDoc.IfIhadaccesstothat,I’dbeabletokeepaneyeonthem.Toknowwhatthey’resayingaboutmydisappearance,toknowifthey’relookingforme,andwhere.I’dbeabletostayonestepaheadofthem.
Withanotherglanceattheemptyhallway,Iflipthroughthenotebook,backseveralpages,untilIfindRory’semailpassword,andgrabayellowPost-itNoteoffBruce’sdesk,copyingitjustasthecomputerfinisheswiththefiles.Theclockinthedownstairsentrychimestwo,andIpullthethumbdrivefromtheportandslidehiscomputerbackintoitshidingplace.Iclosethedrawerwithasmallclickandreplacetheredbookontheshelf,returnBruce’snotebooktoitshidingplace,andchecktheroomforanysignsthatI’vebeenthere.
WhenI’msatisfied,Imakemywaybacktomyoffice.There’sonlyonethinglefttodo.
Islideontomychair,theleathercoldagainstthebacksofmylegs,andopenmylaptop,myDetroitspeechstillonthescreen.Iclosethewindow,knowingmyiconwilldisappearfromthetopofeveryoneelse’sversion,andlogoutofmyemail.WhenI’mbacktotheGmailhomepage,Isitforaminute,lettingthesilenceofthehouseandthefainttickingofthehallclockwashoverme.Itakeadeepbreathandletitout,andthenanother,tryingtosteadymynerves.Tryingtothinkthrougheverycontingency,everylittlethingthatmightgowrong.Iglanceattheclockagain,remindingmyselfthatattwointhemorning,noonewillbeawake.NotBruce.NotDanielle.DefinitelynotRory.Forthemillionthtime,Iwishforasmallerhouse.Onewherethewallsweren’tsosolid.Wherethecarpetsdidn’tabsorbpeople’sfootstepssowell,whereIcouldreassuremyselfwiththesoundofRory’ssoftsnoring.Buthe’stwofloorsaboveme,andIneedtogetthisdone.
IenterhisemailaddressandsquintatthePost-it,carefullyenteringthepassword.ThenIpressreturn.Immediately,Rory’sphonebuzzesonthedesknexttome,analertlightingupthescreen.Youraccounthasbeenaccessedbyanewdevice.Iswipelefttoclearit,thenturntomycomputer,Rory’sinboxinfrontofme.Atthetopofalongstringofunreadmessagesisthealert.Ideleteit,quicklytogglingovertohistrash,anddeleteitfromtheretoo.
Myeyesscanhishomepage,lookingatthevariousfolders,beforeclickingovertotheDoc.They’velabeleditMeetingNotes.Iopenit,holdingmybreath,wonderingwhatImightfind,butit’sempty.Waitingfortomorrow.IimaginemyselfholeduplateatnightsomewhereinCanada,asilentobserverasRoryandBrucedeconstructmydisappearance,tryingtofigureoutwhathappened.Butmorethanthat,I’llbeprivytoeverythingRoryandBrucesaytoeachother,everyconversationtheythinkisprivate.
Atthetop,itreadsLasteditmadebyBruceCorcoranfivehoursago.Iclickonit,wonderingwhattheedithistorymightshow,andalonglistpopsupontheright-handsideofthescreen.3:53RoryCookaddedacomment3:55BruceCorcoranaddedacomment.Butnospecifics.Myeyestraveldownthelonglisttothebottomofthewindow,whereaboxthatsaysShowChangesisunchecked.Ihovermycursoroverit,tempted,butIleaveitunchecked.I’mloggedin,andthat’sallthatmatters.
Iclickovertomycomputersettings,whereIchangemyownpassword,makingsureI’mtheonlyonewhocanaccessit.
WhenI’mdone,Icloseitandheadupthestairsandbackintoourbedroom,whereRorystillsleeps.Afterreturninghisphonetothecharger,ItakethethumbdriveandthePost-itwithhispasswordintothemasterbathroom.Ipullthelongplastictubeofmytraveltoothbrushfrommypackedtoiletrybagandtwistitopen,tossingthecheaptoothbrushintothetrashandwrappingthePost-itaroundthethumbdrive.ThenIdropthembothintothetubeandtwistitclosedagain,buryingitunderneathmyfacelotionandcosmetics.Withthebagzipped,Ilookatmyselfinthemirror,surroundedbytheluxuryRory’smoneyhasgivenme.Themarblecounters,thedeepsoakingtubandshowerthesizeofacompactcar.SodifferentfromthetinybathroomIgrewupusing.VioletandIusedtoargueaboutwhogottouseitfirstinthemornings,untilmymotherdisabledthelock.“Wedon’thavetimeforprivacy,”she’dsay.IusedtodreamaboutthedaywhenIcouldlockthebathroomdoorandspendasmuchtimeinthereasIwanted.I’dgiveanythingtogobacktohowitusedtobe,thethreeofusinandout,squeezingpasteachotherinthetightspace,brushingteeth,puttingonmakeup,dryingourhair.
Iwon’tmissanyofthis.
Iflipoffthelightandmakemywaybackintothebedroom,whereIslipintobednexttomyhusbandfortheverylasttime.
Twenty-twohours.
Claire
Tuesday,February22
TheDayoftheCrash
Imusthaveslept,becausethenextthingIknow,myalarmisyankingmeawake.Iblinkthesleepfrommyeyes,takingintheroomaroundme.Thesunisup,andRory’ssideofthebedisempty.Theclockreadsseventhirty.
Isitup,lettingmynervessettleandexcitementtakeover,beforemovingintothebathroomwhereIturnontheshower,lettingsteamobscuremyfaceinthemirror.Onthecounter,Icheckagainforthethumbdrive,reassuredthatitseemstobeundisturbed.
ThenIstepintotheshower,lettingthehotwaterpoundonmyback,exhilarationfloodingthroughme.Aftermorethanayearofcarefulplanning,constantterrorthatthesmallesterrormightleadtothediscoveryofwhatI’mabouttodo,themomentisfinallyhere.I’mpacked.IhaveeverythingIneed.Roryisgone—totheoffice,toameeting,ithardlymatters.AllIhavetodoisgetdressedandwalkoutthedooronelasttime.
Ifinishquicklyandwrapmyselfinmyfavoriterobe,mymindalreadyhoursahead.AquietflighttoDetroit,aschooltour,andabanquettokeepmebusyuntileveryoneisasleep.AseriesofboxesIcancheckoff,oneatatime,untilI’mfree.
ButIpullupshortwhenIentermybedroomtofindConstance,theupstairsmaid,liftingmysuitcaseontothebedandunzippingit.Shebeginstoremovetheheavywinterclothesthatarepackedontopofmyundergarments.
Igripmyrobetightaroundmyneck.“Whatareyoudoing?”Myeyesaregluedonthesuitcase,trackingherhandsasshepullsthingsout,bracingmyselfforwhatshe’llfindatthebottom—anylonbackpackslippedunderthelining.Bluejeansthatdon’tbelonganywhereneartheDetroitevent.Severallong-sleevedshirtsandadownjacketnoonehaseverseenbefore.
Butsheonlycarriesthecold-weatheritemsbacktothecloset,returningwithlighterthings—dressesandslacksinlinen,settingmybrightpinkcashmeresweateronthebed,aflashofcolorthatseemsoutofplaceandmuchtoothinforthiscoldFebruarymorning.Shesmilesatmeoverhershoulderassherepackseverythingandsays,“Mr.Corcoranwouldliketospeakwithyou.”
Hemusthavebeenlurkinginthehall,becauseatthementionofhisname,Brucestepsintothedoorwayandhalts,clearlyuncomfortabletofindmejustoutoftheshower.“Changeofplans,”hesays.“Mr.CookisgoingtodotheDetroiteventhimself.HewantsyoutogotoPuertoRico.There’sanorganizationdownthere—ahumanitariangroupthat’sworkingonthehurricanereliefeffort—andhethinksit’sacausethefoundationshouldtakeon.”
Ifeelasifmyentireworldhasshiftedonitsaxis,gravityyankingmehardtowardthecenteroftheearth.“Whatdidyousay?”
“Mr.CookisgoingtoDetroit.HeandDanielleleftearlythismorning,”herepeats.“Hedidn’twanttowakeyou.”
ConstancezipsmybagclosedagainandslipspastBruce,disappearingintothehallway.
“YourflightleavesfromJFKateleven.”
“JFK?”Iwhisper,unabletokeepup.
“Mr.Cookhastakentheplane,sowehadtobookyouonVistaAir.There’ssomekindofweathereventbrewingovertheCaribbean,andit’sthelastflightoutbeforetheycloseeverythingdown.Wewereluckytogetyouonit.”Heglancesathiswatch.“I’llwaitoutherewhileyougetdressed.We’llneedtogetyoutotheairportbynine.”
Heclosesthedoor,andIsitdownhardonthebed,mythoughtscareening.Allmyplans,vanishedinthefewhoursIslept.EverythingI’dassembled,thefortythousanddollars,thefakeIDfromNico,myletter,andallofPetra’shelp.WaitinginDetroit,whereRorywillopenthepackageandknow.
***
Somehow,Imanagetogetdressed,andsoonwe’reinthebackofahiredtowncar,headingtowardtheairport.Brucerunsthroughtheitinerary,histonejustashadelessrespectfulthanwhenRory’saround,butI’mbarelylistening,tryingtograbontosomethingthatwillsomehowturnthisaround.
MyphonebuzzeswithatextfromRory.
Sorryaboutthelast-minutechangeofplans.We’reaboutfiveminutesfromthehotel.Callmewhenyougetthereandenjoythewarmweather.It’s35degreeshere.
Sohedoesn’tknowyet.Maybethere’sstilltimetofixthis.Igripmyphonetightinmyhandandurgethecartogofaster,togetmetotheairportwhereIcanfigureoutwhattodonext.
“You’llbestayinginSanJuan,”Brucesays,readingoffadocumentonhisphone.“You’rebookedfortwonightsattheCaribe,butDaniellesaysitcouldbethree,soshe’llcancelthemeetingyouhaveonFriday.”
Helooksupatme,soInod,nottrustingmyvoicetorespond.EveryinchofmeisfrantictocallPetra,tofigureouthowtofixthis,butI’llhavetowaituntilI’mattheairport,untiltheonlypeoplewhomightoverhearmyconversationarestrangers.
***
Theydropmeatthecurb,Brucegivingmefinalinstructions.“VistaAir,Flight477,”hetellsmeasIexitthecar.“Theboardingpassisonyourphone,andsomeonewillbeontheotherendtomeetyou.CallDanielleifyouhaveanyquestions.”
IheadtowardtheslidingglassdoorsthatleadintothelargedepartureterminalforVistaAirlines,awareofthecar,stillidlingatthecurb.Keepwalking,Iinstructmyself.Benormal.Ifallintothesecuritylinethatwindsthroughseveralrowsoftravelers,unlockingmyphoneandscrollingthroughmyemail,lookingfortheDetroititineraryDaniellesentmetheotherday,anddialthehotelthere.
“ExcelsiorHotel,”thewomanontheotherendanswers.
“Goodmorning,”Isay,tryingtokeepmyvoicecalmandwarm.“Iwasscheduledtostayatyourhotelthisevening,buthadachangeofplans.Unfortunately,Iwasexpectingapackagetoarriveformethismorning,andI’dloveitifyoucouldforwardit.”
“Ofcourse,”saysthewoman.“What’syourname?”
Somethingloosensinmychest,andItakeadeepbreath.Icanmakethisright.HavehersendittotheCaribeandleavefromthere.“ClaireCook.”
“Oh,right,Mrs.Cook!Yes,thepackagewasdeliveredthismorning.Igaveittoyourhusbandnottenminutesago,”shechirps,nodoubtstillthrilledbytheencounter.
Igripmyphone,myvisiongrowingspotty,andIfighthardtostayupright.IpictureRory,arrivinginaswirlofactivity,makinghiswaystraighttothehotelroom,wherehe’llcatchuponemails,phonecalls,andreviewhisspeech.Atsomepoint,he’llremembertheFedExpackage.Itwon’tmatterthatit’saddressedtome.Icanseehimopeningit,peeringinsideatthetightlyboundpacketsofcash.Reachinginandpullingouttheplainenvelopethatholdsmynewdriver’slicense,passport,creditcards,andotherforgeddocuments.Hiseyesscanningthename—AmandaBurns—thenlandingonthepictureofme.Andaletter,stampedandaddressedtohiminNewYork,explainingeverything.
“Mrs.Cook?”Thewoman’svoicejerksmebackintothepresent.“CanIhelpyouwithanythingelse?”
“No,”Isay,myvoicenomorethanawhisper.“Thatwillbeall.”Idisconnect,lettingmymindsortthroughtheotherpossibilities.Icouldgosomewhereelse.SimplywalkuptothecounterandpurchaseatickettoMiamiorNashville.Butthatwouldleaveanelectronictrail.AllthecashI’dplannedonusingtoerasemytracksisinDetroit.WithRory.
IscrollthroughmycontactsuntilIfindit.Nina’sNailSalononParkAvenue,withPetra’snumberlinkedtoit.
Sheanswersonthethirdring.
“It’sme.Claire.”Suddenlyawareofthepeoplearoundme,Ilowermyvoiceandexplainwhathappened.“Rorychangedtheplans.He’ssendingmetoPuertoRico.And,Petra.”Icanbarelysaythewords.“He’sinDetroit.”I’mdesperatelytrying—andfailing—tocontrolmymountinghysteria.
“Ohmygod,”Petrabreathes.
“Icalledthehotelthere.TheyalreadygavethepackagetoRory.”Iswallowhard.“WhatamIgoingtodo?”
Thesecuritylineinchesforward,andImovewithit.Onthephone,Petra’squietasshethinks.“Getbackoutsideandcatchacabhere.Youcanstaywithmeuntilwefiguresomethingelseout.”
I’mjustafewpeopleawayfromthefrontoftheline,myoptionsshrinkingwitheveryminutethatpasses.OnceRorydiscoverswhatIwasplanning,hewilllockdownallofouraccountsuntilhehasmehomeagain.Mythoughtsflybackintime,tothelasttimeItriedtoleave.Iimaginethetwoofusathome,theevidenceofwhatIwasabouttodospreadbeforeme,andwhatwillsurelyhappennext.PerhapshemightevenfollowtheinstructionsIgavehiminmyletter,releasingastatementannouncingoursplitandrequestingtheworldrespectmyprivacy,flippingmyownplanagainstme.It’spossibleI’vewrittenmyownsuicidenote.
“It’stooclose,”Itellher.“Someonewillseemeandtellhim.”
“IliveatthefuckingDakota.NoonecomesupifIdon’twantthemto.”
“SodoatleastthreeofRory’sfriends,”Iremindher.“Heisgoingtopullmyentirelifeapartandstudyit.Mybankcards.Creditcards.Andcellphonerecords,whichwillnowleadhimstraighttoyou.ToNico.Andme,ifItrytohidethere.”MygazeslidesovertheuniformedTSAagentsdirectingpeopleleftandrighttowardX-raymachines.Thereareonlythreepeopleaheadofmeinline.“IthinkmychancesofdisappearingarebetterinPuertoRico,”Isay.“Somuchisstilloffthegridafterthehurricane.Peoplewillbemorereceptivetocashandwon’taskalotofquestions.”ButwhatIdon’tsayishowhardthatwillbewithalmostnomoney,onanislandwithlimitedexitpoints.Ican’tdoitwithoutsomekindofhelp.IknowIpromisedIwouldn’t,butIhavetoask.“DoesNicoknowanyonedownthere?”
Petrablowsouthard,thinking.“Ithinkso,”shefinallysays.“Idon’tknowmuch.Nicokeepsmeprettyfarremovedfromtheguyshedoesbusinesswith.Butthey’renotnicepeople,Claire.Andoncetheyhaveyou,Nicomightnotbeabletogetyououtrightaway.Areyousureyouwanttodothat?”
AcoldsliverofdreadinsertsitselfbeneathmyribsasIimagineadarkcar.Anamelessface.Perhapsacoldroomfullofwomen,boundandchained.Scatteredmattresses,stainedandlumpy,acrossaconcretefloor.ThenIthinkaboutwhatragelookslikewhenitslipsacrossRory’sface,ofwhathewilldotomeoncehegetsmealoneagain.Thelevelofhumiliationandoutragehewillfeelaboutwhatalmosthappened.“Callhim,”Isay.
“Whereareyoustaying?”
Igiveherthedetails,andIcanhearherdiggingaroundinadrawerforapen.
“Okay.Someonewillcontactyouthere.Bereadytogoassoonasyouhearfromus.”
AtremoroffearpassesthroughmeasIwonderifNicowillbeabletohelpme.AndwhetherIwanthimto.
ButPetra’sstillgivingdirections.“FindanATMandtakeoutasmuchcashaspossible…justincase.”
I’vereachedthefrontoftheline,andpeoplearewaitingformetoendmycallandputeverythingontotheconveyorbelt.“Ihavetogo,”Itellher.
“Trytostaycalm,”shesays.“I’llbeintouchassoonasIcan.”
AndthenIendthecall,doubttumblingaroundinsideofme,feelingasifIhavejustslippedintoanightmare—spinning,turning,threehundredsixtydegreesofdanger.
Eva
JohnF.KennedyAirport,NewYork
Tuesday,February22
TheDayoftheCrash
Thedesperationinthewoman’svoicewasunmistakable.It’sme.Claire.Thewaythewordscrackedwhenshesaidthem,asifshewerefightingbacktears.Evastood,riveted,asshelistenedtothehystericalunravelingofawomanindanger.Awomanontherun.Awomanlikeherself.
Evaglancedaroundatthetravelersthatsurroundedthem,pressinginonallsidesastheywoundtheirwaythroughsecurity.Thefamilywithseverallargesuitcasesthatsurelywouldhavetobegate-checked.Thecouplebehindher,whisper-arguingaboutnotleavingfortheairportontime.Evalookedtoseeifanyoneelsewaspayingattention.Ifanyonemightrememberthedistressedwomanonthephoneandthequietstrangerinfrontofher,listening.
Claire.Hername,asinglesyllable,seemedtoechoinEva’smind.Evashuffledcloser,pretendingtobeabsorbedinherphone,theprepaidoneshe’dboughtlessthantwenty-fourhoursearlierinadifferentairport,andtookinthedetailsofthewoman.TheexpensiveBirkinbag.Trendysneakerspairedwithtailoredslacksandabrightpinkcashmeresweaterdrapedelegantlyoverhernarrowframe.Darkhairneatlybrushinghershoulders.
“IthinkmychancesofdisappearingarebetterinPuertoRico,”Clairesaid.Evaleanedcloser,soasnottomissanything.“Somuchisstilloffthegrid.Peoplewillbemorereceptivetocashandwon’taskalotofquestions.”
Evafeltherpulsequickenatthephraseoffthegrid,becausethat’sexactlywhatEvaneeded.PuertoRicowastheanswer,andClairewouldbehowshegotthere.
Whentheyreachedthefrontoftheline,aTSAagentdirectedEvatoanX-raymachineontheleft,whilepointingClaireseveralrowsovertotheright.Evatriedtofollow,buttheTSAagentblockedherfromhoppinglines.ShekepthereyeonClaire,trackingthebrightpinksweaterasshepassedthroughtheX-raymachine,gatheredherthingsontheotherside,anddisappearedintothecrowd.
Evafoughttheurgetopushherwaythrough.Shehadn’twaitedallmorningjusttoloseClairenow.Butshewasstuckbehindanoldmanwhoneededseveralpassesthroughthescanner.Eachtimetheredlightflashed,Evafeltpressurebuildinginsideofher,anxioustogettotheotherside.
Finally,themanremovedahandfulofchangefromhispocket,countingitcarefullybeforedroppingitintoatray,andsuccessfullypassedthrough.
Evashovedhercoatandshoesintoatrayandtossedherbagontotheconveyorbelt,holdingherbreathasshetookherturn.Ontheotherside,shescurriedtoputeverythingbacktogetheragainandgrabbedherphoneandduffelbag,searchingtheconcourseforthepinksweater.ButClairehadvanished.
Evafeltthelosslikeaswiftkick.Anythingelseshemighttry—buyanotherplaneticket,abusticket,arentalcar—couldbetraced.Itwouldleadthepeopletrackingherstraighttowherevershewent.
Evascannedthecrowds,slowingdowninfrontofeveryrestaurant,lookingintoeverycornerofeverynewsstand.Upaheadwasabankofmonitors.She’dfindthedepartingflighttoSanJuanandlocateClaireathergate.Shecouldn’thavegonefar.
ButasEvapassedabar,shesawthepinksweater,sharpagainstthegraywindowbehindher.Claire,seatedalone,nursingadrink,hereyesscanningthecrowdedterminal,alert,thewayananimalscansthehorizonforpredators.
Evalethereyesslidepastandkeptwalking.Clairewasn’tgoingtoopenuptoastrangeraskingifshecouldhelp.Evaplannedtocomeatthissideways.Shewanderedintoabookstoreandgrabbedamagazine,flippingthroughituntilClairehadtimetosettle.
Acrosstheway,shesawClaireliftthedrinktoherlips.
Evareplacedthemagazine,exitedtheshop,andwalkedtowardthelargeplateglasswindowsoverlookingthetarmacbeforeveeringleftandheadingtowardClaire.Whenshewascloseenough,sheliftedhersilentphonetoherearandinfusedhervoicewithatouchofpanicandfear,makingsuretoletherduffelbumpagainstClaire’sstoolasshesat
“Whydotheywanttotalktome?”Evaasked,loweringherselfnexttoClaire,whoshiftedsideways,irritationrollingoffherinwaves.
“ButIonlydidwhatheaskedmeto,”Evacontinued.“Assoonaswelearneditwasterminal,wediscussedit.”Evacoveredhereyeswithherhandandallowedthelastsixmonthstocomecrashingback.Howmuchshe’drisked.Howmuchshe’dlost.Sheneededallofthatemotionnow,tocraftherstoryandpassitoffasthetruth.“HewasmyhusbandandIlovedhim,”shesaid,grabbinganapkinacrossthebarandpressingitagainsthereyesbeforeClairecouldnoticetherewerenotears.“Hewassuffering,andIdidwhatanyonewouldhavedone.”Evapaused,asifsomeoneontheotherendwastalking,beforefinallysaying,“TellthemIhavenothingtosay.”Sheyankedthephoneawayfromherearandstabbedatit,disconnectingherfakecallandtakingadeep,shudderingbreath.
Evasignaledthebartenderandsaid,“Vodkatonic.”Then,moretoherselfthantoClaire,shesaid,“Iknewthiswouldcatchuptome.Ijusthadnoideahowquickly.”Shetookasipofthedrinkthebartenderdepositedinfrontofher,whilenexttoher,Claireshiftedonherstool,awayfromEva,therigidsetofhershouldersenoughtosilencemostpeople.ButEvapinchedhereyesclosedandworkedherhysteriaanotchhigher,lettingherbreathgrowraggedanduneven.Shetriedtograbanothernapkinfromastackjustbeyondherreach,bumpinghershoulderintoClaireagain,forcingClairetohandherone.
“Thanks,”Evasaid.“I’msorryI’msuchamess,burstingintoyourquietcorner.It’sjust…”Shetrailedoff,asifgatheringcouragetosaythewords.“Myhusbandrecentlypassedaway.Cancer.”
Clairehesitated,stillnotlookingatEva,beforefinallysaying,“I’msorry.”
“Weweretogethereighteenyears.Sincehighschool.”Evablewhernoseandstaredintoherdrink.“HisnamewasDavid.”Shetookanothersip,lettingapieceoficeslipintohermouthandpressingitagainsttheinsideofhercheek,willingherheartratetoslow,forthestoryshewasspinningtoslow.Toofastanditwouldsoundhollowandfalse.Liesneededtobedoledoutcarefully.Plantedandtendedbeforethenextonecouldbegiven.“Hewaswastingawaytoalmostnothing,inexcruciatingpain.Icouldn’twatchitanymore.”ShelettheimageofadyingmanshimmerinClaire’simaginationbeforecontinuing.“Andso,Itoldthenursetogohome,thatI’dtakethenightshift.Iwasn’tverysmartaboutit,butit’simpossibletothinkclearlywhenthemanyouspentyourwholelifelovingissuffering.”Evalookedblanklyacrosstheterminal.“Nowitseemstheyhavequestions.Theremightbeconsequences.”
WhatEvaneededwasacompellingreasonwhyshe,too,mightwanttodisappearandnevergohome.Somethingotherthanthetruth.
ShefelttheshiftinClaire’sbodylanguage,aslightturningtowardher,nomorethananinch,butitwasenough.“Whois‘they’?”Claireasked.
Evashrugged.“Thecoroner.Thepolice.”Shegesturedtowardherphone.“Thatwasmyhusband’soncologist.Hetoldmethey’reaskingeveryonetogodowntowninaweektoanswerquestions.”Shelookedoutthewindowstowardthetarmac.“Nothinggoodeverhappensdowntown.”
“AreyoufromNewYork?”
Evalookedbackatherandshookherhead.“California.”Pause.Breathe.“He’sonlybeengonetwenty-onedays,andeverydayIwakeupandreliveit.IthoughtatriptoNewYorkwouldhelp.Achangeofscenery,theoppositeofhome.”
“Didit?”
“Yes.No.”ShelookedatClairewithawrysmile.“Canbothbetrue?”
“Isuppose.”
“I’vealreadylosteverythingthatmatteredtome.Myhusbandisgone.Iquitmyjobtotakecareofhim.Itwasjustthetwoofus—neitherofushadanyfamily.”Evatookadeepbreathandsaidthetruestthingshe’dsaidsofar.“I’maloneintheworld,andIdon’twanttogoback.Myflightleavesinanhour,andIdon’twanttobeonit.”
EvadugaroundinherpurseandpulledoutherboardingpasstoOakland,layingitonthebarinfrontofthem.Aprop.Atemptation.Asilentsuggestion.“MaybeI’llgosomewhereelse.Ihavesavings.I’llbuyanewtickettosomeplaceI’veneverbeenandstartover.”Evasatupstraighteronherstool,asifthedecisionshe’djustmadehadreleasedsomethingheavyinsideofher.“WheredoyouthinkIshouldgo?”
Claire’svoicewasquietnexttoher.“Itwon’ttakethemlongtofindyou.You’dbetraceablenomatterwhereyouwent.”
Evatookafewmomentstothinkaboutthatbeforesaying,“Doyouthinkit’spossibleforsomeonetodisappear?Vanishwithoutatrace?”
Clairedidn’tanswer.Thetwoofthemsatinsilence,watchingpeoplemaketheirwaytowardtheirgatesortowardbaggageclaim.Hurriedtravelers,givingeachotherwideberthastheyavoidedeyecontactwitheveryonearoundthem,tooabsorbedinwheretheywereheadedtonoticetwowomensittingsidebysideatthebar.
Inthedistance,achild’swailgrewlouderasafrustratedmotherpassedthem,pullinghersobbingdaughterbehindher,saying,“I’mnotlettingyouwatchParentTrapforthehundredthtimewhenyouhaven’tdoneyourreadingforMrs.Hutchins.”
EvawatchedClaire’seyestrackthemuptheconcourseuntiltheyweregone.Thenshesaid,“NicetoknowanewgenerationisstillappreciatingtheworkofLindsayLohan.”Shetookasipofherdrink.“Whatwasthatotheroneshemade?Wherethemotheranddaughtertradebodiesandliveadayaseachother.Doyouknowit?”
“FreakyFriday.Mysisterlovedthatmovie,”Clairesaid,staringdownintoherdrink.
Evacountedtoteninsideherhead.She’dreachedtheveryedgeofwheresheneededthisconversationtogo.Thenshesaid,“Whowouldyoutradewith?Whowouldyouwanttobe?”
Claire’sheadturnedslowlytowardEvaandtheireyeslocked,butClairedidn’tanswer.
“FreakyFridaywouldsurehelpmerightnow,”Evacontinued,hervoicegrowingdistant.“Slippingintosomeoneelse’sskin,beingabletoinhabitatotallydifferentlife.I’dstillbeme,butnoonewouldknowit.”
Nexttoher,Claireliftedherglasstodrink,andEvanoticedtheslighttremor.“I’msupposedtogotoPuertoRico,”shesaid.
Evafeltthealcoholfinallyhitherbloodstream,warmandlowinherbelly,easingtheknotthathadbeensteadilygrowingforthepastforty-eighthours.“Nicetimeofyearforit.”
Claireshookherhead.“I’ddoanythingtonotbeonthatplane,”shesaid.
Evaletthewordshangintheair,waitingtoseeifClairewouldoffermoredetails.BecausewhatEvahadinmindwasrisky,andsheneededtobesureClairewasdesperateenough.Sheswirledtheiceinherglass,vodkaandtonicmeltingintoaclearliquid,thelimecrushedandwiltedaroundtheedges.“SoundslikewebothneedaFreakyFriday.”
Evaknewtwothings.First,Claireneededtobelievethiswasheridea.Andsecond,Evadidn’twanttobeapersonwholiedanddeceivedanymore.Thiswasthelasttime.
ClaireliftedEva’sboardingpassoffthebartopandstudiedit.“What’sOaklandlike?”sheasked.
Evashrugged.“Nothingspecial,”shesaid.“IliveinBerkeley,though.Peopletherearekindofnuts.IfyourodedownTelegraphAvenueonaunicycleblowingatrumpet,noonewouldlooktwiceatyou.It’sjustthatkindofplace.Easytoblendinbecauseeverybody’salittleweirderthanyouare.”
Justthen,thebartenderapproachedandsaid,“CanIgetyouladiesanythingelse?”
Forthefirsttime,Clairesmiled.“Ithinkwe’regood,thanks.”ToEvashesaid,“Followme.”
***
Theyleftthebarandwalkedshouldertoshoulder,forcingpeopletomovearoundthem,fallingintoalineofwearytravelersinthewomen’sroomwithoutsayingmore.Severalstallsopenedup,andClaireletpeoplebehindthemgoahead,untilthehandicappedstallwasavailable.ShepulledEvainafterherandlockedthedoorbehindthem.
Clairekepthervoicelow.“Whatyousaidbackthere,aboutwhetherIthoughtitwaspossibletodisappear.Ithinkthere’sawaytodoit.”
Toiletsflushed,waterran,flightswereannouncedovertheloudspeaker,asClairedugaroundinherpurseandfishedoutherphone,pullinguphere-ticketandhandingittoEva.“Ifwetradetickets,flightrecordswillshoweachofusboardingourrespectiveairplanes,”Clairesaid.“ButinPuertoRico,therewillbenotraceofme.AndinOakland,therewillbenotraceofyou.”
Evatriedtolookskeptical.Itwouldn’tworkifsheagreedtooquickly.“Areyoucrazy?Whywouldyouwanttodosomethinglikethatforme?”
“You’dbedoingitforme,”Clairesaid.“Ican’tgohome.AndI’mafoolifIthinkIhavetheskillstodisappearinPuertoRico.”
Eva’seyesshotuptoClaire’sface.“Whatdoyoumean?”
Clairesaid,“Youdon’tneedtoworry.”
Evashookherhead.“IfI’mgoingtodothis,theleastyoucandoistellmewhatI’msteppinginto.”
Clairelookedtowardthestalldoorandsaid,“Ihadaplantoleavemyhusband.Itfellapart,andhefoundoutaboutit.Ihavetodisappearbefore…”
“Beforewhat?Ishedangerous?”
“Onlytome.”
Evastudiedthee-ticketonClaire’sphone,asifshewerethinking.“Howcanwetradeticketsifwedon’tevenlookalike?”
“Itwon’tmatter.We’realreadythroughsecurity.You’llhavemyphone,withmyboardingpass.Noonewillquestionyou.”ShestaredatEva,hereyesbrightanddesperate.“Please,”shewhispered.“Thisismyonlychance.”
Evaknewwhatitwasliketoalmosthavesomethingwithinhergrasp,onlytohaveityankedawayagain.Itmadeyoudesperate,ahungersofierceitblindedyoutoallthewaysitmightgowrong.
***
Theplanturnedouttobesimple.Theyquicklytransferredthecontentsoftheirbags,ClairepullinganNYUcapfromhersandtuckingherhairunderneath.ThenshetookoffhersweaterandhandedittoEva.“Myhusbandisgoingtoleavenoleadunfollowed.Everyminuteofthisdaywillbeunpackedandstudied.Includingairportsecurityfootage.We’llneedtotrademorethanjusttickets.”
EvaslippedoffhercoatandhandedittoClaire,hesitatingforamoment.Itwasherfavorite,anarmy-greenhoodedonewithallthezippersandinnerpocketsthathadservedherwellformanyyears.
Claireputiton,stilltalking.“Whenyouland,usemycreditcardtopulloutcash,orbuyaticketsomewhereelse.Whateveryouwant.Justleaveatrailmyhusbandcanfollow.”ClairetuckedacomputercaseintoEva’sduffel,nowrestingatClaire’sfeet.Thensheopenedhertoiletrybagandpulledoutaplastictraveltoothbrush,slippingitintooneofthepocketsofEva’soldcoat,whichEvafoundodd.Oralhygieneseemedastrangethingtobeprioritizingrightnow.Fromherwallet,Clairetookawadofcashandshoveditintoanotherpocket,thendroppedthewalletbackintoherownpurseandhelditouttoEva.“Doitfast,though,beforehecutseverythingoff,”shesaid.“MyPINis3710.”
Evatookit,thoughshedidn’tneedClaire’smoney.ThenshehandedClaireherownpurse,notevenbotheringtolookthroughit,happytoberidofallofit.Theonlycashsheneededrightnowwastuckedinapouchagainstherskin,therestofitfaraway,waitingforher.
Evaslidherarmsintothepinkcashmeresweater,feelingherescapedrawingnearer,hopingClairewouldn’tlosehernerve.Inninetyminutesshe’dbeintheair,onherwaytoPuertoRico.Onceontheground,Evaknewahundredwaysshecoulddisappear.Alterherappearance,thengetofftheislandasfastaspossible.Charteraboat.Charteraplane.Shehadenoughmoneytodowhateversheneeded.Shedidn’tcarewhatClaireendedupdoing.
Aconversationshe’dhadwithDexaweekagofloatedbacktoher,spokenoffhandatabasketballgame.TheonlywaytogetafakeIDistofindsomeonewho’swillingtogiveyoutheirs.Evanearlylaughedaloud,Dex’swordsmanifestingbeforehereyesinthehandicappedstallatJFK’sTerminal4.
Clairefiddledwithoneofthezippersonthecoatshenowwore,andEvathoughtaboutwhomightbewaitingforheronthegroundinOakland.TheymightpauseforamomentwhentheysawClaireexittheairportwearingEva’sfamiliarcoat.Butthat’swherethesimilaritiesended.
“Ihopeyoudon’tmind,”Evasaid,pressingherprepaidphonetoherchest,“butthishasallmypictures.Afewsavedvoicemailsfrommyhusband…”Shecouldn’triskClairediscoveringthatithadnocontacts,nophotos,andonlyonenumberinhercallhistory.SheheldupClaire’s.“ButI’llneedyoutodisableyourpasswordsoIcanscanthee-ticket.Unlessyouwanttoprintaticketandkeepyourphone?”
“Andlethimtrackmethatway?Nothanks,”Clairesaid,swipingthroughhersettingsanddisablingherpassword.“ButIdoneedtograbanumberfirst.”
EvawatchedasClairetookapenfromherpurseandscribbledsomethingonthebackofanoldreceipt.
Justthen,theflighttoOaklandwasannounced.Boardinghadbegun.Theylookedateachother,fearandexcitementminglingontheirfaces.
“Iguessthisisit,”Clairesaid.
EvaimaginedClaireboardingtheflighttoCaliforniaandgettingoffattheotherend.Walkingoutintothebrightsunshinewithoutaclueofwhatshemightfindthere,andshetriednottofeelguilty.ButClaireseemedscrappy.Smart.She’dfiguresomethingout.“Thankyouforhelpingmestartover,”Evasaid.
Clairepulledherintoahugandwhispered,“Yousavedme.AndIwon’tforgetit.”
Andthenshewasgone.Outofthestall,disappearedbackintothebusyairport,securitycamerasrecordingawomaninagreencoatandNYUbaseballcappulledlowoverhereyes,walkingtowardadifferentlife.
Evalockedthedooragain,leaningagainstthecooltilewall,andletalloftheadrenalinefromthemorningleakoutofher,leavingherlimbsweakandherheadfuzzy.Shewasn’tfreeyet,butshewascloserthanshe’deverbeen.
***
Evawaitedinsidethelockedstallaslongasshecould,imaginingClaireflyingwest,racingthesuntowardfreedom.
“BoardingforFlight477withservicetoPuertoRicohasbegun,”avoiceannouncedoverhead,andshesteppedoutandstrodepastthelonglineofwomenwaiting.Outofthecornerofhereye,shewatchedherreflectioninthemirrorandmarveledathowcalmsheappeared,wheninsideshefeltlikedancing.ShepushedupthesleevesofClaire’spinkcashmeresweater,washedherhandsquickly,andhitchedhernewpurseoverhershoulderbeforeexitingbackontotheconcourse.
Atthegate,shewaitedontheperiphery,hereyesscanningthecrowdoutofhabit,andwonderedifshe’deverlearnhowtobeinaspacewithouthavingtoassessitforrisksanddanger.Buteveryonearoundherseemedtobeabsorbedintheirownthoughts,anxioustoescapethefrigidNewYorktemperaturesforawarmerclimate.
Aharriedgateattendantpulledaspeakerclosetohermouthandsaid,“Ourflightthismorningisn’tfull,soanytravelerswishingtoflystandbyshouldcheckinatthecounter.”
Peopleinvacationclothesjockeyedforspotsinline,wantingtobefirstintheirboardinggroup,butwithonlyonegateattendantonduty,thingswerechaoticandslowtobegin.Evamadesuretopositionherselfontheedgeofaloudfamilyofsix.Insideherpurse,Claire’sphonebuzzed.Curious,shepulleditout
Whatthefuckhaveyoudone?
Itwasn’tthewordsthatstoppedher,butthevitriolbehindthem,poisonousandfamiliar.Thenthephonerang,joltinghernervesandmakinghernearlydropit.Sheletitgotovoicemail.Itrangagain.Andthenagainafterthat.ShepeeredtowardtheJetway,countingthepeopleaheadofher,urgingthelinetomovefaster.Toboardandgetintotheair,tobeonherway.
“What’stheholdup?”awomanbehindherasked.
“Iheardthehatchwasn’topeningright.”
“Great,”thewomansaid.
WhenitwasEva’sturn,shehandedthephonetotheflightattendant,whoscannedhere-ticketwithoutevenglancingatthename.ShehandeditbacktoEva,whopromptlyturneditoffanddroppeditbackintoClaire’spurse.Thelinecreptforward,EvaonthethresholdoftheJetway,buriedinalonglineofimpatienttravelers.Someone’sbagbumpedherfrombehind,knockingherpursetothegroundandsendingClaire’sthingsskitteringindifferentdirections.
Asshebentdowntogathereverything,sheglancedbacktowardtheconcourse.Aboveher,thelinehadclosedaroundher,blockingherfromthegateagent’sview,andsherealizedhoweasyitwouldbetoslipaway.Theflightwasn’tfull.Theymightnotnoticeheremptyseat.Shewasscannedontotheflight,andClairewasalreadyonherwaytoOakland.
Evahadonlyasplitsecondtomakethedecision.Shecouldseehowshe’ddoit.Steptothesideandleanagainstthewallandfakeanotherphonecall.She’dbejustanothertraveler,consumedwithherownlife,onherwaysomewherenew.Shecouldleavetheairport,headintoBrooklynandfindahairsalonwillingtotakeawalk-inwantingtodyeherhairbrown.ThenpaycashforalaterflightusingClaire’sID.TherecouldeasilybetwoClaireCooks,travelingtotwocompletelydifferentdestinations.Andonceshelandedanddisappeared,thedatawouldbecomeirrelevant.
Andsowouldshe.
Claire
Tuesday,February22
Itisn’tuntilanhourintotheflightthatmyheartstopspounding,thatItakethefirstdeepbreathI’vehadinyears.Iglanceatmywatch.TheplaneI’mexpectedtobeonissomewhereovertheAtlanticrightnow,thousandsofmilesaway.IpictureitlandinginPuertoRico,taxiingintotheterminalanddischargingvacationers,Evaslippingbyeveryone,invisible.RorywillhavediscoveredwhatwasintheFedExpackagebynow,andwhenhestartstolookforme,he’llbesearchingforClaireCookorAmandaBurns.Hedoesn’thaveacluewhoEvaJamesis.Itwasalmosttooeasy.
Amemoryarrives,ofanightwhenIwasthirteen,sittingontheporchwithmymother.I’dbeenthetargetofagroupofpopulargirlsforseveralweeks.Theyfollowedme,whisperingcruelthings,waitinguntilIwasaloneinthehallwayorthebathroomtodelivertheircuttingremarks.Mymotherhadwantedtointervene,butIwouldn’tlether,believingthatwouldonlymakeitworse.“IwishIcouldjustdisappear,”I’dwhispered.Togetherwewatchedathree-year-oldVioletrunaroundthesmallyard,therosesswayingintheslighteveningbreeze.
“Ifyoupayattention,Claire,solutionsalwaysappear.Butyouhavetobebraveenoughtoseethem,”she’dsaid,pluckingmyhandoutofmylapandsqueezingitinhers.
Herwordshadconfusedmethen.ButIrealizenowshe’dbeengivingmeadvicetohangonto,forlater.I’dbeentrappedbetweentwoterrifyingchoices—Rory’sangerorthekindofpeopleNicomighthavesenttohelpme—andthenEvacamealongandpulledmeout.
IthinkaboutEva,ofwhatshe’slost,andIhopethatwhereversheendsup,shecanfindawaytobeatpeacewithherself.Ipictureherescapingtoaremotevillagesomewhere,findingasmallhousebytheocean,herblondhaircontrastingwithskindarkenedbyasunthatcascadeslikeforgivenessacrosshershoulders.Farawayfromeverything.Afreshstart,liketheoneI’mhopingtocreateformyself.
Howextraordinarythatwefoundeachother.
Abubbleofjoytumblesaroundinsideofme,andIlaughoutloud,startlingthemansittingnexttome.“Sorry,”Isay,andturntowardthewindow,watchingthelandbelowustransformfromcityintolargestretchesoffarmland,themilesbetweenmeandRorygrowingwitheverysecond.
***
Sixhourslater,theplanebumpsdowninOakland.WecircledoverSanFrancisco,andthoughthepilotpointedoutlandmarkssuchastheBayBridgeandtheTransamericabuilding,they’dbarelyregisteredamidstmyexcitement.Iwaitmyturntodeplane,thecrowdofpeoplepressinginonme,andclosemyeyes,thinkingofagameVioletandIusedtoplaycalledWouldYouRather.We’dspendhourscreatingimpossible,hilariouschoices:Wouldyourathereattencockroachesorhaveliverfordinnereverynightforayear?Ismiletomyself,wonderingwhatVioletandImightcomeupwithnow.Wouldyouratherbemarriedtoanabusivebutrichmanorstartoversomewherenew,withnomoneyandnoidentity?Thedecisionseemseasytome.
Finally,thedooropensandpeoplestarttofileofftheplane.Itakemyplaceamongthem,pullingmycaplowovermyeyes,atleastuntilI’moutoftheairportandawayfromsecuritycameras.ThefirstthingIneedtodoiscallPetraandtellherI’minOakland.Andthenfindacheapmotelthatwon’taskalotofquestions.Withonlyfourhundreddollarsinmywallet,Ihavetobesmart.
Whenwedeplane,Isliparoundeveryoneandgoinsearchofapayphone.ButwhenIgetbeyondthegates,Irealizesomething’sdifferent.Severalclumpsofpeoplearegatheredaroundtelevisionmonitorsinthevariousbarsandrestaurants,hushed.
Somethingmusthavehappened.
IsidleuptoagroupoutsideChili’sandpeeroverpeople’sshoulders.Thetelevisionissettoacablenewsstation,butthevolumeisturneddown.Asomber-lookingwomanistalking,andthescreenflasheshername—HillaryStanton,NTSBSeniorCommunicationsOfficer.Ireadtheclosed-captioningatthebottomofthescreen.
Wedon’tknowyetwhatcausedthecrash,andit’stooearlytosay.
Thescreencutstoanewsanchor,andIgetaglimpseoftheheadlinebannerthatwaspreviouslycoveredbytheblackclosed-captioningtext.
TheCrashofFlight477.
Ireaditagain,tryingtorearrangethewordstomeansomethingdifferent.
Flight477wasmyflighttoPuertoRico.
Ipushcloser.Moretextflashesup,thistimefromtheanchor.
Authoritieswon’tspeculateonthecauseofthecrashjustyet,thoughtheyhaveindicatedtheunlikelihoodofanysurvivors.Flight477washeadingtoPuertoRico,with96passengersonboard.
Thepictureflashestoaliveshotoftheocean,piecesofwreckagefloatingonthesurface.
Thegroundseemstomovebeneathme,andIwobbleintothemanstandingnexttome.HesteadiesmyelbowandhangsonlongenoughtomakesureIdon’tfall.“Youokay?”heasks.
Ishakehimoffandpushthroughthecrowd,unabletoreconcilewhatI’mseeingonthetelevisionscreenwiththememoryofEvastillsharpinmymind—whosevoiceIcanstillhear,whosesmileIcanstillseeasthebathroomstalldoorclosedbehindme.
Withmyheaddown,Imakemywaythroughtheconcourse,suddenlyawareofhowmanytelevisionscreensthereare,allofthembroadcastingwhat’shappened.Iswallowthebilecreepingupthebackofmythroatandlocateapayphonenexttotherestrooms.
Withtremblingfingers,IpulloutthereceiptwhereI’djotteddownPetra’snumberanddial.Avoicedirectsmetoinsertonedollarandtwenty-fivecents.IdigaroundinEva’swalletuntilI’vecountedoutfivequartersandslipthemintotheslot,oneatatime,myheartracing.
Butinsteadofringing,Ihearthreetonesandanautomatedvoicesaying,We’resorry,thisnumberisnolongerinservice.
Inmyhastetoreachher,Imusthavemisdialed,double-enteredadigitbyaccident,soItakeadeepbreath,willingmyhandstostopshaking.Icollectthequartersfromthechangereceptacleanddialagain,slowerthistime.
AgainI’mtoldthenumberisnolongerinservice.
Ireplacethereceiver,feelingasifI’veseparatedfromreality,liftingstraightoutofmybody.Wanderingovertoadesertedbankofchairs,Icollapse,staringacrosstheconcourse.Peoplemoveinandoutofmyfieldofvision,pullingsuitcases,corrallingchildren,speakingintocellphones.
Imusthavecopiedthenumberwrong.Ithinkbacktothebathroomstall,scribblingPetra’snumber,adrenalinecausingmyattentiontospreadthinlikescattershot.
Andnow,I’mcompletelycutoff.
Acrossthewaythetelevisionscreenschangeagain,pullingmyattentionback.
Thenamesofthepassengershavenotbeenreleasedyet,butNTSBofficialssaytheywillbeholdingapressconferencelaterthisevening.
IrealizehowvulnerableI’mabouttobecome,howthingslikethistakehold,grabbingtheheartstringsofthenation.First,thegrislydetails,thespeculationaboutwhatwentwrong.Thenthehumaninterest.Thevictims.Theirlives,theirhopes.Theirfaces,smiling,laughing,unawareofhowitwillend.BecauseofwhoRoryis,mystorywillbeamplified,myminutesofanonymityslippingawayatanalarmingrate.Myimagewillsoonbesplashedacrossthemedia,recognizabletoanyonelooking.I’mabouttobecomeasinfamousasMaggieMoretti.YetanothertragedyRorywillhavetobravelyendure.AndI’llbestuck,withverylittlemoney,noidentification,andnowheretohide.
MyeyeslandonEva’spurse,andIreachintoitandpulloutaringofkeysandherwallet.Ipocketthekeysandopenthewallet,memorizingtheaddressonherlicense.543LeRoy.Idon’thesitate.Iwalkoutoftheairport,intothebrightCaliforniasun,andhailacab.
***
Wespeedalongafreeway,theSanFranciscoskylinepeekingbetweenindustrialbuildingsontheeastsideofthebay,butitbarelyregisters.Instead,I’mrememberingEva’sfinalmomentsinthebathroomstallwithme,determinedtocarveoutasecondchanceforherself,notimaginingthatsheneverwould.Irestmyheadagainstthewindowandtrytofocusonthecoldglasspressingagainstmyskin.Justalittlebitlonger.Ican’tletmyselffallapartuntilI’mbehindcloseddoors.
Soon,we’veexitedontostreetscrowdedwithcollegekids,colorfulandupbeat.ItrytoimaginewhatRorymightbedoingrightnow.Mostlikely,he’sonhiswaybacktoNewYork,havingcanceledtheeventinDetroit.Quietlydepositingthefortythousanddollarsbackintothebankandhidingeverythingelseinhissecretdrawer.
Istareoutthewindowaswepasstheuniversity,studentscrossingthestreetinahaphazardway,obliviousthewayonlycollegestudentscanbe.Weskirtaroundtheeasternedgeofcampusandintoaresidentialneighborhoodonthenorthsidewithhillsandwindingstreets.Houses,duplexes,andapartmentssitsidebysideamongtallredwoodtrees,andIthinkaboutwhatI’llfindwhenIunlockEva’sfrontdoor.Anintrudersteppingintothehomeshesharedwithherhusband,foreverfrozenexactlyassheleftit.Lookingattheirphotographs.Usingtheirbathroom.Sleepingintheirbed.Ishudderandtrynottothinkthatfarahead.
Thedriverleavesmeinfrontofawhite,two-storyduplexwithalongfrontporchandtwoidenticaldoorsanchoringeachend.Therightsideiscurtained,closedofffrompryingeyes.Alargepinetreecastspartoftheporchinshadow,thesoilbeneathitlookingdarkandfresh.Theleftsideisvacant,thewindowsbare,revealingemptyroomswithcrownmolding,aredaccentwall,andhardwoodfloors.I’mrelievedIwon’thavetoansweranyquestionsfromaneighbor,askingwhoIamorwhereEvawent.
Ifumblewiththekeys,finallyfindingtherightone,andpushthedooropen.Toolate,Irealizetheremightbeanalarm,andIfreeze.Butallissilent.Theairsmellsofclosedroomsandafainttraceofsomethinghoveringbetweenfloralandchemical—thereandthengone.
Icloseandlockthedoor,steppingcarefullypastapairofshoesthatlookasifsomeonekickedthemoffafewminutesago,strainingmyearsforanykindofnoise,anysoundofanotherperson.Yetdespitetheclutter,thehousefeelsutterlystill.
IsetmybagdownbythefrontdoorincaseIneedtoleavequickly,andcreepovertopeekintothekitchen.Empty,thoughthere’sanopencanofDietCokeonthecounterandsomedishesinthesink.Adoorleadstothebackyard,butit’slockedwithachainacrossit.
Itakethestairsslowly,listeninghard.Onlythreerooms—abathroom,anoffice,andabedroom,clothesdroppedonthebedandfloorasifsomeonehadleftinahurry.ButI’maloneinthehouse,andIletoutthebreathI’dbeenholding.
Backdownstairs,Icollapseontothecouchandtipmyheadforward,restingitinmyhands,andfinallyallowtheday’seventstocatchuptome.ThepanicIfelt,followedbythethrillofhavingslippedpasteveryone.
AndthenIthinkofEvasomewhereonthebottomoftheAtlanticOcean.Whetherithurtwhentheplanehitthewater,ifthemomentsleadinguptoimpactwerelong,filledwithterror-filledscreamsandcrying,oriftheywerecutshortbylackofoxygen.Itakeseveraldeepbreaths,tryingtocalmdown.I’msafe.Iamokay.Outside,acarpassesthroughthesilentneighborhood.Inthedistance,somebellschime.
Iliftmyheadandtakeintheframedabstractprintsonthewallandthesoftarmchairsflankingthecouch.Theroomissmallbutcozy,thefurniturehighqualitybutnotextravagant.ExactlytheoppositeofthehomeIjustleftbehind.
Thereisawell-worngrooveinthearmchairangledtowardthetelevision,buttherestofthefurniturelookspristine,asifnoonehaseversatthere.Somethingabouttheroomnagsatme,andItrytoputmyfingeronit.Perhapsit’sthewayitwasleft,asifsomeonehadjuststeppedawayforafewminutes.Iscanthespace,tryingtofigureoutwhereherhusband’shospitalbedmighthavebeen.Wherethehospiceworkersmighthavecountedpills,measuredmedication,washedtheirhands.Butallevidenceisgone.Notevenadivotinthecarpet.
Againstthefarwall,abookshelfiscrammedwithbooks,andIwanderoverandseetitlesaboutbiologyandchemistry,withafewtextbooksontheverybottomshelf.Iquitmyjobtotakecareofhim.PerhapsshewasaprofessoratBerkeley.Ormaybehewas.
Fromthekitchencomesabuzzingsound,loudandjarringinthesilenthouse.WhenIgettothedoorway,Inoticetheblackcellphoneonthecounter,tuckedbetweentwocanisters.Ipickitup,confused,rememberingtheoneEvausedattheairportinNewYork.Thepushnotificationisfromoneofthosetextappsthatdisappearafterasetamountoftime,fromacontactnamedD.
Whydidn’tyoushowup?Didsomethinghappen?
Thephonebuzzesinmyhandwithanothermessage,nearlymakingmejump.
Callmeimmediately.
Itossitbackonthecounterandstareatit,waitingforanothertext,butitremainssilent,andIhopewhoeverDis,they’redoneaskingquestionsforthenight.
Isteptowardthesinkandlookthroughthesmallwindowoverlookingatinybackyard.It’ssurroundedbyshrubsandbisectedbyabrickwalkwayleadingtoagateinthebackfence.IimagineEvastandinghere,watchingtwilightfallasitisnow,coloringtheshadowsindeeppurplesandbluesastheskydarkens,whileherhusbandlaydying.
Thephonebuzzesagain,thesoundreverberatingaroundtheemptykitchen,andasenseofforebodingdescends.Theemptyhouseoffersitselfuptome,yetrevealsnothing.
Eva
Berkeley,California
August
SixMonthsbeforetheCrash
Evawaitedforhimoutsidehisdorm.Itwasn’tthesameoneshe’dlivedin,somanyyearsago,butanewerone,withsofteredgesanddarkwoodtrim,asiftheywantedstudentstofeelliketheywerelivinginanItalianvillainsteadofstudenthousing.Hergazetraveledupward,overwindowsthatwereopentocatchthecoolmorningair,postersofbandsshe’dneverheardof,tapedpicture-sideout.Fromthecenterofcampus,theCampanilechimedthehour,andstudentswithearly-morningclassespassedbyherasshestoodonthesidewalk,leaningagainstacarthatdidn’tbelongtoher.NoonelookedatEva.Theyneverdid.
Finally,heexited,hisbackpackslungacrossoneshoulder,hisnoseburiedinhisphone.Hedidn’tnoticeEvauntilshefellintostepbesidehim.
“Hi,Brett,”shesaid.
Helookedup,startled,andaflashofworrycrossedhisfacewhenhesawwhoitwas.Butthenheplasteredonasmileandsaid,“Eva.Hey.”
Acrossthestreet,twomeneasedoutofaparkedcarandstartedwalkingintheirsamedirection,slowandsilent.Trailingthem.
Evabegan.“I’msureyouknowwhyI’mhere.”
Theycrossedthestreet,pastcoffeeshopsandbookstores,andskirtedthesouthernedgeofcampus.ShesteppedinfrontofBretttostophimwhenthey’dreachedtheopeningofanarrowbrickwalkwaythatledtotheentranceofasmallartgallerythatwouldn’topenuntileleveno’clock.Themenbehindthemstoppedtoo,waiting.
“Look,Eva,”Brettsaid.“I’mreallysorry,butIdon’thaveyourmoneyyet.”Ashespoke,hesearchedthefacesofthefewpeopleonthestreetthisearly,lookingforafriend.Someonetostepinandhelphim.ButEvawasn’tworried.Toanyonewhomightbewatching,Brettwasjustastudent,chattingwithawomanonthesidewalk.
“That’swhatyousaidthelasttime,”Evasaid.“Andthetimebeforethat.”
“It’smyparents,”Brettexplained.“They’regettingadivorce.Theycutmyallowancebyhalf.Icanbarelyaffordbeer.”
Evatiltedherheadsympathetically,asifshecouldrelatetoaproblemlikethat.Asifshehadn’tbeenforcedtoliveonaminusculeperdieminherthreeshortyearsatBerkeley,pocketingextrafoodfromthedininghalltotideheroverlongweekends.Noonegaveheranallowance.PayingforbeerhadneverbeenonEva’slonglistofworries.
Shepressedon.“That’sasadstory.Unfortunately,it’snotmyproblem.Youowemesixhundreddollars,andI’mtiredofwaiting.”
Bretthitchedhisbackpackhigheronhisshoulderandwatchedabusrumbledownthestreet,hisgazetrailingafterit.“I’llgetit.Iswear.Just…it’sgoingtotakesometime.”
Evareachedintoherpocketandpulledoutapieceofgum,unwrappingitcarefully,andstuckitinhermouth,chewingslowly,asifshewereconsideringwhathe’dsaid.ThemenwhoweretrailingsawEva’ssignalandbeganmakingtheirwaytowardthem.
IttookBrettalmostnotimetonoticethem.Toseethepurposeintheirstride,toseethatheandEvaweretheirfinaldestination.Hetookastepbackward,asiftorun,butthemenclosedthedistancequickly,boxinghimin.
“Ohmygod,”hewhispered,hiseyeswildwithfearandpanic.“Eva.Please.IswearI’llpayyou.Iswear.”Hebegantobackaway,butSaul,thebiggerofthetwomen,placedahandonBrett’sshouldertostophim.Evacouldseehislargefingerssqueezing,andBrettbegantocry.
Sheeasedbacktowardthestreet,herpartfinished.ButBrett’seyesstoppedher,silentlypleadingwithhertochangehermind,andEvahesitated.Perhapsitwasthewaythemorninglightslanteddownonthem,autumnjustahintintheair,remindingherofanewsemesterwithnewclassesandnewthingstolearn.Remindingherofalifeshe’donceloved,notyetsnatchedawayfromher.
OrmaybeitwashowyoungBrettlooked.Thewayhewhimpered,apimplebrightredonhisforehead,thehaironhisfacestillsoftandthin.Hewasjustakid.Andsherememberedshe’dbeenoneoncetoo.Makingmistakes.Beggingforanotherchance.
Noonehadgivenittoher.
Shesteppedback,allowingthemtoleadBrettdownthewalkway,awayfromthesidewalk.
Avoicestartledherfrombehind.“Hadtobedone.”
Dex.
Heemergedfromtheshadoweddoorwayofaclosedshopandlitacigarette,gesturingforhertowalkwithhim.Frombehindthemcamethesoundoffistshittingflesh,Brett’scries,pleadingforhelp.Thenaparticularlyloudblow—perhapsakicktothestomach,orhisheadslammedintothewall—andnomoresoundsfromBrett.
Evakepthergazesteady,knowingDexwasstudyingher.“Whatareyoudoinghere?”
Heshruggedandtookadragonhiscigarette.“Iknowyoudon’tlikethispart.ThoughtI’dswingbyandcheckonyou.”
Alie?Thetruth?WithDexitwashardtotell,butEvahadlearnedovertheyearsthatDexdidn’tgetoutofbedthisearlyunlesstheirboss,Fish,toldhimto.
“I’mfine,”shesaid.
Togethertheyambledupthehilltowardthestadium,passinganothercoffeeshop,itswhiteawningcoveringapatioofemptytablesandchairsstillstackedinacorner.Theinteriorwascrowdedwithprofessorsanduniversityemployeesgettingtheirmorningcoffeebeforeheadingtowork.Outside,apanhandlersatinawheelchairplayingaharmonica.Evatossedhimafive-dollarbill.
“Blessyou,”themansaid.
Dexrolledhiseyes.“Bleedingheart.”
“Karma,”Evacorrected.
Theystoppedatthetopofthehill,outsidetheInternationalHouse,andDexlookedpasthertowardthebay,asifadmiringtheview,andshefollowedhisgaze.ThetwomenhademergedfromthewalkwayandweremovingwesttowardTelegraphAvenue.TherewasnosignofBrett,whomthey’dprobablyleftinabloodyheap.Thegalleryownerwouldcomeacrosshiminacouplehoursandcallthepolice.OrperhapsBrettwouldsomehowmanagetogetupandstumblebacktohisdorm.Noclassesforhimtoday.
Whenthemendisappearedfromview,Dexturnedbacktoher,handingherasmallpieceofpaper.“Newclient,”hesaid.
Brittany.4:30p.m.Tilden
Evarolledhereyes.“Nothingsays‘childofthenineties’likethenameBrittany.Howdidyoufindher?”
“ReferralfromaguyIknowinLA.Herhusbandjustgottransferreduphere.”
Evapulledupshort.“She’snotastudent?”
“No.Butyoudon’tneedtoworry,”heassuredher.“She’slegit.”Hedroppedhiscigaretteonthegroundandcrusheditbeneathhisshoe.“Seeyouthisafternoonatthree.”
Heheadedbackdownthehill,notwaitingforconfirmationfromher.Nonewasneeded.Inthetwelveyearsshe’dworkedwithDex,she’dneveroncemissedameeting.Shewatchedhimuntilhewaspastthewalkway,stillnosignofBrett,andthensheturnednorthtowardhome.
Asshecrossedthroughthecenterofcampus,memoriesflittedalongtheedgesofherperiphery.TheendofsummerinBerkeley.Eva’sownrhythms,sodeeplytiedtotheebbandflowoftheuniversity,nowfeltoffkilter,pulledtothesidebyDex,asshewonderedwhathistruepurposewasinjoiningherthatmorning.
Frombehindher,Evaheardsomeonesay,“Excuseme.”
Sheignoreditandcrossedoverasmallbridgecoveringastreamthatwounditswaythroughthecenterofcampus.
“Excuseme,”thevoicesaidagain,louder.
Ayounggirl,afreshmanbythelookofher—skinnyjeans,boots,andwhatappearedtobeanewbackpack—steppedinfrontofEva,panting.“CanyoutellmewhereCampbellHallis?I’mlateandit’sthefirstdayandIoverslept…”ShetrailedoffasEvastaredatthegirl,sobright-eyed,witheverythingstillaheadforher.
AnotherBrett,notyethappened.HowmanymonthswouldittakebeforethepressureofBerkeleybegantocrackthisgirlinhalf?Howlonguntilherfirstfailedtest,orherfirstConapaper?EvapicturedsomeoneslidingascrapofpaperwithDex’snameandnumberacrossawoodenstudycarrelinthelibrary.HowlonguntilEvawasmeetingheroutsideofCampbellHall?
“Doyouknowwhereitis?”thegirlaskedagain.
Evawassofuckingtiredofitall.“Nohabloinglés,”Evasaid,pretendingshedidn’tspeakEnglish,wantingonlytoberidofthisgirlandherquestions.
Thegirlsteppedback,surprised,andEvaslippedpastherandupthepath.Letsomeoneelsehelpher.Evawasn’treadytotakeherturnyet.
***
TheunexpectedappearanceofDexthatmorningwasstillbotheringherseveralhourslater,asshestoodatthekitchensink,washingdishes.Assherotatedaglassunderthehotwater,itslippedfromherfingersandshattered,sendingshardsflyingintotheporcelainbasin.
“Shit,”shesaid,turningoffthefaucetanddryingherhandsonadishtowelbeforecarefullypickingupthelargerpiecesanddroppingtheminthetrash.Shecouldfeelthingsrearrangingandshifting,thewayanimalscouldsenseanearthquake,tinytremorsdeepbeneaththeearth’scrust,warninghertopayattention.Seeksafety.
Shegrabbedsomepapertowelsandsweptuptherestbeforecheckingthetimershe’dbroughtupfromthebasement.Fiveminutesleft.
ShetossedheremptyDietCokecanintotherecyclingandstaredoutthekitchenwindowoverlookingthebackyard.Thegreenshrubberyandroseswereovergrownandinneedofpruning.Inthefarcorner,shespottedacat,crouchedandmotionless,beneathalow-hangingbush,eyeslockedonasmallbirdsplashinginashadypuddleleftfromthemorningsprinklers.Evaheldherbreathandwatched,silentlyurgingthebirdtolookaround,toleavethedangeroftheyardbehind.
Suddenly,thecatlunged.Inasilentflurryofwingsandfeathers,itgrabbedthebird,pummelingittothegroundandstunningitwithafewswiftblows.Evawatchedasthecatslunkoffcarryingthebirdinitsmouthandfeltasiftheuniversewassendinghersomekindofmessage.Theonlyproblemwas,shedidn’tknowwhethershewasthecatorthebird.
Thetimerrang,joltingEvafromherreverie.Shelookedattheclockonthestove,thenglancedonemoretimethroughthewindowatthebackyard,emptyexceptforascatteringoffeathersonthebrickwalkway.
Shepushedherselfoffthecounter,pasttherollingshelvingunitfilledwiththingssheneverused,aproptoobscurethedoorhiddenbehindit,andslippeddowntothebasementtofinishup.
Claire
Tuesday,February22
Eva’shouseissostill,Ifeelasifit’swatchingme,waitingtoseeifI’llrevealwhoIamandwhyI’mhere.WhenIopenthefridge,thetopshelfiscrowdedwithcansofDietCokeandnotmuchelse,justamisshapentake-outcontainershovedtotheback.“DietCokeanyone?”Imutterbeforeclosingitagain,mygazeslidingovertheshelvesthatlineonewall,filledwithcookbooksandmixingbowls,tothecupboardsontheleftofthesink.Ibeginopeningthem,revealingglasses,plates,andbowls,finallyfindingwhereEvakeptherdrygoods.RitzCrackersandaDietCokewillhavetobegoodenoughfortonight.
WhenI’veeatenenoughtoquietmygrowlingstomach,Imovebacktothelivingroom.Theclockonthewallreadssix.Ipickuptheremote,tryingnottothinkaboutEvaandherhusband,snuggledunderablanketwatchingamovieorsittingincompanionablesilencescrollingthroughtheirphones,andIscantheroom,lookingfortheevidenceofahappymarriage.Photographs.Mementosfromvacations.Butnoneofitisvisible.
IfindthePowerbuttonandflippastthenetworks,finallylandingonCNN.
Thescreenshowsaclose-upoftheairportinNewYork,withaninsetofthesearchandrecoveryteam,abobbingCoastGuardboatsurroundedbydarkwaterilluminatedwithfloodlights.Iturnupthevolume.KateLane,politicalcommentator,hostoftheshowPoliticsToday,isspeaking,hervoicelowandsomberasthescreenfillswithanimageofmeandRoryatagalafunctionlastyear.Myhairissweptupinanelaboratefrenchtwist,andI’mlaughingintothecamera,myfaceheavywithmakeup.KateLane’svoicesays,“AuthoritieshaveconfirmedthewifeofphilanthropistRoryCook,sonofSenatorMarjorieCookandtheexecutivedirectoroftheCookFamilyFoundation,wastravelingtoPuertoRicoonahumanitariantripandwasaconfirmedpassengeronFlight477.”
Andthenmypictureisreplacedwithaliveshotoftheexterioroftheairport,thecamerapanninginonwhatlookslikearestrictedareabehindlarge,plateglasswindows.“RepresentativesfromVistaAirlinesaremeetingwithfamilymembersthisevening,whileoffthecoastofFlorida,searchandrecoveryteamsworklateintothenight.NTSBofficialshavebeenquicktodismissterrorismasacauseofthecrash,citingunstableweatherandthefactthatthisparticularplanehadbeengroundedjustfourmonthsago.”
Thecamerazoomsintoshowpeoplehuggingandcrying,consolingeachother.Imoveclosertothetelevision,strainingmyeyestoseeifRory’sthere.ButIneedn’thavebothered.Asifoncue,thescenecutstoabankofmicrophones,andRoryemergesfromtheroom,steppingbehindthem.“I’vebeentoldwe’llbegettingabriefstatementfromMr.Cookonbehalfofthefamilies.”
IpausetheTVandstudyhim.He’swearinganexpensivepairofjeansandoneofhisbutton-downshirtsinashadeofbluethatlooksgoodoncamera.Buthisfaceisetchedwithgrief,hiseyeshollowandred.Isitbackonmyheels,wonderingifhe’strulydevastatedorifthisisallanelaborateact,thatfarbeneaththesurfacehe’slivid,havingsurelydiscoveredthetruthbynow.
LeavingtheTVpaused,IgrabmycomputerfrommybagandtakethestairstwoatatimeuptoEva’soffice.Theinternetrouterblinksitsgreenlightsfromacornerofthedesk,andIturnitover,findingthepasswordontheback,prayingsheneverbotheredtochangeit.Ittakesmethreetriestomatchthepasswordwithanetworkname,butI’min.
IclickonthewindowIopenedlastnightandtakeaquicklookthroughRory’sinboxwhilehe’sonliveTV.ThereareseveralmessagesfromDanielle,cc’dcopiesofemailsshesentthismorning,lettingtheDetroithotelknowRorywillbeusingmyreservation,informingtheschoolthatRorywouldbetheonedoingtheevent.
AndonemessageexchangebetweenBruceandRory,shortlyafterthenewsofthecrashbroke.
Ithinkweneedtodelaytheannouncement.
Rory’sreplywasbrief.
Absolutelynot.
ButBrucewouldnotbedeterred.
Thinkabouttheoptics.Yourwifejustdied.There’snowayyoucanannouncenextweek.It’sinsane.LettheNTSBrecoverthebody.Haveafuneral.Thenannounceafterthat.Tellthemit’swhatClairewouldhavewanted.
Eventhoughitdoesn’tsurpriseme,thefactthatthey’reworryingabouttheSenateannouncementrightnowstillhurts.Despiteourproblems,despitehistemper,IknowRorylovedme,inhisownbrokenway.ButunderneathisatinythreadofsatisfactionthatI’dbeenrighttobreakawaynow.Thatifgiventhechoice,Rorywouldneverpickmeoverhisambition.
IopenanewtabandGooglePetraFederotov.Alonglistofwhatappeartobeartcataloguespopup,withbrightlycoloredgraphicsandnamesIcan’tpronounce.Pageafterpageofthem.IrevisemysearchtoPetraFederotovphonenumber,andthelistgrowsslightlylonger—apizzaparlorinBoston,linkstositesofferingpeople-findingsoftwareforathirty-dollarfee.ButI’mcertainNicohasmadesuretheirinformationisscrubbedfromthosedatabases,andmostlikelyscrubbedfromthewebaswell.
Ileavemycomputeropenandgobackdownstairs,whereRoryisstillfrozenonthescreen,hisarmabouttoswipeachunkofhairthathasfloppedoverhisforehead.Inanotherlifetime,Iwouldhavereachedouttosmoothitback,mytouchgentleandloving.Istareathisface,rememberingwhatitfeltliketolovehim.Theearlydays,whenhe’dpickmeupfromtheauctionhouseandsurprisemewithadinneratLeBernardinorasummerpicnicinthepark.Hismischievoussmileashe’dsneakusinthebackdoorofaclub,thetenderwayhe’dbrushtheedgeofmylipwithhisthumb,rightbeforehe’dkissme.
Thosememoriesaren’tlost.Justburied.MaybesomedayI’llbeabletopickthemupagain.Holdtheminmyhandandexaminethemobjectively,keepingthegoodonesanddiscardingtherest.
IpressPlay.Roryclearshisthroatandsays,“Thismorning,likemanyofthefamiliesbehindme,Ikissedmywife,Claire,goodbyeforthelasttime.”Hepauses,takingadeep,shudderingbreathbeforecontinuing,hisvoicecrackingandwobblingoverthewords.“WhatwassupposedtobeahumanitariantriptoPuertoRicohasthrustme,andthefamiliesofninety-fiveotherpassengersofFlight477,intoalivingnightmare.Beassuredwewillnotrestuntilwegetanswers,untilwefullyunderstandwhatwentwrong.”Heswallowshardandclencheshisjaw.Whenhelooksintothecameraagain,hiseyesshinebrighter,fillingwithtearsthattipovertheedgesofhiseyesandslidedownhischeeks.“Idon’tknowwhattosay,otherthanI’mdevastated.Onbehalfofthefamilies,wethankyouforyourthoughtsandprayers.”
ReportersshoutquestionsatRory,butheturnsawayfromthecameras,ignoringthem.Ithinkabouthoweffortlesslyhelies.Hedidn’tkissmegoodbye.Hedidn’tsaygoodbyeatall.AndIrealize,nowthatI’mdead,Rorycantellwhateverstoryhewantsaboutme,aboutourmarriage.Thereisnoonelefttorefuteit.
Thesceneshrinkstoaninset,andweseeKateLaneagain,herfamiliarshortgrayhairandblack-framedglassesfillingthescreen.I’dmetherseveralyearsagowhenshewasinterviewingRoryforthesegmentshewasdoingonMarjorieCook’slegacy,andIrememberbeingstruckbyhowcoolshe’dbeentowardRory.She’dsmiledandlaughedinalltherightplaces,butIsensedapartofherwatchinghim,asiffromadistance.Examiningallhisshinysurfacesandflourishes,anddecidingtheyweren’treal.
Herexpressionnowisbothsomberandsteadying.“Mr.Cookhasbeenafrequentguestonthisshow,andI,alongwitheveryoneelseatPoliticsToday,extendourdeepestsympathiestotheCookfamilyandallofthefamiliesaffectedbytoday’stragedy.I’vehadthegoodfortuneofmeetingMrs.Cookonseveraloccasions,andIknewhertobeasmartandgenerouswoman,atirelessadvocatefortheCookFamilyFoundation.Shewillbedeeplymissed.”Intheinsetpictureoverhershoulder,amanappearsatthebankofmicrophonesRoryjustleftandKatesays,“ItlookslikethedirectoroftheNTSBisgoingtoanswersomequestions.Let’slistenin.”
Thecrowdofreportersbeginshoutingquestions,butIsilencethenoisebyturningthetelevisionoffand,staringatthefaintoutlineofmyreflectioninthedarkscreen,wonderwhathappensnext.
***
Icarrymybagbackupthestairsandintothemasterbedroom,pushingasideadiscardedpileofclothesonthebed—apairofsweatpantsandaT-shirt—andsit.Adarkwooddresser,drawerstightlyshut,andaclosetdoorthatisn’tclosedalltheway,revealingajumbleofclothesinside.Andthat’swhenitfullyhitsme:Evawillneverlaugh,orcry,orbesurprisedagain.Shewon’tgrowold,withsorehipsorabackthataches.Neverloseherkeysorhearthesoundofbirdsinthemorning.
Yesterdayshewashere,abeatingandbrokenheart,amindwithsecretsanddesiresshekepttoherself.Buttoday,everymemoryshe’daccumulatedacrossalifetimehasvanished.Theysimplydon’texistanymore.
Andwhataboutme?ClaireCookisalsogone,liftedupinthememoriesofthosewhoknewme,nolongerwalkingamongtheliving.Andyet,Istillgettocarryeverythingthatbelongedtome.Myjoys,myheartaches,memoriesofpeopleIloved.AndIfeelasenseofprivilegeIdon’tdeserve.ThatIgettokeepitallandEvadoesnot.
Ipressmyfistsintomyeyes,tryingtostopmyleapingthoughts,ping-pongingfrommomenttomoment—themaidunpackingmysuitcase.ThephonecalltothehotelinDetroit.Petra’svoiceonthephoneatJFK.AndEvainthebathroomstall,handingmeherbag,believingIwasthesolutiontoherproblems,asIbelievedshewasthesolutiontomine.
Ineedtosleep,butIdon’tthinkIcanbringmyselftopullbackthecoversandclimbintothebed.Nottonightatleast.Instead,Itaketheblanketandgrabapillow,carryingthembackdownstairstothecouch.Ikickoffmyshoesandsettlemyself,turningtheTVbackonforcompany.IflipawayfromthenewschannelsuntilIfindastationshowingILoveLucyrerunsandletthecannedlaughtercarrymetosleep.
***
I’myankedawakebythesoundofRory’svoice,speakingquietlyinmyear.Ileapoffthecouch,thedarkroomflickeringinthebluelightofthetelevisionscreen,confusedanddisoriented,forgettingforamomentwhereIamandwhathappened.
AndthenIseehimonthescreenoftheTV,smallerthaninreallife,butnolessterrifying.Areplayofthepressconference.Icollapseontothecouchagain,fumblingfortheremotetoturnitoff,lettingthesoundsofEva’shouse—thelowhumoftherefrigerator,aquietdrippingfromthekitchenfaucet—slowmyheartrate.Remindingmyselfthatthere’snowayRorycouldknowwhereIam.
Istareattheceiling,watchingshadowsfromthestreetlightdanceacrossit,andrealizehowharddisappearingwillbe.Itwon’tmatterwhereIhideorwhatnameIuse.EverytimeIturnonatelevision,openanewspaper,orflipthroughamagazine,Rorywillstillbehidingthere,waitingtoleapoutatme.Hewillnevergoaway.
Eva
Berkeley,California
August
SixMonthsbeforetheCrash
Eva’shandsmovedautomaticallyunderthebrightlights,whilehighabove,thefanwhirred,awhitenoisethatdulledhersenses,ventingtheairfromherbasementlabintothebackyard.Shecouldn’tseemtoerasetheimageofthatcat,howquietlyitwaited,howquicklythingshadendedforthebird.
Sheshookherheadandforcedherselftoconcentrate.Shehadtofinishthisbatchbeforenoon.ShewasmeetingDexatthreetogivehimFish’sportionandwasmeetinghernewclientshortlyafterthat.
Shemeasuredingredients,carefullyweighingandadjusting,andfeltherselfrelax.Evenafteralltheseyears,aftereverythingthathadhappened,itwasstillmagic,thatyoucouldcombinesubstances,addheat,andcreatesomethingentirelynew.
Shebroughtthemixturetoathick,pastyconsistencyonthecampingstove,immunenowtothebitterchemicalstenchthatburnedtheinsideofhernoseandclungtoherhairandclothes,longaftershe’dfinished.Becauseofthis,sheinvestedinexpensivelotionsandshampoo,theonlythingsthatcouldcoverthesmellofwhatshemade.
Whenitwasready,shepouredtheliquidintothepillmoldsandsetthetimeragain.Usingvariouscoughandcoldmedicinesmixedwithsomecommonhouseholditems,whatshemadewassimilartoAdderall.However,itwasmuchsafertomake,avoidingtheexplosivenatureofmostmethamphetamines.Theresultwasatinypill,simpletoproduce,withapowerfulpunchthatkeptsubparstudentslikeBrettawakeandsharp-mindedforhoursonend.
Whenshewasdone,shewashedtheequipmentatthesinkinthecorner,loadingtheportabledishwashershe’dboughtseveralyearsago.Herchemistryprofessor’svoicefloatedthroughtheyears:Acleanlabisthemarkofatrueprofessional.Shewasaprofessionalbydefinition,butnoonewasgoingtocomedownhereandmakesureshewasfollowingstandardlabprotocol.Shewipedthecounters,makingsurenotracesofherwork—ortheingredientsshedroveallovertheBayAreatopurchase—wereleftoutforpryingeyes.
Notthatanyonewouldcomedownhere.Longagoshe’dfiguredoutthebestwaytohidethedoortothisoldlaundryroomwastorollashelfinfrontofit.Fromtheoutside,you’dneverknowitwasthere.Atleastsixfeettallwithasolidback,theshelveswerefilledwiththetoolsofanamateurchef—cookbooks,mixingbowls,canistersthatheldflourandsugar,andseverallargeutensilholdersstuffedthickwithspatulasandoversizedspoonsthatEvaneverused.Shemovedthroughtheworldsimilarly—appearingtobeabland,thirtysomethingserverwhoworkedhardtomakeendsmeet,wholivedinaNorthBerkeleyduplexanddroveafifteen-year-oldHonda.Wheninrealityshewastheopposite,singlehandedlyresponsibleforkeepingthestudentsatBerkeleyawakeandontracktograduateinfouryears.Anddealingquicklywiththeoneswhocausedproblems.
Grabbingthetimeroffthecounter,sheheadedupthebasementstairs,flippingthelightandfanoffbehindher.Thesilencefoldedoverher,andshepausedinthekitchen,waitingforthesoundsoftheneighborhoodtosettleintothespacebetweenherears.
Nextdoor,sheheardhernewneighbor,anolderwomanwithclose-croppedwhitehair,unlockingherfrontdoor.Whenshe’dmovedinafewweeksago,Evacouldtellshewantedtobefriendly.HereyeswouldlingeronEva,andthoughEvawaspolite,withone-andtwo-wordgreetings,shecouldfeelthewoman’sgaze,heavyandwaitingforadeeperinteraction.
Mr.Cosatino,theoldmanwho’dlivedtheresincethebeginningoftime,hadbeensomucheasier.They’donlyspokenonce,lastyearwhenshe’dpaidhimcashtopurchaseherhalfoftheduplex.Shewonderedwhathappenedtohim,whetherhegotsickorifhedied.Onedayhewasthere,thenextday,hewasgone.Andnowthiswoman,withherfriendlysmilesandeyecontact.
Evaleftthebookshelfpushedasideandtookthestairstwoatatime,uptoherhomeoffice.Atinyroomoverlookingthefrontyard,itwasn’tusedbyEvaformuchexceptpayingbillsandstoringhercold-weathercoats.Butshe’ddecorateditliketherestofthehouse—warmtonesofyellowandredthatwereafarcryfromtheinstitutionalgraywallsofthegrouphomeshe’dgrownupin.She’dpickedeachpiece—thepinedesk,thedeepredrug,thesmalltableandlampthatsatunderthewindow—asanantidotetothecoldnessthathadembeddeditselfinsideofherasachild.
Shesettledinfrontofherlaptop,pullinguptheSingaporeanbanklog-inpage,andenteredheraccountinformationbymemory.Shewasdiligentaboutcheckingherbalances,watchingthenumbersteadilyincreaseoverthepasttwelveyears,goingfromfivefigurestosixfigurestoacomfortableseven.ThefinancialdistrictinSanFranciscowasfilledwithhandsomemenwhoknewhowtobendthelawtosuittheirpurposes,andithadbeeneasytofindataxattorneywhowaswillingtosetupafakeLLC,whoknewwhichbanksabroadwouldlooktheotherwayandnotasktoomanyquestions,andwhocouldhelpherfunnelherillegalincomesomewheresafe.
Atsomepoint,shewasgoingtohavetostop.Noonecoulddothisforever.Andwhenthattimecame,she’dbuyaplanetickettosomewherefarawayandsimplydisappear.She’dleaveeverythingbehind.Thehouse.Herthings.Herclothes.DexandFish.She’dshedthislifelikeanoldskin,emergingnewer.Better.She’ddoneitbefore,andshewoulddoitagain.
***
Whenthepillswereready,shepoppedthemfromtheirmoldsandintoseparatebags.ShewrappedtheonesforDexinbluepaper,tiedaribbonaroundthem,anddrovetotheparkinNorthBerkeleywheretheyweresupposedtomeet.She’dlearnedovertheyearshowtobeinvisible.Howtoslipbetweenthelayersoftheoutsideworld,justawomanonawalkormeetingafriendintheparkwithabeautifullywrappedpresent.Thiswasn’tahardjob,ifyouweresmart.AndEvahadalwaysbeensmarterthanmost.
Shefoundhimsittingatapicnictableoverlookingasmall,dingyplayarea.Youngkidswerescatteredacrosstheequipment,eachmindedbyaparentornanny.Evapaused,stilloutsideofDex’slineofsight,andwatchedthekids.Thatmighthavebeenher,ifhermotherhadbeenadifferentperson.MaybeshewouldhavebroughtEvatoaparklikethistoblowoffsteamafterschoolortokillafewhoursonaweekend.Overtheyears,Evahadsearchedhermemoryforanimage,anymemoryatallfromtheshorttimeshelivedwithherbirthfamily,butherfirsttwoyearswereblank.
Asachild,Evahadimaginedthemsomanytimesandinsomanyways,theimagesalmostseemedlikerealmemories.Hermother,withlongblondhair,lookingoverhershoulderatEva,laughing.Hergrandparents,oldandfrail,worriedabouttheirwilddaughter,scrapingtheirpenniestogethertopayforanothertriptorehab.Aquietfamilywithabigproblem.Shetriedtofeelsomethingforthem,butshefeltremoved,likeanunpluggedlamp.Therewasnopowerbehindit.Noconnection.Nolight.
ButmothersanddaughtersalwayscaughtEva’seye,snaggingherattentionlikeasharpfingernail,scrapingherinplacesthatshouldhavehealedoverlongago
Sheknewonlytwothingsabouthermother:hernamewasRachelAnnJames,andshehadbeenanaddict.TheinformationhadarrivedunexpectedlyinaletterfromSisterBernadetteinEva’ssophomoreyearofcollege.Thepagehadbeenfilledwithherprecisecursive,sofamiliarithadliftedherupandcarriedherbackintimetothegirlshe’doncebeen.
Ithadfeltlikeanintrusion,theanswerstoquestionsshe’dlongsincegivenupasking,suddenlylandinginhermailbox.Justwhenshewasbeginningtofeellikeshemightbeabletoriseabovewhoshe’dalwaysbeen.
Evahadnoideawherethatletterwasnow.Tossedintoaboxorburiedinadrawer.Itwaseasiertopretendthatpartofherlifehadneverexisted,justafewshortmilesawayinSanFrancisco,thatshehadinsteademerged,fullyformed,thedayshestartedatBerkeley.
***
ShetorehereyesawayfromthekidsandwalkedthefinalfewyardstowhereDexsat.
“Happybirthday,”shesaid,handinghimthepackageofpills.
Hesmiledandtuckeditinsidehiscoat.“Youshouldn’thave.”
Shesatnexttohimonthebench,andtogethertheywatchedthekidsplay—jumpingfromtheslide,chasingeachotheraroundtheswings—alwayslingeringforalittlewhile,justtwofriendsenjoyingthesunshine.Dex’smantrasomanyyearsagonowtheirroutine—Youonlylooklikeadrugdealerifyoubehavelikeone
“Ididmyfirstsolodealatthispark,”Evasaid,pointingtowardtheparkinglot.“WhenIgothere,thereweretwopolicecarsparkedatthecurb,theofficersstandingnexttothem,asiftheywerewaitingforme.”
Dexturnedtofaceher.“Whatdidyoudo?”
Evathoughtbacktothatday,howscaredshe’dbeen,howherpulsehadracedandherbreathshortenedwhenshe’dseenthem,infulluniform,allgunsandbillyclubsandshinybadges.“Irememberedwhatyoutoldme,abouthowIhadtowalkwithconfidence,howIhadtokeepmyeyesstraightaheadandnothesitate.”
Evarememberedpassingtheofficers,meetingtheireyesforafleetingsecondandsmilingthroughthefear,beforewalkingtowardtheplayground,whereathird-yearlawstudentwassupposedtomeether.“IimaginedIwassomeonewhoworkedinawindowlessoffice,comingheretogetalittlesunshineandfreshaironmylunchbreak.”
“Theadvantagesofbeingawoman.”
Evadidn’tfeellikeitwasmuchofanadvantage,butsheknewwhathemeant.Peoplewholookedlikeherdidn’tmakeorselldrugs.Theywereteachersorbanktellers.Theyweresomeone’snannyormother.Sherememberedthemomentwhenshehandedoverthedrugsandpocketedherfirsttwohundreddollars,howawkwarditwas.Shehadnofinesse,theentiretransactionsilentandstilted.Sherememberedwalkingawayandthinking,It’sdone.I’madrugdealer.Andfeelinglikethepersonshewasonlyjuststartingtobecomehaddied.
Butshe’dgottenoverit.Embracedwhatherlifehadbecome.Apartofherwassetfree—allthoseyearsofconformingtotheexpectationsofothers.She’dbeentoldthatlifewasasingletrack,carryingyouforward.Ifyouworkedhard,goodthingshappened.Butshe’dalwaysknownitwasmorelikeapinball,careeningandracing.Thethrillwasintheunexpected.Inthefreedomtocreateherowndestiny.Herlifehadturnedtoshit,andyetshe’dmadesomethingoutofit.Thatwasfuckingsomething.
Dexinterruptedherthoughts.“Isometimesregretgettingyouintothis.IthoughtIwashelping,but…”Hetrailedoff.
Evapickedasplinterfromthetableandhelditbetweenherfingers,studyingthewoodbeforedroppingittotheground.“I’mhappy,”shesaid.“Ihavenocomplaints.”
Anditwasmostlytrue.ShelookedatDex,theonewhohadsteppedintothewreckageofherlifeandpulledherout.IthadbeenWadeRoberts’sideatomakedrugsinthechemistrylabherjunioryearofcollege.ButEvahadbeentheonewiththeskills.Theonewhosaidyeswhensheshouldhavesaidno
Shetriedhardnottothinkofthatdayinthedean’soffice,ofthewayWadehadslippedpasteverythingandlandedbackinhischarmedlife,throwingtouchdownsandluringgirlstoostupidtoknowbetterintodoingthingstheyshouldn’t
Afterthey’descortedherfromthebuilding,aftershe’dpackedherbagsandturnedinherdormkey,panichadsweptthroughher,deepandimmobilizing.Shehadnoonetoturnto,nowheretogo.AndthenDexappeared,slidingupnexttoherasshestoodonthesidewalkoutsideherdorm,thesamewayshe’dslippedalongsideBrettthatmorning.
Atthetime,sheonlyknewDexassomeonewhohungaroundWadeandhisfriends,darkhairandstartlinggrayeyes.Hewasn’tastudent,andEvacouldneverfigureouthowhefitin.Likeher,herarelyspoke,buthewatchedeverything.
“Iheardaboutwhathappened,”he’dsaid.“I’msorry.”
Shelookedaway,ashamedathownaiveshe’dbeen.HoweasilyWadehadmanipulatedher.Andhowhe’dgottenoffandshe’dgottenexpelled.
Dexlookedoverhershoulderatsomeunseenobjectandspoke.“Look,it’sashittysituation.ButIthinkIcanhelpyou.”
Sheshovedherhandsintoherpocketsagainstthecoolfallnight.“Idoubtthat.”
“YouhaveaskillthatIthinkcanbenefitbothofus.”
Sheshookherhead.“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”
“Thedrugsyoumadeweregreat.Iknowaguywhocansetyouupwiththeequipmentandthesuppliestokeepmakingthem.Hischemistisleavingthebusiness,andheneedssomeoneimmediately.It’sagreatopportunity,ifyouwantit.Totallysafe.Youmakethedrugs,he’llletyoukeephalftosellyourself.Youcanmakemorethanfivethousanddollarsaweek.”Dexlaughed,abittersoundpuffingintotheairaroundthem.“Aschoollikethisalwayshasaneedforuppers.Littlepillsthatwillgetthesekidsthroughthenexttest,thenextclass,whatever.”Hegesturedtowardagroupofstudentspassingthemontheirwaytothenextbarorparty,alreadydrunk,laughingandinlovewiththemselves.“They’renotlikeyouorme.TheytakeDaddy’smoney,orthedonor’smoney,andthinknothingcantouchthem.”
HelookedintoEva’seyes,andshefeltaflickerofhope.Dexwasthrowingheralifeline,andshe’dbestupidnottotakeit.“How?”sheasked.
“Ihaveaplacenearhere,”hesaid,“withaspareroomyoucancrashinforawhile.Ihelpyou,youhelpme.”
“HowwouldIbehelpingyou?”
“You’reexactlythekindofpersonmybossislookingfor.Smart,andoffeveryone’sradar.”
Evawantedtosayno,butshewasbroke.Shehadnoplacetolive.Noskillswithwhichtogetajob.SheimaginedherselfslingingherduffelbagoverhershoulderandheadingdowntoTelegraphAvenue,positioningherselfamongtheotherpanhandlers,beggingformoney.OrreturningtoSt.Joseph’s,theweightofSisterBernadette’sdisappointment,SisterCatherine’scurtnod,asifshe’dalwaysknownEvawouldturnoutlikehermother.
Evahadalwaysbeenasurvivor.Butitwaseasytobefearlesswhenyou’dalreadylosteverything.“TellmewhatIhavetodo.”
***
Dex’svoicepulledherbacktothepresent.“Abunchofusaregoingintothecitytonighttohearthisnewband,Arena,play.Comewithus.”
Evashothimasidewaysglance.“Pass.”
“Comeon,it’llbefun.I’llbuyyouDietCokesallnightlong.Youneedtogetoutmore.”
Shestudiedthewayhisstubblewasbeginningtoturngraynearhisjawline.Thewaytheendsofhishaircurledupnearhiscollar.ShesometimeshadtoremindherselfthatDexwasherhandler,notherfriend.Thiswashisattempttokeepaneyeonher,notgiveherafunnightout.“Igetoutplenty,”shesaid.
“Really?”hepressed.“When?Withwho?”
“Whom,”shecorrected.
Dexgaveasoftchuckle.“Don’tdistractmewithagrammarlesson,Professor.”Henudgedherarm.“Youneedasociallife.You’vebeendoingthislongenoughtoknowthatyoudon’thavetohidefromtheworld.You’reallowedtohavefriends.”
Evawatchedamothersittingunderatreewithherson,readingabook.“I’dspendallmytimetryingtohidethingsfromthem.Trustme.Thisiseasier.”
Butitwasalsowhatshepreferred.Sheneverhadtoexplainanything,oranswertheget-to-know-youquestionsthatpeoplealwaysasked.Wheredidyougrowup?Wheredidyougotocollege?Whatdoyoudonow?
“Isiteasier,though?”Dexdidn’tlookconvinced.“What’sthatsayingaboutwork?”
“InevermetadollarIdidn’tlike?”
Dexgrinned.“No,theoneaboutallworkandnoplay.”
“AllworkandnoplaymakesEvaarichgirl,”shefinished.Whenhedidn’tlaugh,shesaid,“Thanksforworryingaboutme.Butreally,I’mfine.”Shepulledhercoattighter.“Now,ifyou’llexcuseme,I’mmeetingthatnewclientinahalfhour,andthenI’mworkingashiftattherestaurant.”
Foryears,EvahadworkedtwoshiftsaweekatDuPree’s,anupscalesteakandseafoodrestaurantindowntownBerkeley.Thetipsweregreat,anditallowedEvatopaytaxes,whichkeptherofftheIRS’sradar.
“Idon’tknowwhyyoubotherwiththecharade,”Dexsaid.“Youdon’tneedthemoney.”
“Thedevilisinthedetails.”Evarosefromthebench.“Havefuntonight.Don’tdoanydrugs.”
Asshewalkedaway,Evaglancedagainattheplayground.Asmallgirlwasstandingatthetopoftheslide,frozen,fearplasteredacrossherface.Astearsbegantofall,hercrygrewintoaloudwailthatsenthermotherrunningtohelpher.Evawatchedthewomanliftthelittlegirlfromtheslideandcarryherbacktothebenchwhereshe’dbeensitting,kissingthetopofherdaughter’sheadasshewalked.
Thegirl’scriesechoedinEva’smindlongaftersheclosedhercardooranddroveaway.
Claire
Wednesday,February23
Iwakeearlyandletmybodyandmindadjusttomynewsurroundings.Myfirstfulldayoffreedom.Myheadfeelsfoggy,desperateforcaffeine.ButwhenIrummagearoundinEva’skitchen,Ican’tfindacoffeemakerorcoffeeofanykind,andDietCokeisnotgoingtocutit.Mystomachgurgles,remindingmeIalsoneedmorethanjustcrackerstoeat,soIgoupstairstousethebathroomandgrabEva’spurse,againtuckingmyhairundertheNYUbaseballcap.
Backdownstairs,Istandinfrontofthemirrorthathangsonthelivingroomwall,myreflectionstaringbackatme,blotchedfromarestlessnightofsleep.I’mstilltoomuchmyself,recognizabletoanyonewhomightbelookingforme.Butnooneislooking.Thethoughtslicesthroughme,abrilliantflashofopportunity,impossibletoignore.
Thestreetisdarkandsilent,thesoundofmystepsbouncingagainstthedarkhousesandechoingbacktome,untilIhittheedgeofcampus.Onthecornerisacoffeeshop,lightson,ayoungwomanmovingbehindthecounter,makingcoffeeandsettingpastriesintothedisplaycase.Iwatchherfromthesafetyoftheshadowedsidewalk,weighingmyneedforcaffeineandfoodagainsttheriskofsomeonerecognizingmyfacefromthenews.
Butmystomachgrowlsagain,pushingmethroughthedoors.Eclecticmusicswirlsaroundthespace,somethingEasternandmeditative.Thesmellofroastedcoffeetravelsstraightthroughme,andIinhale,savoringit.
“Morning,”thebaristasays.Herlongdreadlocksareheldbackwithacolorfulscarf,andhersmileisbright.“WhatcanIgetyou?”
“Largedripcoffee,roomforcream,andahamandcheesecroissantifyouhaveone.Togoplease.”
“Yougotit.”
Asshebeginsmakingmydrink,Ilookaround.Outletsdotthewalls,andIimaginetheplacelaterinthemorning,crowdedwithstudentsstudyingandprofessorsgrading.Asthebaristafinishesupmyorder,myeyesaredrawntowardastackofnewspapers.SanFranciscoChronicleandOaklandTribune.Theheadlinesarehardtoavoid.
“TheFateofFlight477”readstheTribune
“CrashofFlight477LeavesNoSurvivorsandaLotofHeartache”readstheChronicleLuckily,theeditorshavedecidedtogowithactionshotsofthewreckageandnothuman-intereststoriesthatwouldsurelyputmyfaceonthefrontpage.Ihesitateforasplitsecond,beforeslidingthembothonthecounteralongwithatwenty-dollarbill.
Thebaristasetsmydrinkandabagwithmycroissantnexttothemandhandsmemychange.“Sad,isn’tit?”
Inod,unabletomeethereyesfromunderthebrimofmycap,andshovethechangeinmypocket.Tuckingthepapersbeneathmyarm,Ipushoutontothedarkstreetagain.
Icrosstheemptyroadandfollowasidewalkthatleadsmeintothecenterofcampus.Beautifulredwoodstoweroverme,thesidewalkdottedwithlampsstillilluminated,castingpoolsoflightbeneaththem.Ifollowapaththroughathickstandoftreesandemergeontoawideexpanseofgrassleadingdowntowardanenormousstonebuilding.Isettleonabenchandsipmycoffee,lettingitheatmefrominsideout.Theplaceisdeserted,thoughinafewhoursitwillprobablybecrowdedwithstudents,makingtheirwayacrosscampustomorningclassesorstudyhalls.Iopenthebagandtakeabiteofmycroissant,mymouthachingfromtherichflavors.It’sbeennearlytwenty-fourhourssinceI’vehadanythingsubstantivetoeat,andit’sbeenyearssinceI’vehadanythingasheavyasahamandcheesecroissant.Ifinishitquickly,thencrumplethebaginmyfist.
Thebirdsinthetreesaroundmebegintowakeup,softatfirst,butgrowinglouderaslightcreepsoverthehillstotheeast.Behindme,astreetcleanermakesitswayuptheemptyroad,whileoverhead,aplaneflies,itslightsblinking.Ithinkaboutthepeopleonboard,nodifferentthantheonesonFlight477,whogotonaplanethinkingthey’dgetoffattheirdestination,alittletired,alittlewrinkled,butnodifferentthantakingthesubwayfrompointAtopointB,trustingthey’llarrivewherethey’resupposedto.
Theplanepassesbehindthetrees,andIstudythebuildingsthatsurroundmeandthinkaboutmyownyearsatVassar.Mymotherhadbeensoproudofme,thefirstofourfamilytogotocollege.ViolethadsobbedwhenIleft,holdingontomesotightmymotherhadtopryherarmsfromaroundmywaist.
I’dbeentenwhenVioletwasborn,theproductofashortandvolatilerelationshipwithamanwholefttownshortlyaftermymothertoldhimshewaspregnant.Iwasrelieved,andIthinkmymotherwastoo.Shehadatalentforfindingunsuitablemenwhoseonlyskillwastheirunreliability,likemyownfather,whodisappearedwhenIwasfour.Igotthebetterendofthedeal,she’dalwayssay.Mymotherneverseemedtothinkweneededanyonebutthethreeofus.ButIalwayswishedshehadfoundsomeonetosharetheburden,tomakeusfeelmorelikethefamiliesIreadaboutinbooksandsawonTV.Iknewshewaslonelyandoftenworriedaboutmoney,exhaustedfromworkingtwojobsanddoingeverythingonherown.
AndsoItriedtomakethingseasierforher.Iwasahands-onsisterfromdayone,feedingViolet,changingherdiapers,carryingherforhourswhenshefussed.Iwatchedherwhileourmotherworked,taughtherhowtoplayMonopolyandhowtotiehershoes.LeavinghomewasthehardestthingIeverdid,butIneededtoseewhoImightbe,apartfromadutifuldaughteranddevotedsister.Myhighschoolyearshadbeenrough,andIwaseagertoreinventmyselfassomeonenew,tobuildthelifeformyselfI’dalwaysdreamedof.Ifeeltheweightnow,thecostofwanderingtoofarawayfromhome.Ofwantingtoomuch.
Icouldhavegonetocollegelocally.Workedpart-time.Spenttheeveningswithmymotherandsisteraroundourwobblykitchentable,wherewecouldhavesatinthewarm,yellowlight,mymotherdoingacrosswordwhileVioletandIplayedendlessgamesofginrummy.
Instead,I’dleft,andIneverwenthomeagain.Notinanyrealsense.
***
Theskyisstreakedwithpinkclouds,andthelampsonthewalkwayflickerofffortheday.Itwouldbeeasytosithereandwallow—torailagainstallthathashappenedtome—butIdon’thavethatluxury.Ineedtostayfocusedandmakesomedecisions.WhatdoIneed?
Money,andaplacetohide.Oneoutoftwoisn’tbad.
Iwon’tbeabletostayatEva’sforverylong.AssoonasEvadoesn’tshowupdowntownnextweek,peoplearegoingtocomelookingforher,andIwanttobegonebythetimethathappens.Butfornow,it’smybestoption.It’sfree,andit’ssafe.
Istandandtossmyemptycoffeecupandcrumpledbagintoanearbytrashcan,makingmywaybacktowardtheedgeofcampus,thenewspaperstuckedintoEva’spurse.Behindme,bellstollthehour,andIpause,listening.Thechimesseemtovibratethroughme,andIthinkofwhatitwouldbeliketolivehere.TowalkthesestreetsonmywaytoajobIdon’tyethave,livingthequietlifeIalwaysimaginedformyselfwhenIdreamedaboutleavingRory.OfallthescenariosIimagined,theglitchesIpreparedfor,themistakesIknewwereinevitable,Ineverimaginedabreakascleanasthis.Notasinglepersonknowswhathappenedtome,andIhavetoguardthisopportunity—forthat’swhatthisis,anincredibleandheartbreakingopportunity—witheveryounceofcunningI’vegot.
***
Ifindatwenty-fourhourpharmacyafewblockswestofcampus.ThebrightlightsassaultmyeyeswhenIenter.Ianglemyheaddown,keepingmycappulledlow,andfindthehair-careaisle.Somanydifferentshades,frombrightredstojetblacks,andeverythinginbetween.IthinkofEva’sblondpixiecutandchoosesomethingcalledUltimatePlatinum.Onalowershelfisacompletehair-cuttingkit—Easytouseclippers!Color-codedcombs!Astep-by-stepguidetothemostpopularhairstyles!—onsalefortwentydollars,andIgrabthattoo.
Atthefrontofthestore,there’sonlyonepersonworkingtheregisters,apimplyundergradwholookshalf-asleepattheendofhisshift,withglazedeyesandearbudsshovedintohisears.Iseteverythingdownonthecounterandmentallycalculatehowmuchofmymeagersavingsthiswilleatup.
IhesitatebeforeslidingEva’sdebitcardoutofherwallet,tracingtheedgesofit,wonderingifIcanuseitasacreditcard.IcastaquickglancearoundtheemptystorebeforeIslideitintothemachine.It’snotlikeEva’sgoingtocomebackandaccusemeofstealingfromher.
IbypasstherequestforaPINandselectcredit,myheartbeatingoutafranticrhythmI’mcertainthiskidcanhearthroughwhatevermusicpoundsinhisears
ButthentheregisterdoessomethingIcan’tsee,drawingthekid’sattentionback.“Credit?IgottaseeyourID,”hesays.
IfreezeasifI’vebeencaughtinabrightheadlight,everyvulnerableinchofmeexposed.Thirtyseconds.Oneminute.Aneternity.
“Youokay,lady?”heasks.
ThenIsnapback.“Sure,”Isay,andpretendtosearchthroughmywallet,finallysaying,“Imusthaveleftitathome.Sorry.”Ituckthecardbackintomywalletandquicklypulloutcashtocoverthecost.Whenhehandsmemyreceipt,IscrambleoutofthestoreasfastasIcan,myentirebodyvibratingwithtensionandfear.
***
ThebriskwalkbacktoEva’ssteadiesme,andwhenIgetthere,Itakeeverythingupstairstothebathroomandstripoffmyclothes,proppingthedirectionstothehairclippersagainstthemirror,noticingforthefirsttimetheexpensivehandlotionsthatlinethecounter.Iopenthecapononeandsniff—roses,withahintoflavender.ThenIpeekinthemedicinecabinet,expectingtoseenumerousprescriptionsleftoverfromherhusband’sillness.Painkillers.Sleepingpills.Butit’sempty.Justaboxoftamponsandanoldrazor.Icloseitwithasoftclick,uneasinesspokingatme,likeaminusculeburrinmysock,aflashofwarningandthengone,impossibletolocate.
Itakealastlookatmyselfinthemirror,thewaymyhairtumblesandcurlsaroundmyface,andtakeadeepbreathbeforeattachingthemedium-sizedcombtotheclippersandturningthemon.IremindmyselfthatevenifImessup,itwon’tmatter.Eva’swordsaboutBerkeleycomebacktome.It’seasytoblendinbecauseeverybody’salittleweirderthanyouare.Noonewilllooktwiceatabadhaircut.
I’msurprisedbyhoweasyitcomesoff,leavinganinchandahalfofhairrestingagainstmyscalp.Myeyeslookbigger.Mycheekbonesmorepronounced.Mynecklonger.Iturnoneway,andthenanother,admiringmyprofile,beforeturningtotheboxofhaircolor.Notdoneyet.
***
Thedyehastostayonforforty-fiveminutes,sowhileIwait,Ispreadthenewspapersopenonthecoffeetableandread,myscalptinglingandburning,thesharpsmellofchemicalsmakingmedizzy.Thearticlesarefilledwithdetailsofthecrash,thoughthey’reincomplete,gleanedonlyfromradiocommunicationwiththeairtrafficcontrollers.Butit’senoughtochillme,toforcemetoreckonwithwhatI’vedone.Approximatelytwohoursintotheflight,afterthey’dcrossedFloridaandwereovertheAtlantic,oneoftheplane’sengineswentout.ThepilotstriedtoturnaroundandradioedMiami,requestinganemergencylanding.Buttheplanedidn’tmakeit,insteadcrashingintothewaterthirty-fivemilesoffthecoast.ThearticleisfilledwithstatementsfromNTSBofficials,andofcourse,Rory’srepresentativeonbehalfofthefamilies.Nodetailsaregivenyetaboutrecovery,otherthantosayit’songoing.
Itrytoimaginemybag,myphone,mypinksweater,tornfromEva’sbodyandfloatinginthewater,waitingforsomeonetoscoopthemoutandidentifythem.Ornestlingontothesandybottomoftheocean,wherethey’llsoonbelostforever.Iwonderwhethertheywilltrytorecoverremains,orifthat’sevenpossible.Andwhatmighthappeniftheycomeacrosssomeonewhosedentalrecordsdon’tmatchanyoneontheflightmanifest.
Itakeseveraldeepbreaths,focusingonthebiologyofit.Oxygenenteringmybloodstream,feedingmycells,thenreleasingcarbondioxideintothequietspacethatsurroundsme.Inandout,againandagain,eachbreathareminder:Imadeitout.Isurvived.
***
Forty-fiveminuteslaterIstareatmyselfinthemirrorofEva’sbathroom,astonished.Takenontheirown—myeyes,mynose,mysmile—Icanstillseemyoldself,lookingbackatme.Butasawhole?I’msomeonecompletelynew.IfIseemfamiliartoanyone,they’regoingtosearchdifferentcornersoftheirmind,differentpartsoftheirlife—someonefromworkorcollege.Perhapsthedaughterofaformerneighbor.Theywon’tseeRoryCook’swife,whodiedinaplanecrash.
Thelooksuitsme,andIlovethefreedomitoffers.RoryalwaysinsistedIkeepmyhairlong,sothatIcouldwearitupforformaleventsanddownforcasualones,arguingitwasmorefeminine.Igrin,andamsurprisedtoseeflashesofmymother,ofViolet,smilingbackatme.
***
OnthenightstandnexttoEva’sbed,theclockflipstoseveno’clock,andIcan’thelpbutthinkaboutwhatI’dbedoingrightnowifIwerestilllivingmyoldlifeinNewYork.I’dbesittingacrossfromDanielleinmyoffice,outliningourschedulefortheday.MorningMeeting,shecalledit.We’ddiscussthecalendar—meetings,lunches,eveningevents—andI’dgiveherthetasksIneededhertoworkonfortheday.Butifmyplanhadworked,I’dbesomewhereinCanada.Maybeonatrain,headingwest.I’dbescouringthenewsforanyhintofmydisappearance,theplanecrashjustasadstorythatmighthavecaughtmyattentionforamoment.Instead,it’stheturningpointformyentirelife.
IreturntomycomputerandpulluptheCNNhomepage,clickingonashorthuman-interestpiecetitled“RoryCook’sSecondHeartbreak,”withmyphotoalongsideMaggieMoretti’s.Theyrehashherdeathovertwenty-fiveyearsagoandthesubsequentinvestigationintoRory’sinvolvement,andforthefirsttimeIrealizehowsimilarMaggieandIare.SomeoftheinformationI’dalreadyknownabouther—she’dbeenatrackstaratYale,whereshe’dmetRory,andshe,too,hadcomefromasmalltown.ButIhadn’tknownthatherparentshadalsodied,whenshewasevenyoungerthanIwas.Lookingatussidebyside,itmakesmewonderifRoryhadatype,zeroinginonwomenaloneintheworldwhomightbeeagertojoinanestablishedfamilyliketheCooks.IknowIwasatfirst.
***
We’dmetatanoffBroadwayplaytwoyearsafterI’dgraduatedfromcollege.Hesatintheseatnexttomineandstruckupaconversationbeforethecurtainrose.I’drecognizedhimimmediately,butnothingpreparedmeforhowcharismaticandfunnyhewasinperson.Thirteenyearsmyseniorandwelloversixfeet,Roryhadlightbrownhairstreakedwithgold,andblueeyesthatseemedtopiercestraightthroughme.AndwhenIwasunderhisgaze,thewholeworldfadedaway.
Atintermission,heboughtmeadrinkandtoldmeaboutanartprogramtheCookFamilyFoundationwasbringingtoinner-cityschools.Thesearethethingsthatmadehimthree-dimensionalandmorethanjustafaceIrecognizedfromthepagesofmagazines.Hispassionforeducation.Thefirehehadtomaketheworldabetterplace.Attheendoftheshow,heaskedformynumber.
I’dkeptmydistanceatfirst.OldermenlikeRory—withtheirmoney,privilege,andconnections—werenotmyspeed.Ididn’thavetheculturalknowledgeorthewardrobe.Buthe’dbeensubtlypersistent,callingtoaskmyadvicewhenthefoundationhitawallwithanorganizationtheywantedfortheirartseducationinitiative,orinvitingmetoashowatoneoftheirprojectschools.Iwasluredinbyhisvisionofphilanthropy,ofhowhewantedtousehisfamily’smoneytobetterthelivesofothers.
Allofthatimpressedme,butIfellinlovewithRory’svulnerability,thewayhe’dstrivedandfailedtoholdhismother’sattention.“Asayoungboy,itwashardnottoresentherlongabsences,themonthsshespentinDC,”he’dtoldmeonce.“Theconstantcampaigning—forherself,orforothers—andthecausesthatwouldconsumeher.ButnowIcanseewhyitwassoimportant.Theimpactshehadonpeople’slives.Istillgetstoppedinthestreetbypeoplewantingtotellmehowmuchtheylovedher.Howsomethingshedidyearsagostillaffectsthemnow.”
Butthatkindoflegacyalwayshasaprice.Whetherhelikeditornot,Rorywasdefinedbyhismother.WhenyouGoogledRoryCook,shealwayspoppeduptoo.ImagesofherwithayoungRory,onvacationorthecampaigntrail.Roryatagethirteen,scowlinginthebackgroundatoneofhismother’spoliticalrallies,allelbowsandpimplesandoneeyesquintedshut.
AndhundredsofimagesofRorydoingthebiddingoftheCookFamilyFoundation,hismother’sdyinggifttotheworld.PeoplelovedRorybecauseofwhohealmostwas.Andhe’dspenthisentireadultlifetryingtostepoutfrombehindherlongshadow.
***
IclickofftheCNNhomepageandtoggleovertotakealookatRory’sinbox,carefulnottoopenanythingthatisn’talreadyread.Hehasatleastfiftyfoldersontheleft-handside,oneforeachoftheorganizationsthefoundationcontributestoBuriedinthatlonglistisonelabeledClaire.Iclickonitandscanthecondolenceemails.Hundredsofthem,pageafterpage,fromfamilyfriends,Senatecolleaguesofhismother’s.Peoplewhohaveworkedwiththefoundation,quicktooffertheirsympathy.Letusknowifthere’sanythingyouneed
IopenanemailBrucesenttoDanielleseveralhoursaftertheinitialreportsemergedaboutthecrash,butbeforeI’dbeenpubliclynamedasoneofthevictims.He’dcc’dRory.ThesubjectlinereadsDetails
I’malreadydraftingthestatementandshouldhaveitreadywellbeforeanyscheduledpressconferences.Danielle,pleasehandlethestaffinNewYork.Theyarenottospeaktoanyone.Remindthemthattheyallhaveactivenon-disclosureagreements.
Anotherfolder,GoogleAlerts,isfilledwithmostlyunreadnotifications.EverytimeRory’snameappearsonline,hegetsanemailaboutit.Daniellealsogetstheminherinbox,becauseit’sherjobtosortthroughthemandbriefRoryonanythingimportanthemighthavemissed.Mymindleapsbacktolastweek,DanielleandIonourwayhomefromaFriendsoftheLibraryevent,mestaringoutthewindowattheslushystreetsofManhattanwhileDanielleflippedthroughthatday’salerts.“AfluffpieceinHuffPo,”shesaid,almosttoherself.“Trash.”Iturnedtoseeherdeletingthealerts,oneaftertheother,onlyopeningtheonesfrommajormediaoutlets.Shecaughtmyeyeandsaid,“We’regoingtoneedtohireaninternforthisoncethecampaignstarts.Hundredsadayaregoingtoturnintothousands.”
NowIscanthelonglistofunreadnotificationsinthewakeofthecrashandsmirk.Toobad,Danielle.
IclickovertotheDoc.Blank.AtthetopitnowreadsLasteditmadebyBruceCorcoran36hoursago
ItakeasipofDietCoke,thecarbonationticklingmynose.NoonewouldeverimagineIwasn’tonthatplane.
Thesunisfullyupnow,andIstudytheroom.Thehardwoodflooriscoveredwithadeepredarearug,whichcontrastsbeautifullywithwallspaintedawarmshadeofyellowthatremindsmeofthecolorofmymother’slivingroom,andinthismoment,Ifeelprotected,likeahibernatingbear.Whiletheworldracesonwithoutme,I’mtuckeduphere,invisible,waitinguntilit’ssafetoemergeagain.
IeaseopenthetopdrawerofEva’sdesk,curious.I’mlivinginherhouse.Wearingherclothes.I’mgoingtohavetousehername—atleastforalittlewhile.Itwouldhelptoknowwhoshewas.
Istarttentativelyatfirst,asifI’mafraidifImovethingsaroundtoomuch,someonewillknowIwashere.MostofwhatIfindisgeneric—fadedreceiptsIcan’tread.Afewdried-outpens,acouplepadsofpaperfromlocalrealestateagents.AsIbegintogrowmorecomfortable,Ireachmyhandtotheback,slidingthejumbleofpushpins,paperclips,andatinyblueflashlighttothefront,tryingtopeerbeneaththemesstothepersonwhothrewtheseitemsintothedrawer,believingshe’dhavetimetosortthemout.
***
Twohourslater,Isitontheflooroftheoffice,papersstrewnaroundme.I’veemptiedthedeskandgonethrougheverythinginit.Bankstatements.Paidutilityandcablebills.AlloftheminEva’sname.I’dfoundaboxintheclosetcontainingfileswithmoreimportantdocuments.Hercarregistration.Hersocialsecuritycard.ButI’mstruckbywhat’smissing.Nomarriagelicense.Noinsurancepaperworkyou’dexpectafteralongillnessandadeath.WhathadbeennaggingmeaboutEva’shouseyesterdayreturns,thistimeinsharpfocus.Therearen’tanypersonaltouches.Nophotographsorsentimentalpiecesanywhere.ThereisabsolutelynoevidencethatanyoneotherthanEvalivedhere.Forsomeonewhocouldn’tbeartofaceallthebelongingsofadeceasedandbelovedhusband,therearezeroremindersofhimtohaveleftbehind.
Iworkhardtofindexplanationsforwhat’smissing.Maybeherhusbandhadbadcreditandallthebillshadtobeinhername.Maybeeverythingrelatedtohimisboxedupinthegarage,toopainfultoevenhaveinsidethehouse.Butthesefeelflimsy,half-colorfabricationsthataresimplynottrue.
Ipulloutthelastfileintheboxandopenit.It’sescrowpaperworkforanall-cashpurchaseofthissideoftheduplex,datedtwoyearsago.Atthetop,hernameonly.EvaMarieJames.Andunderneathit,theboxnexttoSingleischecked.
Icanstillhearhervoiceinmymind,thewayshespokeofherhusband.Highschoolsweethearts.Togetherforeighteenyears.Theemotioninhervoicewhenshedescribedherdecisiontohelphimdie,thewayitbroke,thetearsinhereyes
Shelied.Shefuckinglied.Aboutallofit.
Eva
Berkeley,California
August
SixMonthsbeforetheCrash
TenminutesbeforeherscheduledmeetingwithBrittany,EvaparkedhercarinalotattheouteredgeofTildenPark,ratherthandrivingintotheinterior.Shepreferredtowalkinandout,arriveandleavesilently.Tuckingthepackageintohercoatpocket,sheturnedtowardapaththatwouldtakehertoatinyclearingwheresheusedtocomeandstudy,alifetimeago.
Thefulltreescastadappledshadeonthepath,yetacoolwindkickedupfromthebay,despiteitbeingthelastmonthofsummer.Eventhoughtheskyabovewasclear,EvacaughtglimpsesofSanFranciscoBayinthedistance,ofthemarinelayergatheringoverthePacific,andknewinafewhoursthatwouldchange.Sheshovedherhandsdeepintothepocketsofherfavoritecoat—armygreenwithseveralzipperedpockets—andfelttheoutlineofthepillsthroughtheirwrappingpaper.
ThetreesthatsurroundedEvawereoldfriends.Sherecognizedthemindividually,theshapeoftheirtrunksandthereachoftheirbranches.Shetriedtoplaceherselfbackintime,cominghereafterclasseswereover,spreadingherbooksacrossthepicnictableoronthegrassiftheweatherwaswarm.SometimesEvacaughtflashesofthatgirl,likeimagesfromapassingtrain.Glimpsesintoadifferentlife,witharegularjobandfriends,andshe’dfeelunsettledfordays.
Whenshearrivedattheclearing,shewasrelievedtoseeshewasalone.Thescarredwoodenpicnictablestillstoodbeneathagiantoaktree,aconcretetrashcanchainedtoit.Shewanderedovertothetableandsatonit,checkingthetimeagain,thefamiliarlocationdrawinghermindbackintime.
***
FishranthedrugunderworldinBerkeleyandOakland,andDexworkedforhim.“Mostdrugdealersgetpickedupquickly,”Dexhadwarnedherattheverybeginning.He’dtakenhertolunchatawaterfrontrestaurantinSausalito,sohecouldexplainwhatshe’dbedoing.Acrossthebay,SanFranciscohadbeenswathedinadeepfog,onlythetopsofthetallestbuildingsvisible.She’dthoughtofSt.Joseph’sandthenunswho’draisedher,buriedunderthefogandtheassumptionthatEvawasstillenrolledinschool,stillontracktograduatewithfullhonorsinchemistry,insteadofwhereshewas—threedayspostexpulsion,sleepinginDex’ssparebedroomandgettingacrashcourseondrugsellinganddistribution.EvatorehereyesawayandfocusedbackonDex.
“Whatyoumakehasaveryspecificmarket,”Dexcontinued.“Youwillonlyselltopeoplereferredtoyoubyme.Thisishowyou’llstaysafe.”
“I’mconfused,”Evahadsaid.“AmImakingorselling?”
Dexfoldedhishandsontopofthetable.They’dfinishedeating,andtheserverhadtuckedthechecknexttoDex’swaterglassandthendisappeared.“Historically,Fishhasstruggledtokeepgoodchemistsforlong.Theyalwaysthinktheycandobetterontheirownandthenthingsgetcomplicated.Sowe’regoingtotrysomethingdifferentwithyou,”he’dsaid.“Youwillproducethreehundredpillsaweek.Ascompensationforthiswork,youwillkeephalfandFishwillletyousellthemyourself,keepingonehundredpercentofthoseprofits.”
“WhowillIsellthemto?”she’dasked,suddenlyuncomfortable,imaginingherselfface-to-facewithstrung-outaddicts.Peoplewhomightgrowviolent.Peoplelikehermother.
Dexsmiled.“Youwillprovideanimportantservicetoaveryspecificclientele—students,professors,andathletes.Fivepillsshouldsellforabouttwohundreddollars,”Dexhadtoldher.“Youcanclear$300,000peryear,easy.”Hesmiledatherstunnedexpression.“Thisonlyworksifyoufollowtherules,”he’dwarned.“Ifwehearyou’rebranchingout,orsellingtoaddicts,youputeverythingandeveryoneatrisk.Understand?”
She’dnoddedandcastananxiousglancetowardtheentrance.“WhataboutFish?Ithoughthe’dbeheretoday.”
Dexlaughedandshookhishead.“God,you’regreen.Iforgetyoudon’tknowhowanyofthisworks.Ifyoudoyourjobwell,you’llnevermeetFish.”Shemusthavelookedconfused,becauseheclarified.“Fishkeepsthingscompartmentalized.It’showheprotectshimself.Ifanyonepersonknewtoomuch,they’dbecomeatarget—ofeitheracompetitororthepolice.I’llbeyourhandler,andI’llmakesureyoustaysafe.”Dexdroppedseveraltwenty-dollarbillsontothetableandstood.Theirmealwasover.“IfyoudoasItellyou,you’llhaveanicelife.It’ssafeaslongasyoufollowtherules.”
“Don’tyouworryaboutgettingcaught?”
“DespitewhatyoumightseeonTV,thepoliceonlyknowtheonestheycatch,andtheyonlycatchthedumbones.ButFishisn’tdumb.He’snotinthisforpower.He’sabusinessmanwhothinksaboutlong-termgains.Andthatmeansgrowingslowly,beingselectiveabouthisclientsaswellasthepeoplewhoworkforhim.”
She’dbeeneagertogetstarted.Ithadsoundedsosimple.Andthesystemworked.Theonlyhardpartwasbeingoncampusamongherpeers,havingtolivealongsidethelifeshe’djustlost.Walkingpastherdormwherethesamepeoplestilllived.Thechemistrybuildingwhereherclasseswentonwithouther.ThestadiumwhereWadecontinuedtoshine,andoneyearlater,thegraduationceremonythatshouldhavebeenhers.Itwasasifshe’dsteppedthroughsomekindofbarrier,whereshecouldwatchheroldlifestillunfold,unseen.Butastheyearspassed,thestudentsgrewyoungerandsooncampuswaspopulatedbyallnewpeople.Thelosshadfaded,asalllossesdid,replacedbysomethingharder.Stronger.Shecouldseenowwhatshecouldn’tseethen.Allchoiceshadconsequences.Itwaswhatyoudidwiththoseconsequencesthatmattered.
***
Eva’sgazetrackeddownthesmallserviceroadthatwounditswaythroughthehundredsofacresthatcomprisedTildenPark.Somethingaboutthismeetingfeltoff,andherinstincts,finelytunedaftersomanyyears,werepinging.She’dgiveBrittanytenmoreminutesandthenleave.Returntohercaranddrivehome,closingthedoorandforgettingaboutthiswoman.Evaworkedhardtostaysharp.Tonotgrowcomplacentandcareless.Despitehowmundanetheworkcouldsometimesfeel—theendlesshoursinthelab,thequickhandoffswithDexoraclient—thisjobwasdangerous.
Earlyon—itmusthavebeensometimeinherfirstyear—Dexhadwokenher,justbeforedawn,aquietknockingonherdoor.“Comewithme,”he’dsaid,andshe’dpulledhercoatfromthehook,followinghimacrossthedesertedcampus,thepathwaysstilllitbylamps.
They’dwalkedwestwithouttalking,pastthetrackstadium,restaurantsandbarsclosedandshutteredatthatpredawnhour.She’dseentheflashingemergencylightsfromablockaway.Police,ambulance,yellowcrime-scenetapecordoningoffthesidewalkoutsideacheapmotorcourtmotel,forcingthemtocrossthestreet.
Dexhadputhisarmaroundherandpulledherclose,asiftheywereacouplemakingtheirwayhomeafteralatenightout.They’dslowedastheydrewnear,andEvacouldmakeoutabody,apuddleofbloodseepingoutfromunderit,ashoelessfoot,thewhitesockpracticallyglowing.
“Whyarewehere?Doyouknowthatguy?”
“Yeah,”he’dsaid,hisvoicerough.“Danny.HesuppliedFishwithharderstuff.Coke.Heroin.”
Dexpulledheralong,andtheyroundedthecorner,theflashingredandbluelightsstillstainingthebacksofhereyelids.“Whathappenedtohim?”
“Idon’tknow,”Dexhadtoldher.“Likeyou,IonlyseewhatI’mallowedtosee.ButifIhadtoguess,hewaseitherdouble-dealing—workingforoneofFish’scompetitors—orhefuckedupsomehow,gotsnaggedbypolice.”Hepaused.“That’sthethingaboutFish.He’snotgoingtospendalotoftimeaskingquestions.He’sjustgoingtofixtheproblem.”
Evacouldn’terasetheimagefromhermind,thetwistedformofthebody,thesheervolumeofblood,morethanshe’deverimagined,ablack-redshadethatonlyappearedinnightmares.
Dexhaddroppedhisarmfromaroundher,andcoldmorningairchilledtheplacewhereithadrested.“Fishisastrongally,butaruthlessenemy.Hewillnothesitatetoeliminateanyonewhobetrayshim.Maybeitwasamistaketohavebroughtyouhere,butIneededyoutoseeforyourselfwhatwillhappenifyoucrosshim.”
Evahadswallowedhard.Upuntilthatpoint,she’dfooledherselfintobelievingthisjobhadbeennodifferentfromanyother—mostlyroutine,maybealittledangerousinsomeabstractway.ButDexhadinsulatedherfromtheworstofit.Untilthatmorning.
“Fulltransparency,”Dexhadwarned,astheywalkedbackupherstreet,thenightskyfinallyshiftingtoapalegray.Hedepositedherontheporchanddisappeared,makingherwonderifshe’ddreamtitall.
***
EvawasjustabouttohopoffthepicnictableandheadbacktohercarwhenaMercedesSUVpulledupatthecurb,apolishedwomanbehindthewheel.Intheback,Evacouldmakeoutachild’scarseat,thankfullyempty.ThelicenseplatereadFUNMOM1.Herlingeringuneaseintensified,andshetookadeepbreath,remindingherselfshewasincontrolofthesituationandcouldwalkawayatanytime.
Shewatchedasthewomangotoutofthecar.“Thanksformeetingme!”shecalled.Herclotheswereexpensivecasual.Chanelsunglassestippeduponherhead.Knee-highUGGboots,wornoverdesignerjeans.ThiswasnotEva’stypicalramen-fedstudent.
Upclose,Evacouldseethewoman’sred-rimmedeyes,howherskinlookedtiredandstretched,thoughhermakeupwasflawless,andanothertingleofapprehensionzippedthroughher.
“SorryI’mlate.Ihadtowaitforthesittertoshowup.”SheheldoutherhandforEvatoshake.“I’mBrittany.”
Evaletithangthere,keepingherownhandsinherpockets,andBrittanyfinallyletitfalltohersideasshebegandiggingthroughherpurseasifshe’djustrememberedwhyshe’dcome.“IwashopingIcouldbuymorethanwhatwe’dtalkedabout.IknowIaskedforfivepills,butIreallyneedten.”ShepulledawadofcashoutofherpurseandhelditouttoEva.“That’sfourhundredinsteadoftwo.”
“Ionlybroughtfivewithme,”Evasaid,nottakingthemoney.
Brittanyshookherhead,asifthatwereaminordetail.“I’dbehappytomeetyouagaintomorrow.Sameplace,ifthatsuitsyou.”
Themarinelayerfromoverthebayfinallyrolledin,skirtingoverthesun,castinggrayshadowsanddimmingthelight.Windkickedup,causingEvatopullhercoattighter.Brittanylookedoverhershoulderandthenloweredhervoice,althoughtheyweretheonlyonesaround.“We’releavingonSaturdayforatrip,”shecontinued.“Wewon’tbebackuntilnextmonth.IjustwanttomakesureI’mnotcaughtshort.”
Eva’sbodytensed.Thiswomandroveafancycar,woreexpensiveclothes,andhadabigdiamondonherfinger.Itwasonethingtoneedthepillstopushthroughadifficulttask.Thiswomanseemedtoneedpharmaceuticalhelptonavigateherdailylife.ButEva’sresistancefeltmorepersonal,bubblingupfromherdarkestcorners,surprisingherwithitsheat.Thiswasawomanlikehermother.
“Idon’tthinkIcanhelpyou,”Evasaid.
“Atleastletmebuywhatyoubrought,”Brittanysaid,herwordsloud,tearingthroughtheemptyclearing.“Please.”
Eva’sgazesnaggedonseveralscabsdottingthebacksofBrittany’shands,pickedredandrawbynervousfingers.Brittanythrummedwithmanicenergy,andEvaonlywantedtoleave.
“We’redonehere,”Evasaid.
“Wait,”Brittanysaid,reachingoutforEva’sarm.“TellmewhatIcandotochangeyourmind.”
Evayankedherarmbackandturnedtowalkaway.
“Comeon,”Brittanycajoledfrombehindher.“It’swhywe’rehere.Youmakethesaleandgetyourmoney.IgetwhatIneed,andwebothwin.”
“Idon’tknowwhatyou’retalkingabout,”Evacalledoverhershoulder.“Youmusthavemeconfusedwithsomeoneelse.”Thenshestrodetowardthehikingtrailthatwoundthroughthetreesanddownthehilltothelotwheresheparkedhercar.
AsshepassedtheSUV,shelookedinthewindow.ThebackseatwaslitteredwithCheerios,anemptysippycup,andapinkhairribbon.Evaslowedforamoment,wonderingwhatthatchild’slifewaslike,livingwithamotherwhobeggedforenoughpillstobestrungoutforweeks.ShewonderedifherownmotherhadbeenlikeBrittany,buyingdrugsinadesertedparkwhileEvawasstuckathomewithasitter.Beneathitall,shehatedherselfforthefleetingwhisperofjealousythatthislittlegirlstillgottoknowhermotherwhileEvahadnot.
Asshemovedintothewoods,EvaheardBrittanyyellingobscenitiesafterher.Thensheheardtheslamofacardoorandtheenginerev,beforetiressquealedawayfromthecurb.Shelookedoverhershoulderandsawthecarswerve,skiddingagainstthecurbasitcareenedaroundabendintheroad.Evaheldherbreath,bracingforthesoundofimpactthatdidn’tcome,thenhurriedbacktoherowncar.
***
Evasawheragain,atthegasstationdirectlyacrossfromtheparkexit,asshewaitedataredlight.ThatsameSUV,andBrittanyleaningoutofheropenwindow,talkingtoamanwhostoodnexttoalowsedanwithtintedwindowsandgovernmentplates.Brittanyhandedthemanaslipofpaper,whichhetuckedintothepocketofhissportcoat.
Thelightturnedgreen,andstillEvastared,heruneasefromearliercrashingbackintoher,quicklymorphingintoadarkpanic.Behindher,someonehonked,joltingherattentionbacktotheroad,forcinghertodriveforward.Asshedrewnearer,shetriedtocaptureasmanydetailsasshecould.Theman’sshortbrownhairandmirroredsunglasses.Theoutlineofaholsterbeneathhissportcoat.Andasshedroveaway,shewonderedwhatBrittanyhadjustputintoplay.
***
Athome,Evapulledhercarintothesmallgarageatthesideofthehouseandclosedthedoor,lockingitwiththepadlock.ShewasdesperatetogetinsideandcallDex,buthernewneighborwassittingonthefrontstep,asifshewaswaitingforher.“Shit,”shemutteredunderherbreath.
Reliefspreadacrossthewoman’sfacewhenshesawEva.“Ifell,”shesaid.“Missedthatlaststairandtookatumble.Ithinkmyankleissprained.Couldyouhelpmeinside?”
Evaglanceddownthestreet,thinkingagainofthemanatthegasstation,ofthepieceofpaperheslippedintohiscoat.Shedidn’thavetimeforthis.Butshecouldn’tleavethewomanontheporch.“Sure,”shesaid.
Evahelpedthewomanstandandwassurprisedathowtinyshewas.Barelyfivefeettallandeasilyintohersixties,shewaswirybutstrong.ShegrippedtherailingandpulledherselfupthestepsasEvasupportedher,hoppingononefootuntilshegottothetop.Evagaveheramomenttocatchherbreath,andtogethertheymadeittothedoorandintoherapartment.
Warm-coloredrugscoveredthefloor,contrastingwithacream-coloredcouch.Onewallinthediningroomhadbeenpaintedadeepred,andhalf-emptiedshippingboxesclutteredthecorners.Evahelpedhertoachair,andthewomansat.
“Doyouwantsomeice?”Evaasked,impatienttomovethingsalong.SheneededtocontactDex,tofigureoutwhatwasgoingonandwhatsheshoulddo,notplaynursemaidtoherneighbor.
“Let’sstartwithnames,”shesaid.“I’mLiz.”
Evafoughtbackagrowingpanic,feelingtheminutesslippingaway,caughtinsomekindofasmall-talktimewarpwithherchattyneighbor.Butshesmiledanywaysandsaid,“MynameisEva.”
“Nicetofinallymeetyou,Eva.Yes,Iwouldlovesomeice.Straightthroughthere,ifyoudon’tmind.”
Dismissed,Evaenteredthekitchen,whichwasbareexceptforafewplatesandglassesonthecounterbythesink.Inthefreezer,LizhadatrayoficecubesthatEvabrokeapartandpiledintoadishtowel,windingthetopclosed.Shegrabbedaglassfromthedishracknexttothesinkandfilleditwithwater,noticinghowherhandstrembledasshecarriedthembothbacktothelivingroomandhandedthemtoLiz.ShewasabouttomakeherexcusesandleavewhenLizsaid,“Haveaseat.Keepmecompany.”
Withanotherquickglancetowardthewindowandtheemptystreetbeyond,sheloweredherselfontoachairthatallowedhertokeepaneyeonthingsoutside.
Liz’ssmilegrewwider.“Idon’tknowverymanypeoplehereyet,”shesaid.“I’mavisitingprofessorfromPrinceton,teachingtwoclassesthissemester.”
Evasmiledpolitely,onlyhalf-listeningasLiztalkedabouthowmuchshewaslookingforwardtoaCaliforniawinter,andranthroughtheencounterwithBrittanyagain.Whatshe’dsaid.Thewayherhandsshook.Howdesperateshe’dbeentomakethedeal.Anydeal.Gradually,Eva’smindbegantoslow,thepanicsubsiding.She’dbeenintightspotsbefore,andsheremindedherselfthatshehadn’tdoneanythingillegal.ShewassafefornowinLiz’slivingroom,withaclearviewofthestreet,listeningtoLizexplainwhyshepreferredtorentanapartmentratherthansubjectherselftothepoliticsoffacultyhousing.Shecouldpracticallyfeelherbloodpressurelowering.
“Nowtellme,”Lizsaid.“Whatdoyoudo?Whereareyoufrom?”
Evatorehergazefromthewindowanddeliveredherstandardreply.“IgrewupinSanFrancisco.I’maserveratDuPree’sindowntownBerkeley.”AndthensheswungtheconversationbacktoLiz.“Soyou’reaprofessor?Whatdoyouteach?”
Lizreachedforherwaterandtookadrink.“Politicaleconomics,”shesaid.“Economictheoryandtheaccompanyingpoliticaleconomicsystems.”Shelaughed.“Ipromiseyou,it’safascinatingsubject.”
Shepulledtheiceoff,andEvawatchedasshestudiedherankle,turningitcautiously.Lizlookedupandgrinned.“Notasprain.Whichisarelief,becauselaunchinganewsemesteroncrutcheswouldhavebeenachallenge.”
TherewassomethingaboutLiz’svoice,deepandresonantdespitehersmallsize,thatcalmedEva.Itvibratedinsideofher,causinghertobreathedeeper.Tolistenharder.Evaimaginedheratthefrontofalargelecturehall,hervoicecarryingintotheveryfarthestcorners.Thescratchofpensonpaperorthequicktappingonlaptops,studentseagerlyrecordingeverythingshesaid.
FromherpositiononLiz’scouch,Evasawthegovernmentsedanglidedownthestreetandslowtoastopatthecurb.Thesamemanwho’dbeentalkingtoBrittanyatthegasstationgotoutandwalkeduptheirfrontpath.
Hermindbeganconnectingdotsshehadn’tevenknownwerethere,passingoverthequestionofhowhe’dfoundherhousetoitsinevitableanswer—theremusthavebeensomeoneelsefollowingher.Someoneshehadn’tseen.
EvastoodsuddenlyandmovedtowardLiz.Awayfromthewindow.“Areyousureyoudon’tneedtoseeadoctor?”
Lizputtheicebackonherankleandsaid,“I’lltellyouwhatIneed.Ineedyoutodumpoutthiscrappytapwaterandfillmyglasswithvodka.Getoneforyourselftoo.It’sinthefreezer.”ThefaintsoundofknockingfromnextdoorcaughtLiz’sattention.“Ithinksomeone’sknockingonyourdoor,”shesaid.
Evapeekedthroughtheblindsandsawthemanslidesomethingintohermailslot.Everynerveinherbodytingledwithfear,urginghertorun.SheglancedthroughthedoorwayandintoLiz’skitchen,imaginingherselftearingoutthebackdoor,throughthebackgateanddownthealley,sprintingallthewaytoDex’s,demandinganswers.
Butshetookadeepbreath,remindingherselfthatallshe’ddonewastalktoawomaninthepark.Shehadn’tsoldheranything,orevenshowedheranything.Playthrough.AdviceDexusedtogiveherintheearlydayswhenshe’dgetscared.Onlyguiltypeoplerun.That’sexactlywhatthey’rewaitingforyoutodo.Sodon’tdoit.
“I’veseenthisguybefore,”Evalied.“He’ssellingsubscriptionstoanalarmcompany.Youhavetopretendlikeyou’renothome,otherwisehe’lltalkyourearoff.”
“Ihatedoor-to-doorsalesmen,”Lizsaid.Ifshethoughtitoddhedidn’tcometoherdoornext,shedidn’tmentionit.
Evastoodandsaid,“IthinkI’llgogetthosedrinksforus.”Adrinkwastheveryleastshedeserved.
Claire
Wednesday,February23
IleaveEva’sofficestrewnwithpaperandmoveacrossthehall,determinedtoknowforcertainwhatI’mbeginningtosuspect—thatnothingEvatoldmeaboutherself,orwhatshewasrunningfrom,wastrue.Ithrowopenthedoortohercloset,pawingthroughthehangers,lookingforevidenceofthehusbandsheadored.Attheveryleast,thereshouldbebig,emptyspaceswherehisclothesusedtobe.ButallIfindareafewnicetops,acoupledresses,boots,andflats.AllofitEva’s.Iyankopendresserdrawers,findingshirts,jeans,underwear,andsocks,flashesofmyunfamiliarnewprofilestartlingmeinthemirror,sosimilartoEva’sIcanalmostbelieveforamomentshe’sreturned.Thatshe’shereandI’mtheonewhodied.FreakyfuckingFriday.
IsinkdownonEva’sbed.EverythingIbelieved—aboutEva,aboutherlife,aboutwhyshedidn’twanttobehere,layinpiecesatmyfeet.Iftherewasnohusband,therewillbenoinvestigationofhisdeath.Andifthere’snoinvestigation,therehastobeanotherreasonwhyEvawassowillingtotradeplacesanddisappear.
Ibegintolaugh—thehystericalspiralofanexhaustedwomanteeteringontheedgeofsanity—andthinkofalltheliesshetold,straight-facedandsincere.AndthenIhearhervoiceinmyhead,andimaginehertellingmetocalmdownandgetthefuckoutofherhouse,andIsmirkathowsharpitis,howperfectlyIcanstillrecallit.
Neitherofuscouldhaveguessedthiswaswhatwouldhappen.Wewereonlytradingtickets.Iwasn’tsupposedtodrivetoherhouse,unlockherdoor,andstepintoherlife.WhateverI’vewalkedinto,I’mherebecauseIchosetobe.
***
BackinEva’soffice,withtheDocopenonthescreeninfrontofme,ItakeacloserlookatoneofEva’sbankstatements,scanninghermonthlyexpenses.Food,gas,coffeeshops.Automaticpaymentseverymonthforeverything,includingcableandtrashservice,withabalanceoftwothousanddollars.TherearetwodirectdepositsfromaplacecalledDuPree’sSteakhouse,eachforninehundreddollars.Notnearlyenoughincometowarrantanall-cashpurchaseofherhome.
AndasIexpected,nomedicalbills,nocopays.Nopharmacies.Ifeelasliverofadmirationattheoutrageousfabricationrenderedwiththefinesseofaconartist.Thesmoothwayshesetherboardingpassonthebarbetweenus,aquiettemptationIwastoopreoccupiedtonoticeatthetime,thewayshedescribedhoweasyitwastoblendintoBerkeley.Thesubtlewayshereflectedmyowndesiresandfearsbackatme,allowingmetofallintostepalongsideher.
Accordingtohercarregistration,shedrivesanoldHonda,whichismostlikelyhiddenintheattachedgarage.Awomansmartenoughtoorchestratesomethinglikethisisn’tgoingtoleavehercarparkedatanairportortrainstation,identifyingthatasherstartingpoint.Idon’twantanythingtodowithit,though.Ifsomeone’slookingforher,they’llsurelybeginwithhercar.Butit’snicetoknowit’sthere,ifIneedit.
ImakequickworkoftherestofEva’sdesk.Moredried-outpensandpaperclipsinatangle,emptyenvelopes,afewchargingbrickswithnocords.Butnoneoftheotherthingsyou’dexpecttofind.Nosavedbirthdaycardsorappointmentreminders.Nophotographs,notes,orsentimentalkeepsakes.Notonlywasherhusbandafabrication,I’mbeginningtowonderifEvawastoo.
Ilooktotheleftofthedesk,whereanemptytrashcansits,andmygazecatchesonasmallpieceofpaper,partiallyconcealedbehindthedesk,asifsomeonemeanttothrowitawayandmissed.Ipickitupandsmoothit.It’sasmallcard,thehandwritinganeatcursive,theslanted,loopykindyoudon’tseebeyondelementaryschool.Everythingyoueverwantedisontheothersideoffear.
ItrytoimaginethecircumstancesuponwhichEvawrotethisandthenlaterdiscardedit.Ifperhapsshedidn’tneeditanymore,orwhetheritstoppedbeingsomethingshebelievedtobetrue.
IcarryitacrossthehalltoEva’sbedroom,tuckthecardintotheedgeofthemirroroverherdresser,andbegintotidythemessI’dmade.AsIrefoldhershirts,thesmellofher—flowerswiththatchemicalundernote—stirsintheairaroundme.IcomeacrossaRedHotChiliPeppersT-shirt,andIholditagainstmychest.Oversizedandwellworn,it’sfromtheirCalifornicationtour.TheChiliPepperswereoneofViolet’sfavoritebands,andIhadpromisedherthatwhensheturnedsixteen,I’dtakehertoaconcert.Oneofthemanythingsshenevergottodo.Idrapetheshirtovermyshoulderandclosethedrawer.This,Iwant.
Ifinishtidyingthedresser,confirmingnohiddenmoneyorjewelry.Nodiaryorlovelettersstashedawayfrompryingeyes.Fictionalhusbandaside,noone—exceptperhapsme,livinginRory’shouse—livesalifethisempty.
Acrosstheroom,Isitontheedgeofherbedandopenthetopdrawerofhernightstand.AnothertubeofexpensivehandlotionthatsmellslikeroseswhenIrubitintomyarm.AbottleofTylenol.Buttuckedalongtheinsideedgeofthedrawerisaphoto,theonlyoneI’veseeninthehousesofar.It’sanoveltyshotofEvaposingwithanolderwomanoutsideastadiuminSanFrancisco.EnormousGiantsBaseballbannershangbehindlife-sizedcutoutsofplayers,andthewomenpose,theirheadstiltedtogether,Evalaughing,herarmdrapedoverthewoman’sshoulders.Shelookslightandhappy,asifwhatevershadowswerechasingherhadn’tshownupyet.Iwonderifthiswasafriend,orsomeoneelseEvahadtricked.WhethereverythingEvadidhadbeencalculatedforherownbenefit.
IimagineEva,spinningherlies.MakingthiswomanbelieveEvawassomeonewhoneededhelp.Istudythewoman’sface,wonderingwheresheisnow,whethershemightcomelookingforEva,andwhatshe’dsaytofindme,withtheexactsamehaircutandcolorasEva’s,livinginEva’shouse,wearingherclothes.Who’stheconartistnow?
Atthebackofthedrawer,underneathapairofscissorsandsometape,Ifindanenvelope.Insideitisahandwrittennotedatedthirteenyearsago,clippedtosomepagesbehindit.Iremovetheclipandflipthroughthem,paperworkfromaplaceinSanFranciscocalledSt.Joseph’s.Aconvent?Achurch?Thehandwritingisspideryandfaded,andItiltittowardthewindowsoIcanreaditbetter
DearEva,Ihopethisletterfindsyouwell,studyinghardandlearningalot!I’mwritingtoletyouknowthatafterovereightyyears,theSt.Joseph’sgrouphomeisfinallybeingabsorbedintothecountyfostersystem.It’sprobablyforthebest,asweareallgettingolderhere—evenSisterCatherine.Irememberyouusedtofrequentlyaskaboutyourbirthfamily,andwhilewewereprohibitedfromansweringyourquestionsatthetime,nowthatyou’reovereighteen,Iwanttogiveyoualltheinformationwehave.I’menclosingcopiesofournotesonyourintakeandthegeneralrecordsfromyouryearshere.Ifthereareanyspecificsyouwanttoknow,you’llhavetopetitionthecountyforyourofficialrecords.IthinkthesocialworkerwhoworkedonyourcasewasCraigHenderson.YoushouldknowthatItrackeddownyourmother’sfamilyafteryourlastfosterplacementfailed,hopingtheymighthavehadachangeofheart.Buttheyhadn’t.Yourmotherstruggledwithaddiction,andherfamilywasoverwhelmedwiththeburdenofmonitoringandcaringforher.Thatwasalargepartofwhytheysurrenderedyouinthefirstplace.Butdespitethatbeginning,you’vegrownintoanincredibleperson.Pleaseknowthatwetalkofyoustill—andaresoproudofyourmanyaccomplishments.SisterCatherinescoursthenewspapersforyournameinassociationwithamagnificentscientificdiscovery,althoughIhavetoremindheryou’restillinschoolandthat’sprobablyafewyearsoffyet.Wewouldwelcomeavisitoracalltolearnwhatkindofwonderfullifeyou’vebuiltforyourselfatBerkeley.Youaredestinedtodogreatthings.MuchloveinChrist,SisterBernadette
Isetitaside,lookingattherestofthepapersthatwereattachedwiththeclip.They’rephotocopiesofhandwrittennotes,datingbackoverthirtyyearsago.Theydescribethearrivalandadjustmentofatwo-year-oldgirlataCatholicgrouphome.
Child,Eva,arrivedat7:00p.m.;mother,RachelAnnJames,declinedinterview,signeddocumentsforterminationofparentalrights.St.Joseph’ssubmittedpaperworktocounty,awaitingresponse.
Anotherpage,datedtwenty-fouryearsago,waslessclinical.
Evareturnedtouslastnight.Thiswasherthirdplacement,andIfearherlast.WewillkeepheraslongastheLordguidesusto,andgiveheraspothereatSt.Joe’s.CHisthesocialworkerassignedtohercasethistime,whichmeanswewon’tbeseeingmuchofhim.
AstudentatBerkeleyexplainsthesciencetextbooksdownstairs.Perhapssheneverfinished—eitherbecauseshecouldn’taffordto,orhergradesweren’tgoodenoughtograduate,leadinghertobecomeaserveratasteakhouse.Andaconartist,spinningliesinaNewYorkairport.
Italsoexplainswhythehouseissobare,emptyofanythingEvamighthaveaccumulatedfromafamily—photoalbums,birthdaycards,notes.Iknowwhatit’sliketowakeupaloneeveryday,withnofamilytoworryaboutyourwell-being.Yourheart.Whetheryou’rehappy.AtleastIhadthatforthefirsttwenty-oneyearsofmylife.It’spossibleEvaneverdid.
Thisiswhatit’sliketodie,havingleftsomuchunfinished.Itstilltethersyou—likeanunbreakablethread,alwaysleadingyourthoughtsbacktoifonly.Butifonlyisauselessquestion,aspotlightshiningonanemptystage,illuminatingwhatneverwas,andneverwillbe.
Itucktheletterbackintotheenvelopeandreturnittoherdrawer,tryingtoimaginethisnewversionofEvaintoexistence.Butshedances,likequicksilver—aflashandthengone.Neversettlinglongenoughtoseeherclearly,anever-shiftingshapejustoutsidemyperipheralvision.
***
Ineedashower,straypiecesofhairmakingthebackofmyneckitch.TheonlyclothesIownarethefewitemsIgrabbedfrommysuitcaseinthebathroomstallatJFK.Myjeans.Onepairofunderwear.NobraorsocksotherthantheonesI’mwearing.IlookbetweenthebagandEva’sdresser,filledwithclothesthatdon’tbelongtome.Notjustjeansandshirts,butintimatethings.Andithitsmeagain.Ihavealmostnothing.Ihesitatebeforeslidingopenherunderweardraweragain,mystomachclenching,steelingmyselfagainsttheideaofwearingherclothes.Iclosemyeyes,thinkingofotherpeoplewhohavehadtoresorttomuchmorehorrificthingstosurvivethanwearingsomeoneelse’sunderwear.It’sjustcottonandelastic,Itellmyself.Andit’sclean.
Ipullmyownclothesfromthebag,wonderingifapersoncanliveindefinitelywithonlytwopairsofunderwear,andhurryintothehallwhereIpullatowelfromthelinencupboard.Inthebathroom,Irunthewaterhot,lettingtheroomsteamupandobscuremyreflectioninthemirroruntilI’mjustafaintoutline.Ablurryfacsimileofananonymouswoman.Icouldbeanybody.
***
WhenI’mdone,IdressandstandinfrontofthemirrorinEva’sroom,theunfamiliarrosescentofEva’ssoapandlotionhangingintheairaroundme.Astrangerlooksbackatmewithhercroppedblondhairandsharpcheekbones.Istepovertothedresser,whereEva’swalletsits,andpulloutherlicense,comparingmyfacetohers,aflutterofoptimismgrowinginsideofme.
Irecognizethisfeeling,theexcitementofbeingonthecuspofanewlife.IfeltitwhenImetRory,wheneverythingseemedtoglitterwithpossibility,standingontheedgebetweenwhoIwasandwhoIwantedtobecome.
Acoverstorystartstoform,anexplanationIcangivetoanyonewhoasks.EvaandIgrewuptogetherinthegrouphome.IcanspeakwithauthorityaboutSisterBernadetteandSisterCatherine.AndiftheyaskwhereEvawentandwhyI’mhere,I’lltellthemI’mgettingadivorce,andEvaislettingmestayherewhileshetravels
Wheredidshego?
Istareatmyreflectioninthemirror—notquiteEva,notquiteClaire—andtryoutmyanswer.“NewYork.”
***
BackinEva’soffice,Ibegintotidyup,sortingEva’spapersintostacks,unsureofwhattodonext,whentextpopsuponmycomputerscreen.First,asinglesentence,typedbyRory.TheDetroittrip.Then,ontheright-handsideofthecomputer,Roryaddsacomment.
RoryCook:WhatdidyoudowiththeFedExpackage?
Areplycomesalmostimmediately.
BruceCorcoran:Moneyinthedrawer.TheID,passport,andtherestofithavebeenshredded.RoryCook:Theletter?BruceCorcoran:Scanned,thenshredded.RoryCook:HowthefuckdidshegetherhandsonafakepassportandID?
ThreedotsshowBruceresponding,andIholdmybreath.
BruceCorcoran:Noidea.Homelandsecurityhascrackeddownonforgers,butwhatClairehadlookedreal.Icheckedhercellactivityinthefewdaysleadinguptothetrip.Therewasanumbershecalledthatmorningthatwecan’tmatchtoanyonesheknew.We’restilllookingintoit.
Iwaitforthemtocontinue,butnothingnewappears.Thenthecommentsdisappear,onebyone,andthetextintheDocitselfalsovanishes.Intheupperright-handcorner,Bruce’sicondisappears,leavingonlyRory’sbehind.Ineedtobecareful.There’snowaytodifferentiatemypresenceintheDocfromRory’s,andifIstartclickingthings,thatactivitywillshowuponhiscomputerwithhisnameattached.SoI’mstuck,asilentobserver,unabletofollowuporhavemyquestionsanswered.AllIcandoiswatchthisplayoutonthescreeninfrontofme.
***
Outoftasks,withstillhourstofilluntilIcangotosleep,IopenanewtabandnavigatetoCNN’shomepageandsearchfornewscoverageofthecrash.There’sasmallitemreportingthatthey’veplannedmyfuneral,scheduledforaSaturdaythreeweeksfromnow.PlentyoftimeforRorytoplansomethinggrand,probablyinthecity,aguestlistthickwithdignitaries.
ThenIclickonKateLane’spicture.Hermostrecenttelevisionsegmentsarethereformetorewatch.IscrolldownandclickonthenewsconferencefromlastnightsoIcanlistentotheNTSBdirectoranswerreporters’questions.
Afterrehashingthedetailsofwhathadalreadybeenreleased,heclosesthepressconference.Wearestillinthesearchandrecoveryphase.Moreinformationwillemergeinthecomingdays.Iaskforyourpatienceinthismatter.VistaAirlineshasbeencooperativeandiscomplyingwithallfederalrequests.
It’sasIexpected—morequestionsthananswers.ButrightbeforethecameracutsbacktoKateinthestudio,myeyecatchesonsomethinginthecrowd.Ibackitupandwatchtheendofthenewsconferenceagain,hittingpausewhenIseeit.Inthelowerleft-handcornerisafamiliarflashofcolortuckedinamongthetypicalblackandbrownparkasandnavywindbreakers.Theblurredimageofaplatinum-blondwomanwearingabright-pinksweaterdecidedlyoutofplaceforafrigidFebruaryeveninginNewYork.
Eva
Berkeley,California
August
SixMonthsbeforetheCrash
Theman’snamewasAgentCastro,andoverthenextfewdays,Evabegantoseehimeverywhere.She’dthrownawaythebusinesscardhe’ddroppedthroughhermailslot,andtriedtopretendhehadn’tfollowedhertoherhouse,walkedupherwalkway,andknockedonherdoor.Buthekeptcroppingup.Intheparkinglotatthesupermarket.DrivingdownBancroftAvenueassheexitedacoffeeshop.HeevenshowedupatDuPree’s,takingatableinadifferentsectionandcausingEvatomessupseveralorderswhileheslowlyateaprime-ribdinneranddrankaGuinness.
Itworriedher,howunconcernedhewasaboutbeingseen.Anditmadeherwonderhowlonghe’dbeenwatchingherbeforedecidingtomakehispresenceknown.
WhenDexfinallycalledherback,shedemandedtheymeetimmediately.“HowdidyougetthatBrittanyreferral?”sheaskedhim.TheywereatasportsbaronTelegraphAvenue,sittingacrossfromeachotheratabeer-stickytableinthebasementdiningroomnexttoapooltablewhilesemidrunkstudentsaroundthemwatchedapreseasonfootballgameonthebig-screenTV.
“ThisguyIgrewupwithmovedtoLosAngeles.Heknowsherfromdownthere.Whenshemoveduphere,hegavehermyname.Hetoldmeshe’dbeasteadyclient.Why?”
Evastudiedhisface,lookingforanysignsofalie,tension,oraflashofguilt.“Isawhertalkingtoafederalagentaftershetriedtobuyfromme.Nowhe’sfollowingme.Iseehimeverywhere.”
Dexsethisburgerdown,hisexpressionserious.“Tellmeexactlywhathappened.”
EvadescribedhowBrittanyappearedtobestrungout.Thejitterywayshespoke,andthescabsonherhands.“Iguessmyquestioniswhyyousentmesomeoneyouhadn’tvettedyourself.That’snotthewayit’ssupposedtowork.”
Dex’sgazedarkened.“Whatareyousuggesting?”
“I’mpointingoutthatshortlyafterImetwithaclientyoureferred,I’mbeingtailedbyafederalagent.”
“Fuck.”Dextossedhisnapkinonthetable.“Iwantyoutostopeverything.Don’tmakeorsellanythinguntilyouhearfromme.”
“AndhowwillyouexplainthattoFish?”sheasked.
“I’llhandlehim,”Dextoldher.“Myjobistokeepyousafe.”
Evastaredathim,weighinghiswords,knowinghowthisgamewasplayed.Attheendoftheday,ifthechoicewasjailorsellingoutafriend,peopleintheirbusinessdidwhattheyhadtodo.Shedidn’tdeludeherselfintothinkingDexwouldbeanydifferent,andshewasn’tentirelycertainshewouldbeeither.
Andyet,Dexhadbeentheonetoteachherhowtoevaluaterisks,toidentifywhomightbeanundercoveragentoranaddictwhocouldexposeher.Shecouldn’tpicturehimleadingherintoanabyssthatwouldsurelypullhiminafterher.
***
They’dbeenmeetingsomeone,severalmonthsafterherexpulsion,whileshewasstilllivinginDex’ssparebedroomandmakingthedrugsonoldequipmentinhiskitchen.Theysawhim,ashaggy-hairedstudent,barelytwentyyearsold,withheadphonesandsaggingpants.
“Watchhim,”Dexhadsaid.Theyweretuckedbehindabuskiosk,asiftheywerecheckingtheschedule.Themanhadaticofsomekind,shrugginghisleftshoulder,shakinghishead,almostimperceptibly,ashewaited.Inalowvoice,Dexsaid,“Youalwayswatchfirst.Youlookforanomalies,likewhetherthey’rewearingasweatshirtineighty-degreeheat.Orifthey’rewearingatanktopwhenit’sraining.Theseareclues,andyouhavetonoticethem.Checkouthisheadphones.They’renotpluggedintoanything.Seethewaythecordistuckedintohisfrontpocket,buttheoutlineofhisphoneisinhisbackpocket?”Evahadnodded,filingthesethingsaway,knowinghersurvivaldependedonrememberingthem.Dexcontinued.“Whenyouseeanythinglikethat,youkeepgoing,becausesomethingisn’tright.Eitherhe’sanaddictoracop.”Helookedatherwithagraveexpression,hisgrayeyeslockingontohers.“Yournumberonepriority—Fish’snumberonepriority—isyoursafety.It’swhyhe’slastedaslongashehasinthisbusiness.”Dexlaughedquietly.“ThatandthetenpeoplehehasworkingforhiminsidetheBerkeleyandOaklandpolicedepartments.”
They’dsteppedoutfromunderthecoverofthekioskandturnedawayfromthemanwithoutmakingthesale,leavinghimonthecurb,waitingfordrugsthatwouldnevershowup.
***
“Didyousellheranything?”DexaskedEvanow.
“No.Shewasoff.Crazy.Itoldhershehadmeconfusedwithsomeoneelseandgotthehelloutofthere.”
Dexnodded.“Good.You’retakingavacationuntilwefigureoutwhat’sgoingon.”
“It’slikethisguywantsmetoseehim.”
“Heprobablydoes,”Dexsaid.“Peoplemakemistakeswhenthey’renervous,andheobviouslywantstomakeyounervous.Thefactthathe’ssovisiblemeanshedoesn’thaveanythingonyouandhe’sgettingdesperate.”
“WhatamIsupposedtodo?”
“Lethimfollowyou.Hewon’tseeanything,andeventuallyhe’lllooksomewhereelse.”
Dextossedacouplefive-dollarbillsontothetableforatip.Aroundthem,theroomeruptedincheers,alleyesonthetelevision,wheresomeonehadjustscoredatouchdown.Evastartedtorise,butDexsaid,“Youshouldstayalittlelonger.”
Evasatbackandwatchedhimleave,fightingdownagrowingpanic,likesomeonewaitingherturntogetonalifeboatandrealizingshewasgoingtobetheonlyoneleftonthesinkingship.Dexwasalreadytryingtodistancehimself.
Aroundher,thecollegekidsdrankandlaughed,theirbiggestworrywhetherCalwouldgotoabowlgame.Shehadneverinherlifefeltthatrelaxed.Evenwhenshewasastudent,she’dbeenguarded.Quiet.Growingupinagrouphome,shelearnedfromayoungagethatitwassafesttoobserveratherthanjumpinwithloudlaughterorawittyjoke.ThesistersatSt.Joe’sencouragedthemtobestudious.Respectful.WhichEvahadbecome,allthewhilefiguringouthowtobreaktherulesmorequietly.
Butitwasn’tahome.Thesisterswereolder.Strictanduncompromising.Theybelievedthatchildrenshouldbesilentandcompliant.Evarememberedthecoldhallwaysofthedorm,tuckedbehindthesanctuary,smellingofcandlewaxanddamp.Sherememberedtheothergirls.Nottheirnames,buttheirvoices.Harshandbullying,orsoftandscared.Sherememberedthecryingatnight.How,attheendoftheday,eachofthemwasalone.
Evatookafinalsipofherbeerandstood,weavingherwaytowardthestairsthatleduptothemaindiningroom.Sheeyedtheemergencyexit,imaginingthesoundofthealarm,whichwasalreadyscreaminginsideherhead.Butshebypassedit,knowingnowwasnotthetimeforanythingsodesperate.Notyet.
***
Asshepulledintoherdriveway,shesawLizlockingherdoorandheadingdownthefrontwalktowardhercar.Evaglancedupanddownthestreet,forcingherselftoslowdownandactnormal.
“Hello!”Lizcalled.
EvahadgrowncuriousaboutLizsincethatfirstafternooninLiz’sapartment.Shefoundherselflisteningforher.Watchinghercomeandgo.ThesoundofLiz’svoicestillreverberatedinhermind,andEvacouldn’tdenyshefeltdrawntothewoman.
Evalockedhercarandturnedtoherwithasmile,pointingatLiz’sNewJerseyplates.“YoudroveallthewayfromNewJersey?”ShetriedtorelaxhershouldersandfocusonLizandnotonthepossibilitythatAgentCastro’scarmightturnthecorneratanymoment.
Buttodaywasnotadayfortalking,andshebreathedeasywhenLizsaidonly,“Ithoughtitwouldbeafunroadtrip,butalreadyI’mdreadingthedriveback.”Sheroundedhercarandslidintothedriver’sseatwithawave,andEvacontinuedupthewalkway,unlockingherdoorandslippinginside.
Thesilencewasarelief.Shemadeherwayovertothecouchandlaydown,forcingherselftotakeseveraldeepbreaths,butshecouldn’trelax.ShecouldfeelCastro’spresencelikeanaudience,watchingeverythingshedid.Everycomingandgoing,tothemarket,toDuPree’s.Everyinteractionliketheoneshe’djusthadwithLiz,recordedinsomeone’sfieldnotes.4:56p.m.:Evachatswitholderneighboronlawn.ShestaredatthewallthatseparatedherapartmentfromLiz’sandwonderedifLizmightbeausefulpersontohavearound.BecomepartofthestoryshewantedCastrotobelieveabouther.Thatshewasjustaserverwholivedasmalllifefilledwithmundanedetailstooboringtorecord.Evaspendseveningoutwithneighborfriend.OrEvaandneighborfrienddoaguidedtourofBerkeleyRoseGarden.Whatmightborethemthemost?
***
Laterthatevening,therewasaknockonthedoor.AquickpeekthroughthewindowrevealedLizontheporch,holdingacasseroledish.“Idon’tknowwhenI’mgoingtoremembertocutarecipeinhalf,”shesaid,thoughEvasuspectedLizpreferredtohavesomeonetocookfor.
Lizhandedherthedishandsteppedinside,causingEvatofalterasshecarriedthecasseroleintothekitchen.ShehadjustclosedtherefrigeratorandturnedaroundtoseeLizbentover,readingthetitlesofthebooksonhershelfinthelivingroom.Itunsettledher,tohavesomeoneinherspace,lookingatherthings.Butshetookadeepbreathandsmiledthroughherdiscomfort.7:45p.m.:NeighborbringsEvafood.Theychatfortwelveminutes.Shecoulddothis.
“You’reinterestedinchemistry?”Lizasked.
Evashrugged.TheyweremostlyoldtextbooksfromherlastyearofcollegethatEvahadn’topenedinyears.Yetshecouldn’tbringherselftogetridofthem,asifdoingsowouldtossawayacriticalpartofherself.“Istudieditforalittlewhile.Inschool.”
“Thesearecollegetexts,”Lizsaid,pullingoneout.Sheflippeditopen,lookingatthestampoftheBerkeleystudentstoreontheinsidecover.“YouwenttoBerkeley?Younevermentionedthat.”
“Forabit,”Evasaid.“Ididn’tgraduate.”
“Whynot?”Lizasked,asEvaknewshewould.
“Stuffgotintheway.”Evahopedthatherhalfanswersanddeflectionswouldendtheconversationthere.
Onthecounter,Eva’sphonebuzzed,lightingupwithatextfromDex.Evasnatchedthephone,pressingtheSaveforLateroptiononthescreenbeforeshovingitintoherpocket.
Lizwatchedher,waitingforhertosaysomething,andwhenshedidn’t,LizpointedtotheopencanofDietCokeonthecounter.“Thatstuffispoison,”shesaid.
Evacheckedherwatch,thecharadesuddenlydrainingher.Howlongwouldsheneedtoentertainthiswoman?“I’dbettergetintheshower.I’mworkingashiftattherestaurantthisevening.”
Lizwaitedabeat,asiftryingtoreadthetruthbeneathEva’swords,beforesaying,“Youknow,lifeislong.Lotsofthingscangowrongandstillendupallright.”
Evathoughtaboutherlab,hiddenbeneaththeroomwheretheystood.Andshethoughtitwasafittingmetaphor.Lizsawonlywhatwasinfrontofher,whileEvaworriedabouteverythinghiddenbeneaththesurfacethatmightfloattothetop,whereAgentCastrowaitedtocollectit.
“Thanksforthefood,”shesaid.
Lizreplacedthetextbookontheshelf,dismissed.“You’reverywelcome.”
Aftersheleft,EvapulledoutthephoneandreadDex’stext.
Fishisdealingwithit.Takeacoupleweeksoffandthisguywillbegone
Relieffloodedher.Likeamissedcollision,Castrowouldbarrelpasther,leavingherweakandshakybutinonepiece.
“It’sgoingtobefine,”shesaidoutloudtotheemptyroom.Nextdoor,Lizhadturnedonsomemusic,andthefaintsoundofjazzwounditswayaroundEva,callingouttoher,offeringheraglimpseofalifeshecouldhaveforalittlewhile.
***
Laterthatnight,sheenteredDuPree’sfromthealleyandhurriedtoherlocker,hopingGabe,hermanager,wouldn’tnoticeshewaslate.Whensheemergedagain,shefoundhimdirectingabussertoclearsometables.“Finally,”hesaid.“You’reworkingsectionfive.”
Evagrabbedhernotepadandranthroughthespecialswiththesouschefinthekitchenbeforeheadingoutintothelargediningroom.
Shesoonlostherselfinwork.Takingorders,chattingwithpatrons,deliveringfood.Foralittlewhile,shecouldbeexactlywhoeveryonethoughtshewas.Justaserver,workinghardandsavinghertipsforalongweekendinCabooranewleatherjacket.Alightnesszippedthroughher,makingherfeelbuzzywithanticipation,likeachildreleasedfromschoolforthesummer.
Gabefoundherinthekitchen,givingdirectionstothecookforavegetarianorder.Hewasinhismidforties,balding,withashirtthatalwaysseemedtobestrainingattheedges.Hewasafairbosswhoseemedgruffandimpatientwithhisemployees,butalwaysgavethemtimeoffwhentheyneededit.“Eva,”hesaid.“Whenareyougoingtoletmescheduleyouformoreshifts?Ineedyoumorethantwiceaweek.”
“Nothanks,”shesaid.“It’stoohardtopursuemyhobbiesotherwise.”
“Hobbies?”Gabesaid,perplexed.“Whathobbies?”
Evaleanedagainstthekitchenwall,gratefulfortheshortbreak,andtickedthemoffonherfingers.“Knitting.Ceramics.Rollerderby.”
Oneofthedishwasherssnorted,andshewinkedathim.
Gabeshookhishead,mutteringunderhisbreathabouthownooneappreciatedhim
Someonecalledfromacrossthekitchen.“Eva,tablefourlooksreadytoorder.”
Sheheadedbackintothediningroom,emptiernowthatitwasnearingnineo’clock.Whenshearrivedattablefour,shepulledupshort.Theresatoneofherbestclients,Jeremy,flankedoneithersidebywhathadtobehisparents.
Jeremywasathird-yearcommunicationsmajorwhosefatherdemandedstraightA’sinordertocontinuefundingJeremy’stuitionandlavishlifestyle,whichincludedaBMW,aloftapartmentindowntownBerkeley,andthedrugsEvamade.AndunlikeBrett,Jeremyalwayspaidinfull.Cashondelivery.Itwasapleasureworkingwithhim.
Everynowandthen,sheranintoherclientsintherealworld,anditalwayscausedthemtostumbleinsomeway.Jeremywasnodifferent.Whenhesawher,hisfacepaled,hiseyesdartingforthenearestexit.Hismotherstudiedhermenuwhilehisfatherscrolledthroughhisphone.Evasmiled,hopingtoputhimatease.“Hithere.Letmetellyouaboutthespecials.”Shelaunchedintoherrecitation,allthewhileJeremyrefusingtolookather.Sheunderstoodhispanic.Ithadtakenheryearstofigureoutthatpeoplecouldn’tseethroughheract,thattheywouldn’tknowwhatshewasdoingwhenshemetsomeoneintheparkoronthecornerbythegrocerystore.Theworldwasfilledwithpeoplewhocarriedsecrets.Noonewaswhotheyseemedtobe.
Jeremycorneredherbythebathroomsbeforedessert.“Whatareyoudoinghere?”hehissed.
“Iworkhere.”
Helookedoverhershouldertowardthediningroom.
Shefollowedhisglanceandsaid,“Look,Jeremy.Youcanrelax.Takesomeadvice:peoplewillbelievewhateveryouwantthemto,aslongasyoudon’thesitate.Youdon’tknowme,andIdon’tknowyou.”Shewalkedaway,leavinghimstandingbetweenthemen’sroomandtheemergencyexit.
Whenhershiftwasover,shewalkedbyAgentCastro’scarinthelot,lettinghergazemeethisforasplitsecondbeforeslidingaway.Whatevergamehewasplaying,shecouldplayittoo.
Claire
Wednesday,February23
Istareatthefrozenimageonthecomputerscreenuntilmyeyesbegintowater,untilIseenothingmorethananaccumulationofpixels—shadesofpink,darkshadows,platinum-blondhairwhereafaceshouldbe.
ItwasRory’sAuntMarywhohadgivenmethatpinkcashmeresweaterforChristmasoneyear.“Somethingtokeepyouwarmwhilelivinginthestone-coldcenteroftheCookfamily.”She’dlaughed,loudandwet,jigglingtheiceinhernearlyemptyglass,asiftoloosenwhateverginmightremainonthebottom.
I’dheldthesweater,softandluxurious,onmylap,waitingforsomeonetojumpin,toexplainawayAuntMary’swords.Butthey’djustrolledpastit,Rorygivingmeatinywink,asifIwasnowinonthefamilysecret.
LaterthatsameChristmas,AuntMarysidleduptome,drunk,andsaid,“ThewholeworldlovesRoryCook.”TheoldestsisterofRory’sfather,Marywasunmarriedandconsideredafamilyliability.Hervoicelowered,thesmellofginheavyonherbreath.“Butyoubecarefulnottocrosshim,oryou’llgothewayofpoorMaggieMoretti.”
“Thatwasanaccident,”Isaid,myeyesgluedonRory,acrosstheroomfromus,jokingaroundwithsomeyoungercousins.IwasstilltryingtobelieveI’dgottenthelifeIalwayswanted,withthreegenerationsoftheCookfamilygatheredtocelebratetheholidays.Iwantedtoembracetheirtraditions.Thecarolingatthechildren’shospital,thecandlelightchurchservicefollowedbyamidnightsupper,thefamilylifeI’dalwayscravedasagirl,suchavibrantcontrasttothequietholidaysofmychildhood.
Butmyinstinctspinged,forcingmetostayandlistentowhatshehadtosay,becausemyideaofRoryhadbeguntoshift,theshineofhisattentionhadbeguntochafe.IwasbeginningtoseethepriceI’dpaid,missingthesimplethingsIusedtotakeforgranted.Thefreedomtopickmyownfriends.Tograbmycarkeysandgosomewhereonawhimwithouthavingtoclearitwithatleasttwoassistantsandadriverfirst.
AuntMarycackled.“Oh,soyou’reinthepoorRorycamp,alongsidetherestoftheworld.”Shetookasipofherdrinkandsaid,“Letmetellyousomething.It’sapoorlykeptfamilysecretthatmybrotherpaidoffeveryoneinvolved.Whywouldhedothatiftherewasnothingtohide?”Shegavemeaslysmile,andIcouldseeherpinklipstickoozingintothecrevicesaroundhermouth.“TheCookmenaredolls,aslongasyoudowhattheywant.Butstepoutoflineandwatchyourback.”
Acrosstheroom,Rorythrewhisheadbackandlaughedatsomethingoneofthecousinssaid.AuntMaryfollowedmygazeandshookherhead.“YouremindmealittlebitofMaggie—anicegirlfromasimplebackground.Likeyou,Maggieseemedtohaveintegrity,whichissomethingthisfamilyissorelylacking.ButsheandRoryfoughtlikedogs,abouteverylittlething.”Shelookedatme,hersmirksomewhatblurredbyalcohol.“Shecouldn’tcontrolhim.I’mguessingyoucan’teither.”
“Whyareyoutellingmethis?”Iasked.
AuntMary’swateryeyesheldmine,theyearsetchedintothedeeplinesaroundthem.“ThisfamilyislikeaVenusflytrap—shinyonthesurface,butdangerousunderneath.Andonceyouknowtheirsecrets,theywillneverletyouleave.”
Shewasdrunk.Bitter.Aresentfuloldwomanspreadingpoison.Andyet,whatshesaidhauntedmethroughtheyearsasRorygrewsilent.Thenangry.Andeventuallyviolent.IwantedtobelievetheversionRorymeticulouslyfedtotheworld,buthebeatthatdesireoutofme,onebruiseandbrokenboneatatime.
AuntMarydiedafewyearslater,thelastofthatgenerationofCookstopass.ButherwordstrailedaftermeeverytimeIworethatsweater,awhisper—orawarning—thatMaggieMoretti’sfatemightalsobemine.
***
Somewhereoutside,adogbarks,pullingmyattentionbacktotheroomandtomycomputer.Idragthecursorbackwardtoreplaythevideofromthebeginning,staringsohardatthatblurredfigureinpink,myeyesbegintoburn.NomatterhowItry,Ican’tseeanythingelse.Justsomeblondhair—longorshort,Ican’ttell.Justaflashofpink—thereandthengone—andItrytoremindmyselfthatplentyofpeoplewearpinksweaters,inallkindsofweather,andthatEvawasscannedontotheflight.Youcan’tfakethat.
***
“Onedripcoffee,roomforcreamplease,”ItellthebaristaearlyThursdaymorning.Ikeepmyeyesaverted,andIstillwearmyNYUcap,toonervoustoshowmyentireface.Willitalwaysbelikethis,terrifiedtolookanyoneintheeyeandsmile?
Itossedandturnedallnight,mymindreplayingtheflashofpinkatthenewsconference,butnomatterhowmanywaysIimaginedanalternativeforEva,Ikeptcomingupagainstthefactthatmyticketwasscannedontotheflight.It’sunlikelyshehadenoughtimetotalksomeoneelseintoswitchingwithher,andtheflightcrewwouldhavenoticedwhentheydidtheheadcountifshe’dgottenofftheplanebeforetakeoff.Iwokethismorningconvinceditwasjustacoincidence,thatitwasonlyguilt,wishingithadturnedoutdifferentforEva.
Ipayformycoffeeandsettleintoasoftleatherarmchairwithaclearviewofthedoorandthestreetoutside.
Lastnight,wantingtotrycallingPetraagain,I’dGoogledhowtoresetthepasswordonaprepaidphoneandwasabletounlockEva’s.AsIexpected,itdidn’trevealmuch.Nophotographs,noemails.SheusedanappcalledWhispr,andthetextsthatarrivedmyfirstnightweregone,vanishedintotheether.Ifanyothershadbeenreceivedsincethen,theyweregoneaswell.
OnceIwasin,IdialedPetra’snumberagain,imaginingthereliefI’dfeeltohearhervoice.ToseeherstandingonEva’sfrontporch,hiredcaridlingatthecurb,readytoliftmeoutofthisnightmareanddepositmesomewheresafe.AfancyhotelinSanFranciscowherewe’dorderroomserviceandwaitforNico’sguytomakeanewsetofdocumentsforme.
Butthecallendedagainwiththethreetones.Nolongerinservice.Itriedafewvariations,transposingnumbers,swappingdifferentonesin.Ireachedadeli,anolderwomanwhospokeonlySpanish,andapreschoolbeforeIgaveup.Nico’swordsfloatedbacktome:Youcannevergoback.Notonce.Notinanyway,ever.
IlookoutthecoffeeshopwindowandwatchBerkeleycometolife.Asmalltrickleofpeopleenter,order,andleaveagain,themorningrushalignedwithacollegetown’slaterstart.Bysixthirty,it’semptyagain,mycoffeenearlygone
Thebaristacomesoutfrombehindthecounterandbeginswipingdownthetablenexttome.“Youfromoutoftown?”sheasks.
Ifreeze,unsurehowtoanswer,afraidthatI’vesomehowbeenrecognized.Butshekeepstalkingasteadystream,givingmetimetocatchup.“Iknowjustabouteveryonewhocomesinhere—ifnotbyname,thenbyface.Butyou’renew.”
“I’mjustpassingthrough,”Isay,gatheringmythingsandpreparingtoleave
Shegivesthetableonelastswipeandlooksatme.“Noneedtogo,”shesays.“Takeyourtime.”Thenshemovesbehindthecounterandstartsafreshbatchofcoffee.Ileanbackinmychairandwatchthelightattheintersectionblinkfromredtogreenandbackagain.
Aroundseventhirty,theshopgrowscrowdedandIleave.ThegirlbehindthecountergivesmeawaveandasmileasIexit,andIreturnit,feelingatinytendrilofpleasurewraparoundme.
***
Idecidetopushmyselfoutintotheworldandgoforawalk,knowingIcan’thideforever.SoinsteadofheadingbacktoEva’s,IturnwestonHearstAvenueandtracethenorthernmostperimeterofcampus,marvelingatthegiantredwoodtreesthatstand,thickamongthebuildingsandgrassyexpanses.WhenIhitthewesternedgeofcampus,Iturnsouth,andcirclebackeastagain,thistimeonthesouthside.ThisistheBerkeleyyouseeontelevisionandreadaboutinbooks.Adrumcirclehaspositionedthemselvesoutsidethestudentunion,andpeopleswarmpastthem,ontheirwaytoclassortheiroffices,headsdowninthebriskmorningair.AsImakemywayupthehilltowardtheoldstonestadium,Iturnandlookwest,asharpwindcuttingthroughmythinsleeves.Ishiver,staringatthewhiteexpanseofSanFrancisco,thegraywatercontrastingwiththedeepgreensandgoldsofthehillstothenorth,theGoldenGateBridgeadusty-orangesilhouette.SomewhereoutthereistheconventwhereEvagrewup.Anentirechildhoodlivedandlostamongthebuildingsthatseemtoshimmerinthedistance.
AsIcutacrosscampus,Iimaginewhatitwouldbeliketobeastudenthere,oneofthemanypeoplehurryingtoclass,andtrytopictureEvaamongthem.IslowdownasIapproachabridgethattraversesasmallstreamandleanagainsttherailing,lookingdownintotheswirlingwatermakingitswaydownhilltowardtheocean.Aboveme,thebreezewhispersthroughthetalltrees,aquietrushthatmakesmythoughtsslow.Ican’timagineeverwantingtoleaveaplacelikethis.
IpushofftherailingandcontinuemywalkbacktoEva’s,pastthecoffeeshop,wherethebaristaisstillworkingthemorningshift,andpastseveralotherclosedbusinesses—ausedbookstore,ahairsalon—untilI’mbackinEva’sneighborhoodagain.MybreathcomesfasterasImakemywayupthewindinghill,pastapartmentbuildingsandsmallhousesandduplexessimilartoEva’s.IpeerintothemasIpass—awomansittingatherdiningroomtable,feedingababyinahighchair.Amessy-hairedcollegestudent,eyespuffyandbarelyawake,staringouthiskitchenwindow.
AsIroundthecornerontoEva’sstreet,Icollidewithamanwalkingtowardme.Hegrabsmyarmtokeepmefromfalling.“Sorry,”hesays.“Areyouokay?”
Hehasdarkhair,withafewflecksofearlygray,buthedoesn’tlookmucholderthanme.Sunglassescoverhiseyes,andhewearsalongcoat,withaflashofcolorunderit.Darkpants,darkshoes.
“I’mfine,”Isay,andIlookbeyondhim,upEva’sstreet,wonderingwherehecamefrom,whetherhe’saneighborofEva’s.
“Beautifulmorningforacoffeeandawalk,”hesays.
Igivehimatightsmileandsteparoundhim,feelinghisgazepressagainstmybackuntilthestreetcurvesandI’moutfromunderit.
Itisn’tuntilI’veclosedandlockedthedoorbehindmethatitregisters.HowwouldheknowI’djustbeenforacoffeeandawalk?Ifeelaheavythumpofapprehensionpassthroughme,alowtremorthatleavesmeevenmoreunsettledandonedge.
***
Backinfrontofmycomputer,IcheckRory’semailandseeanewonefromtheNTSBthatheforwardedtoDanielle.ArequestforaDNAsampleandmydentalrecords.Hisdirectionsareshortandtothepoint:Handlethis.
Ilooktowardthewindow,brightmorninglightfloodingthroughit.Ifthey’rerecoveringbodies,it’sonlyamatteroftimebeforetheyfigureoutI’mnotthere.Andthatsomeonewhoisn’tsupposedtobeis.
ItoggleovertotheDocintimetocatchthetailendofaconversationbetweenRoryandBruce,andIhavetoscrolluptofindthebeginning.Butit’snotaboutthebodyrecoverylikeIexpected.It’saboutanemailthatarrivedlatelastnightfromsomeonenamedCharlie.
IcanpracticallyhearRory’ssharptone,theclippedwordsofhisdirections.
RoryCook:Thiswasdealtwithyearsago,withcash.YouneedtoremindCharliewhatcomingforwardwillcost.
Charlie?TheonlyCharlieIcanthinkofisCharlieFlanagan,asenioraccountantwiththefoundationwhoretiredtwoyearsago.Ireadtherestoftheirconversation,noticingRory’swordsagitatingupward,Bruce’sbecomingplacatingandconciliatory.Butit’sRory’sfinalcommentthatpuzzlesmethemost,becauseburiedinsidehisusualbullyingtoneisaflashofvulnerability.
RoryCook:Icannotaffordforthistocomeoutnow.Idon’tcarehowyoudealwithit.Orhowmuchit’llcostme.Justfixit.
IdoasearchofRory’sinboxforanyemailsfromCharlie.Therearemany,butnottheoneRoryandBrucearediscussing,andnothingrecent.AndasfarasIcantell,everyoneofCharlie’semailshaveatleasttwootherfoundationpersonnelcc’donthem.
Ipluginthethumbdriveandsearchthere,butallthatcomesupisthestandardnondisclosureagreementallemployeessign.SoIorganizethefoldercontainingthethousandsofdocumentsIcopiedfromhiscomputeralphabetically,focusingontheC’sandF’s.TheonlythingthatwouldhaveRoryscramblinglikethisisifCharlieknowsaboutsomekindoffinancialmissteporfabricationthatmightderailRory’srunforoffice.InformationshowingthatthegoldenchildofMarjorieCookisn’tsogoldenafterall.It’swhyIcopiedtheharddriveinthefirstplace.Likeabearinthewoods,youdon’thavetoseeonetoknowit’sthere.
ButmostofwhatI’mreadingisunrelated.Memosaboutnewtaxlaws.Quarterlyreports.Occasionally,mynamecropsupinstrategynotes.Clairemightbebetterhere,onesays,inreferencetoanopeningofadowntownartgallery.Iclickthroughdocuments,onebyone,butit’salljunk,uselessnoise,likelookingthroughsomeone’sgarbage.
Afteranhour,Igiveup.WhateverCharlieknowsthathasRoryspooked,I’mnotgoingtofindtheanswerssoeasily.Fornow,Ihavetobesatisfiedwithwatching.Waitingforthemtosaymore.
Eva
Berkeley,California
September
FiveMonthsbeforetheCrash
“Putonyourshoes,”LizsaidonesunnySaturdayinlateSeptember.“I’mtakingyoutoabaseballgame.”
Evaandherneighborattendabaseballgame.“Baseball?”Evaasked.
Lizsaid,“Notjustbaseball.TheGiants.Athome.”
“Weliveintheeastbay.Shouldn’twebegoingtoanA’sgame?”
Lizshrugged.“Mydepartmentchairhasseasontickets.Sheinvitedafewofus,andIaskedifIcouldbringafriend.”
InthethreeweekssinceEvahadbeenonhiatus,shehadbeenenjoyingherveryfirstvacation.WorkingextrashiftsatDuPree’sandspendingalotoftimewithLiz,shefeltthewaysheimaginedabookkeeperoranaccountantmightfeelonalong-overdueholiday,howtheymightforgetthespreadsheetsandfinancialrecordsafterafewweeksonthebeachsomewhere,theheatofthesunleachingthestressfromtheirbody.
ButthethreatofCastrowasneververyfarfromhermind.Shefoundherselfplayingtoanaudienceofone,walkingslower,laughinglouder,lingeringlonger.Shemadeitagame.EverytimeLizinvitedhertodosomething,shehadtosayyes.AtouroftheUCBotanicalGardens.AmovieandshoppingonSolanoAvenue,pizzaatZachary’safterward.Everyinvitation,anopportunitytoshowwhoeverwaswatchingthatshewasnoonespecial.
Theytalkedaboutphilosophy,politics,history.Evenchemistry.Evahadsharedthebarebonesofherownpast,whatitwaslikegrowingupatSt.Joe’s,stickingtothetruthwhenevershecould,tobetterkeeptrackofherlies.She’dmadeupastoryaboutwhyshe’dneverfinishedcollege—themoneyhaddriedupbecauseofaproblemwithherfinancialaid.ButthisallowedEvatotalkfreelyabouthertimeasastudentatBerkeley,andthetwoofthembondedoverwhatcampuslifewaslike.Thevariousquirksofthecommunity,theferociousrivalrywithStanford,traditionsthatwouldn’tmakesensetoanyonewhohadn’tlivedinsideofit.
“Doyouhaveafamilybackhome?”Evahadaskedoneevening.
“Mydaughter,Ellie,”Lizsaid,staringintotheflickeringflameofacandle.“Iraisedheronmyown—herfatherleftwhenshewasseven.”Lizhadsighedandlookeddownintoherwineglass.“Itwashardonbothofus,butnow,lookingback,Ithinkwe’rebetterforit.”Lizdescribedherex-husband’sexactingnature,theprecisewayhe’ddemandhissteaktobecooked,ortheunrealisticexpectationsheplacedonhisyoungdaughter.“I’mgladshedidn’thavetogrowupwiththatkindofrelentlesspressure.”
“Whereisshenow?”Evahadasked,curiousaboutthewomanwhowasluckyenoughtobeLiz’sdaughter.
“Sheworksforanonprofit.Longhours,rarelyadayoff.ShesubletherapartmentinthecitytohousesitformewhileI’minCalifornia,butI’mworriedshe’llisolateherselfoutthereinNewJersey,awayfromherfriends,”she’dsaid,givingEvaasheepishsmile.“Amother’sheartisalwaysworried.”
Evahadstaredather,wishingitweretrue.
Othertimes,EvawouldaskLizquestionsabouttheclassesshewasteachingandthensitbackandlethertalk.Lizwasagiftedteacher,abletomakecomplexconceptsseemsimple,anditwaslikebeingbackincollege.Maybebetter.Dex,whohadbeenadailypresenceinherlife,hadallbutdisappeared,replacedbythistalkative,diminutive,brilliantwomanfromPrinceton.
SowhenLizstoodbeforeheronthisbrightSeptemberSaturday,twobaseballticketsinherhand,Evawasreadytosayyesagain.Maybeevenhappyto.
“Sure,”shesaid.“Ijustneedaminute.”
SheleftLizinthelivingroomwhilesheracedupstairstochange.Assheslidherfeetintotennisshoes,sheglancedatherphoneandsawatextfromDex.
It’sfixed.Fwantsyoubacktoworkimmediately.PlantomeetatTildenMondaywithfullsupply.
ShestaredatthemessageuntiltheWhisprappmadeitfadeanddisappear.
Evasatdownhardonherbed,surprisedthatthefirstfeelingshehadwasn’treliefbutsadness.Thiswaswhatshe’dbeenwaitingfor.AllhertimewithLizhadbeentogetthisexactoutcome—Castrogone,andEvabacktowork.Butitfeltlikeanemptyvictory,oneshenolongerwanted,nowthatshehadit.Hergazeflickedtowardthedoorway,whereLizwaiteddownstairs,unawarethatshewasnolongernecessary.
ButEvawouldgotothegameandplaythepartalittlelonger.Shetossedherphoneontothedresser,harderthannecessary,surprisedbythesharpsounditmadeasitslidacrossthepolishedwoodandhitthewall.
***
TheytooktheBARTacrossthebay,walkingwithcrowdsofpeopletowardthestadium.Astheywaitedinline,Liznudgedhertowardaphotostation,wherepeoplecouldposenexttocutoutsofplayersEvadidn’trecognize.“Comeon,”shesaid.“It’llbefun.Mytreat.”
Evahesitated.Shewasn’tthekindofpersonwhohadherpicturetaken,asidefromschoolphotosthatnooneeverbought.Shecouldn’trememberatimeanyonehadpointedacameraatherandsaidSmile.ButEvawentalongwithit,asmallpartofhergladtohaveasouvenir.
Inside,theyfoundtheirseats,Liz’scolleaguesfromthepoliticalsciencedepartmentgreetingherwarmly.TherewasLiz’sclosestfriend,Emily,andherpartner,Bess,plustheirdepartmenthead,Vera.Evatooktheseatontheendandlettheirconversationflowaroundher—gossipaboutwhowasgettinggrantsandwhowasn’t,whowasgettingpublishedandwhowasn’t.Complainingaboutwhoalwaysburnedpopcornintheofficemicrowave.
ToEva,itwaslikegettingaglimpseintothelifeshe’doncedreamedshe’dhaveherself.Therehadbeenatime,beforeeverythingwentwrong,thatshe’dimaginedherselfaprofessoratBerkeley.DeliveringlecturesinGilmanHall.Supervisinggraduatestudents.Stridingacrosscampus,smilingagreetingasstudentssaidHey,Dr.James
Evafeltasharpstabofregret,surprisingheraftersomanyyearsofbelievingshe’dmadeherpeacewithhowthingsturnedout.Thatwasthefunnythingaboutregret.Itlivedinsideofyou,shrinkingdownuntilyoucouldalmostbelieveithadvanished,onlytohaveitspringup,fullyformed,calledforwardbypeoplewhomeantyounoharm.
Eventuallytheyturnedtheirattentiontowardthegame.Verakeptscore,talkingaboutplayerstatisticsandupcomingtrades,whiletherestofthemdebatedwhetherspittingsunflowershellswasanybetterthantobaccojuice.EvacheeredwhentheGiantsscored,drinkingabeerandeatingahotdog.ItwasasliceoflifeEvathoughtonlyexistedinmovies,thisideathateverythingcouldbesoperfect—thegrass,thesun,theplayersintheircrispwhiteuniforms,hittinghomerunsoverthefenceandintoSanFranciscoBay,whereaclusterofpeoplewithbaseballglovesinkayakswaitedtocatchoneofthem.
Rightbeforethesixthinning,Emilyleanedoverandsaid,“I’msogladyoucouldcometoday,Eva.Lizhasbeentalkingaboutyounonstopforweeks.”
ArippleofpleasurepassedthroughEva,butsheofferedhershyestsmile,theoneshereservedforbanktellersandpoliceofficers.“Thanksforinvitingme,”shesaid.
Lizwasquicktojumpin.“I’veseenalotofbrilliantmindsinmytime,butEva’sisoneofthesharpestI’veeverencountered,”shesaid.“Theothernight,shenearlyhadmeconvincedKeynesianeconomicsmightbebetterthanfreemarket.”
Emilylookedimpressed.“That’snosmallfeat.Wheredidyougotocollege?”
Evahesitated,imaginingthequestionsthey’dhaveifshesaidBerkeley.Whatwasyourmajor?Whowereyourprofessors?Whatyeardidyougraduate?DoyouknowDr.Fitzgerald?Andhowquicklyoneofthemwoulddiscoverthetruth—aninnocentcommentatthefacultyclub,someonequietlyrecountingherstory.Thechemistrydepartmentwassmall,andpeopledidn’tmoveonfromBerkeleytobetterjobselsewhere.Therewereprobablyseveralpeoplestilltherewhowouldrememberher.
Luckily,Lizmusthavesensedherdiscomfort.“ShestudiedchemistryatStanford,”shesaid,givingEvaatinysmile.“Trynottoholditagainsther.”
***
“Youdidn’thavetolieforme,”Evasaidlater,afterthey’dsaidgoodbyeandwerestrollingalongtheEmbarcadero,makingtheirwaybacktotheBARTstation.Theeveningairwasgentleonherskin,fainttracesoftheafternoonsunstillpresent.
Lizwavedherwordsaway.“They’reallabunchofaunties.Theywouldhavegivenyouatonofunwantedadviceaboutgoingbacktoschoolandfinishingyourdegree.Itwouldn’thavematteredtothemthatyou’resmartenoughtohavefiguredouthowtodothatifyouwantedto.”
Evathoughtaboutwhatwaswaitingforherontheothersideofthebay.Certainlynotthepossibilityofgoingbacktocollege.Thatwouldneverbeanoptionforher.UntilLizcamealong,Evahadbeenhappy.Butnowtherewasahungerrumblingdeepinsideofher,adesireformoretimewithLizandherfriends.Butnotasavisitorpassingthrough.Shewantedtobeapartofit,toliveinsideofit.Evawantedtocomplainaboutwhywomendidn’thavethekindofgrantopportunitiesthatmendid.Shewantedtofeelthethrillofannouncinganotherarticleplacedinapeer-reviewedjournal.Shewantedtobetheonewhoburnedpopcornintheofficemicrowave.
Theideaofresumingwork—thehiding,thelying,thevigilancethataccompaniedhereverytimesheleftthehouse—descended,pressingherintoatightknot,andagriefshehadn’tfeltsinceherexpulsionfromBerkeleyswirledaroundinsideofher,asapartofherbrainbegantomapoutwhatneededtobedone.Buymoreingredients.Cleantheequipment.StartsettingthestageforherwithdrawalfromLiz.She’dhavetostarttalkingaboutpickingupmoreshiftsattherestaurant,orperhapsinventaboyfriendwhowouldsoonconsumeherfreetime.
Butthere,inthedarkeningtwilight,thewaterofthebaylappingagainstthepierpilings,thelightsoftheBayBridgesparklinginagracefularcabovethem,shootinglikeanarrowintothedark,Evafelttheurgetorevealsomethingmoreofherself.TotellLizsomethingcompletelytrue.“Mylastfosterhomewasjustontheothersideofthathill,”EvatoldLiz,pointingwest,towardNobHill.
Lizlookedather.“Whathappened?”
CarmenandMarkhadbeentheclosestEvahadevercometohavingafamily.Whenshewaseight,thecouplehadcometoSt.Joe’s,interestedinadoptingayounggirl.Theywereaccompaniedbyhersocialworker,Mr.Henderson,apastymanwithwispyhairandabriefcasefulloffiles.Thewoman,Carmen,wasbrightandvibrant.WhenEvamether,sheseemedtoglowwithenergy.Carmen’shusband,Mark,wasmorereservedanddeferredtohiswife,keepinghiseyesdown.Evawonderedifhe,too,knewthatitwasbesttoalwaysholdapieceofhimselfseparatefromothers.
“CarmenandMark,”shetoldLiznow.“Atfirst,itwasgreat.Theypushedtogetmeintothegiftedprogramatschool.Boughtmetonsofbooks,clothes,tookmetomuseumsandthesciencecenter.”
“Theysoundwonderful.Whathappened?”
“Istartedstealing.Firstmoney,thenacharmbracelet.”
Lizgaveherasharplook.“Whatmadeyoudothat?”
Thiswasthetrickypart.EvawantedtoexplainittoLiz,tohelpherseeanessentialpartofwhoshewas.Thatshehaddepended,fromaveryearlyage,onbeingabletohidebehindacurtainoflies,nevertrustinganyoneenoughtoletthemseewhoshereallywas.
“Beingunwantedisaheavyburden,”shesaidquietly.“Youneverfullylearnhowtoengagewiththeworld.Toallowotherstoseeyou.”
Alargegroupofpeoplewalkedtowardthem,laughingandtalkingovereachother,andEvawaitedforthemtopass.Howcouldsheexplainthewayitmadeherfeel,tolistentothewayCarmenandMarkbraggedabouthowsmartshewas,howluckytheyweretohaveher?Ithadfeltliketheywerecoveringherinplasticwrap.Peoplecouldstillseeher,buttheessenceofwhoshewasgottrappedbeneaththeirexpectations,andsheworriedaboutwhatwouldhappenwhenthetruthseepedout.“Itwaseasiertopushthemaway,”Evafinallysaid.“Whentheylookedatme,theysawthechildofanaddict.EverythingIdid—goodorbad—wasviewedthroughthatlens,andaslongasIwaswiththem,thatwouldalwaysbemywhisperedstory.It’samazinghowmuchEvahasovercomeinsuchashorttime,orYoucanhardlyblameher,consideringwhatshe’sgonethrough.Ineededtoshowthemtheycouldn’tfixme.ThatIdidn’twanttobefixed.”
“Youwantedtobetheonetodefinewhoyouwere,”Lizsaid.ShelinkedherarmthroughEva’s,andEvaleanedintoher,lovingthesolidfeelofLiz’sshoulderagainstherown,wantingtodragthatmomentoutuntilinfinity,toneverdescendintotheBARTstation,toneverreturnacrossthebaytoheroldlife,staleandrottenatthecenter.“Andsoyoustayedattheconventuntilyougraduated?”sheasked.
Evanodded.“UntilIturnedeighteenandstartedatCal.”
Windwhippedupfromthebay,growingstrongerasitfunneledbetweenthetallbuildings,andEvahuggedherotherarmtightaroundher,thinkingaboutthefamilyshe’dalmosthad,ifshe’dbeenadifferentperson.Abetterperson.ButthatpossibilityhadfracturedlongbeforeCarmenandMarkshowedup.Crackeddownitscenter,thepiecesroughandjagged.She’dinsulatedherselffromthesharpestparts,butLizhadreachedinandgentlyunwrappedthem,showinghershedidn’tneedtobeafraidtothinkaboutherpast.Thatshecouldholdthepiecesinherhandswithouthurtingherself.Thatshecoulddosomethingwiththemifshewantedto.
Theywerequietastheydescendedthestairsandpassedthroughtheturnstileandontotheplatform.Thefaintsoundofafar-offtraincarriedthroughthedarktunnel,andEvapicturedthepeopleonthestreetabovethem,driving,walking,workinginthehigh-risebuildingsofthefinancialdistrict.Itwasamiraclethewholethingdidn’tcomecrashingdownontopofthem.
“Haveyoueverthoughtaboutlookingforyourbirthfamily?”
Evashookherhead.“AfterthingswentdownwithCarmenandMark,thenunsmadeanotherattempttoreunitemewiththem.”Shelookeddownthetunnel,lookingfortheirtrain,butallwasquiet.“Theysaidno.”
“It’spossibletheydidthebestthingtheycouldforyou.”
Evaknewthatwasprobablytrue,thatshewouldn’thavehadanykindoflifegrowingupwithanaddict,butthatknowledgesatalongsidetherejection—itdidn’tcancelitout.“Idon’tknowthatI’llevertrulyforgivethem,”shesaid.
Lizshookherhead.“Youdon’tknowwhattheyweredealingwithatthetime.Yourmother’sproblemsprobablytookupeveryinchofspaceinsideofthem.Icanonlyimaginewhatkindofhellthatmusthavebeen.”SheglanceddownattheplatformandthenbackatEva.“Youcan’tblamethemforknowingtheirlimits.Evenifthoselimitsincludedyou.”
Thesignabovethemflashedwiththeirtrainnumber,andbeneathherfeetEvacouldfeeltherumblingofitsarrival.Lizplacedahandonherarmandsaid,“Look.Obviously,youknowwhat’sbestforyou.ButIsenseanunhappiness,aholethatmakesyouholdyourselfapartfromtherestoftheworld.AndIhatetoseeyouhurting.Seekingthemoutdoesn’tmeanexpectingahappyending.Idon’tthinkthat’swhyyoushoulddoit.Butinformationispower.Andonceyouholdit,yougettodecidewhattodowithit.That’sallIwantforyou.”
TheywaitedinsilenceasEvaconsideredherwords,turningthemoverinhermind.Shewonderedwhatitwouldbeliketoknowpeoplewhowererelatedtoher.Wholookedlikeher.Whocarriedfamilymemoriesandknewwheretheygottheirsharpnosesortheirblondhair.She’dneverhadthatkindofconnectionwithanyone.
Lizcontinued,hervoicelow.“Youaren’ttheonlyadoptedchildtowantanswersfromherbiologicalfamily.”
“Iwasneveradopted.”
Lizclosedhereyesbriefly,thenopenedthem,turningtofaceEva.“I’msorry.You’reright,andthisisnoneofmybusiness.”
“Look,Iappreciatewhatyou’resaying.Ireallydo.Butthatkindofrejectiondoessomethingtoaperson.Itbreaksyou,allthewaydowntoyourcore.Andmakesitimpossibletobevulnerable.Toopenyourselfuptoanyone.”
LizlookedatEva,hergazesteadyandknowing,forcingEvatolookaway.Justthen,thetrainpulledintothestationandpeoplepressedinonthemfrombehind,pushingthemforwardandthroughtheopeningdoors.
***
OntheirwaybacktoBerkeley,shestudiedLiznexttoher,theshortwhitehairandregalsetofhershoulders,andthoughtaboutwhatLizwassuggesting.Evaimaginedherbirthfamilyoutthere,tryingtoforgetwhatthey’dleftbehind—thepainofanaddictdaughter,thegranddaughterthey’dsacrificedinordertosaveher.Andwhatwouldtheygetifsheshowedup?Moreheartache.Morepain.Areminderthatthey’dbeenrighttogiveherupwhentheydid.
WhatEvadidwasworsethananythinghermotherhadeverdone.Hermotherhadadisease.Evawasjustadrugdealerwhobarelyblinkedattheideaofhavinganineteen-year-oldbeatentoabloodypulpoverafewhundreddollars.Evapicturedherphoneathome,waitingtoyankherbackdown.PullingherawayfromLiz,whohadnoideawhatkindofapersonEvareallywas.
Thetrainrumbledandswayed,herearspoppingastheydroppedbelowthebay,thelightsflickeringandcreatingdimshadowsaroundthem,thinkingaboutthenextdaywhenshe’dhavetorolltheshelfinherkitchenasideandgetbacktowork,andshefeltthebeginningtendrilsoftensiontakerootandstarttospreadoutward.Shewishedshecouldturnbacktime,gobacktothatmorningwhenLizstoodinherdoorwayinfusedwithanexcitementthatnearlyfilledherup.Ormaybeearlier.TothatafternoonatTildenwaitingforBrittany.Tohavelistenedtoherinstinctsandgonehome.GottenreadytoworkhershiftatDuPree’s,farremovedfromAgentCastroandBrittany’scollaboration.Ormaybeevenfurtherstill,tothesidewalkoutsideherdorm,sayingnothankstoDex.SayingnothankstoWade.Thatwastheproblemwithwishes.Theyalwaysledtoothers.Biggerones.Trailingbackintime,knotafterknotneedingtobeuntangled,nevernoticinghowtheywrappedaroundyouuntiltheypulledyoudown.
Butasshestaredatherdimreflectioninthedarktrainwindow,Evawasstruckwithathoughtsoclear,sopure,itsentashiverthroughher.I’mnotgoingtodothisanymore.
Animpossiblewish.FishandDexwouldneverletherwalkaway.Notjustbecauseofwhatshecoulddo,butalsowhatsheknew.Eventhoughshewascompartmentalized,shestillknewtoomuch.
CouldIfindoutmore?
Castro’spresencehadfeltlikeathreat.Butshesawnowhowitcouldalsobeanopportunity.ThechancetobecomethepersonLizsawwhenshelookedatEva.Shefingeredthephotoofthetwoofthemattheentrancetothestadium,alreadylookinglikearelicfromanothertime.Asthetrainroseagainontheeastsideofthebayandoutsidelightfilledtheircaragain,Evafeltitslipintoher,creatingspacewheretherehadbeendarkness,hopewheretherehadbeendespair.
Evawoulddowhatwasexpectedofher—she’dgobacktowork,she’ddeliverthedrugs—butunderneathitall,she’ddowhatshedidbest:She’dwatch.Andwait.Andexploiteveryone’scomplacency.BecausesheknewwithoutadoubtCastrowouldbeback.AndthistimeEvawouldbereadyforhim.
Claire
Friday,February25
AtthecoffeeshopFridaymorning,IwanderovertothejobboardwhileIwaitformycoffee.MytentativeplanistotakeEva’ssocialsecuritycard,herbirthcertificate,andanyotherrelevantdocumentsandmovesomewhereelse.WhichwillrequiremoremoneythanthethreehundredfiftydollarsIhaveleft.
ThereareplentyofminimumwagejobsI’mqualifiedtodo—dataentry,waitingtables,orevenworkinginacoffeeshop—butIfeelparalyzedwithfear,constantlyweighingtherisksagainstthebenefitsofapplying.ItwouldmeancommittingtobeingEvainaveryrealandpublicway.There’sadifferencebetweenusinghernametoorderacoffeeandwritinghernameandsocialsecuritynumberonaW-2form.
AndwhateverEvawasrunningfromtumblesaroundinmymind,ariptideofquestionsthatpullmeinunforeseeabledirections.Icanneverworkajobrequiringabackgroundcheck.Iwillalwayshavetobeonthemove,neversettling,alwayswonderingwhenEva’spastwillfinallycrashintome.
Throughthewindow,studentsarebeginningtomaketheirwaytoclass.Acrowdofthememergesfromabus,somecarryingcoffeecupsandwearingearbuds,whileotherslooktiredanddrawn,uptooearlyonaFridaymorning.
Whenthey’vedispersed,Iseehimagain.Themanfromyesterday,standingonthecorner,waitingtocrossthestreet.Hewearsthesamelongwoolcoat,withapapertuckedunderhisarm,asifhe’sheadingtowork.Istareathim,tryingtofigureoutwhatitisabouthimthatbothersme.He’sjustamanonhiswaysomewhere.ThelongerIstayatEva’s,themorefamiliarthepeopleintheneighborhoodwillbecome.
Butasthelightchanges,helooksoverhisshoulder,directlyatme,asifheknewIwouldbehere,watchinghim.Oureyeslock,andIfeeltheweightofhisgaze,curiousandsearching.Heliftshishandinasilentsalute,meantjustforme,beforehecrossesthestreet,disappearingontocampus.
“Eva?”thebaristasays.
Iturn,stillsurprisedIhadthenervetogiveherthename.Itfeltlowstakes,touseitonacoffeebaristawhoseemedmoreintunewiththelocalbandsthanthenationalnews.
“Lookingforajob?”Shepassesmemydripcoffee,thecheapestitemonthemenu.
“Sortof,”Isay,handinghertwodollars.
Sheraiseshereyebrowsasshegivesmemychange.“Youeitherareoryouaren’t.”
“Iam.”Iturnawayfromher,doctoringmycoffeewithenoughcreamandsugartofillmeupforafewhours.Idon’tknowhowtotellherthatI’mdesperateforwork,thatI’mterrifiedIwillrunoutofmoneyandbestuckhereforever
“Iworkpart-timeforacaterer,”shesays,wipingdownthecounternexttothecoffeemachine.“He’salwayslookingforextrapeopletobeservers.Youinterested?”
Ihesitate,tryingtodecidewhetherIhavethenervetosayyesornot.
Sheglancesatmeandcontinueshercleaning.“Itpaystwentydollarsanhour.And”—shegivesmeaslygrin—“hepaysunderthetable.”
Itakeasipofcoffee,feelingthehotliquidscaldthebackofmythroat.“Hewouldhiresomeonehenevermet?”
“He’sactuallydesperateforbodies.He’sgotahugepartythisweekendandtwoofhisserversflakedbecausetheyhavesomekindofsororitymeeting.”Sherollshereyesandtossestheragintothesinkbehindher.“Ifitgoeswell,itcouldbearegularthing.”
I’veorganizedhundredsofcateredevents—bothbigandsmall—andwonderwhatitwouldfeelliketoworkbehindthescenes.TobeoneoftheanonymouspeopleIbarelynoticedwhenIwashostinganevent.“WhatwouldIhavetodo?”
“Settables.Carrytraysoffood.Smileatbadjokes.Andcleaneverythingup.Theeventbeginsatseven,butwestartatfour.MeetmehereonSaturdayatthreethirty.Wearblackpantsandawhitetop.”
Iquicklydothemath.Twentydollarsanhour,underthetable,willearnmeclosetotwohundreddollarsforonenight’swork.
“Okay,”Isay.
“Myname’sKelly,”shesays,holdingherhandouttoshake.Hergripisfirmandcool.
“Nicetomeetyou,Kelly.Andthanks.”
Shesmiles.“Nothanksnecessary.Youseemlikesomeonewhocoulduseabreak.Iknowalittlesomethingaboutthat.”
BeforeIcansayanythingelse,shepassesthroughtheswingingdoorsintothebackandI’mleftstandingthere,amazedatmygoodfortune.
***
It’sonlyseveninthemorning,andtheideaofgoingstraightbacktoEva’sandhidingoutfortherestofthedaymakesmefeeltwitchy.Soinstead,IwalkacrosscampusandovertoTelegraphAvenue.Istandoutsidethestudentunion,watchingpeoplemovethroughtheintersectionandtowardwhereveritisthey’regoing,unawareofhowluckytheyaretohavetheprivilegeofeasyconversationwithothers.Todebate,orlaughtogetheratajoke.Toshareameal,andmaybelater,apillow.AndIfeelthetugtobeoneofthem,justforalittlewhile.
Icrossthestreet,keepingmyheadangleddownandmyhandsshoveddeepintoEva’scoatpockets.Aroundme,panhandlersaskformoney,peopletrytohandmeflyersadvertisingbands,butIshakemyheadandkeepwalking.
IcatchflashesofmyreflectioninshopwindowsasIwalk,andIstopinfrontofaclothingstoreandstareatmyself.WithmyshortblondhairpokingoutofthebottomofmycapandEva’scoat,it’slikelookingataghost.Peopleswirlonthesidewalkbehindme—laughingstudents,homelesspeople,aginghippies—butallIseearestrangersIcanneverknow.Iwillneverhavethefreedomtositdownandopenmyselfuptosomeoneelse,neverbeabletotalkfreelyaboutmymotherandViolet,aboutwhoIamandwhereI’mfrom.ThisisthelifeIhaveaheadofme.Alwaysbeingalert.Aware.Holdingthemostimportantpartsofmyselfback.
Iwaitforalargegroupofstudentsheadingbacktowardcampusandjointhem,walkingcloseenoughtogivemyselftheillusionthatI’mapartofthem.ThatI’mnotstrandedinthisnewlifealone.Ifollowthemacrossthebusystreetthatborderscampus,peelingoffastheymaketheirwayintothestudentunion.Icanwalkamongthem,butIwillneverbeoneofthemagain.
***
Onmywaybacktothehouse,Istopoffatasupermarkettopickupafewbasics.Igrabahandbasketandfindthecheapstaplesmymotherusedtobuy—off-brandbreadandpeanutbutter,alargegrapejelly.Iskipherotherfavorites—rice,beanssimmeredinwaterwithonionandgarlic.Idon’twanttobeherelongenoughforleftovers.
Inthecheckoutline,myeyesdrifttowardthemagazinerack,andthereitisonthecoverofStarsLikeUsmagazine—aglossytabloidsomewherebetweenPeopleandUsWeekly.“TheCrashofFlight477:HeartbreakasFamiliesTrytoPickUpthePieces.”Andintheupperrightcorner,surroundedbyotherswhowereontheflight,ismypicture.ThecaptionreadsWifeofphilanthropistRoryCookamongthevictims
ThephotohadbeentakenatagalaattheMetacoupleyearsago.Iwaslaughingatsomethingsomeonehadsaidoffcamera.Buteventhoughthere’sasmileonmyface,myeyeslookempty.Iunderstandbetterthanmosthowsecretscanliveonyourskinandhowhardtheyaretohide,becausethetruthisalwaysvisiblesomehow.
Ilaythemagazinefacedownontheconveyorbeltandreadthecoversofthemorescandaloustabloids.Roryhasn’tbeencoveredlikethissinceMaggieMoretti.“RoryRavagedbyGriefSeeksSolaceinMysteryWoman”readsone,withapictureofRoryandawomanI’veneverseenbefore.Withajolt,Irealizethatsomeday,Rorywillfallinloveagain,andapartofmefeelsguiltyforwalkingawayandleavingthattrapopenforsomeoneelse.
“Howyoudoingtoday?”thecheckerasksasshebeginsscanningmygroceries.
“Great,thanks,”Isay,myvoicequietandstrained,hopingtopayquicklybeforeshetakestoomuchnoticeofme.Iholdmybreathasshefinishesandbeginstobageverything,tossingthemagazineinwithoutasecondglance.IremindmyselfthatIdon’tlooklikethatwomananymore.Someonewouldhavetostudymyfeaturesclosely,theshapeofmyeyes,thefrecklepatternsacrossmycheeks,inordertoseeit.IlooklikeEva.Iwearherclothes.Carryherpurse.Liveinherhouse.Thewomanonthecoverofthatmagazinedoesn’texistanymore.
***
Backhomeagain,Isetthegroceriesdownanddiveintothemagazine.ArollinguneasepassesthroughmeasIlookatthesmilingfacesofpeoplewhoweren’tasluckyasIwas.IforcemyselftoimagineapictureofEva,staringbackatmefromthepage,thewaysheappearsinmymemory,frozenintime,determined,hopeful.Andduplicitous.
It’safour-pagespread,withfull-colorphotographsofthecrashsite.Thearticleisalmostallhumaninterest,dissectingthevictims’lives,interviewingbereftlovedones.Anewlywedcoupleembarkingontheirhoneymoon.Afamilyofsix—theyoungestonlyfouryearsold—takingalong-awaitedtriphome.TwoteachersontheirwaysomewherewarmerfortheirannualFebruarybreak.Allofthemlovely,vibrantsoulsextinguishedinwhatwasprobablyalongandterrifyingdescentintotheocean.
IsavethefeatureaboutmeandRoryforlast.He’ssentthemapicturefromourwedding,staringintoeachother’seyes,abackgroundoftwinklelightsandshadow.AmongthevictimswasthewifeofNewYorkphilanthropistRoryCook,sonofthelateSenatorMarjorieCook.Hiswife,Claire,wastravelingtoPuertoRicotoassistwithhurricanereliefefforts.“Clairewasashininglightinmylife,”Cooksaid.“Shewasgenerous,funny,andkind.Shemademeabetterman,andIwillbeforeverchangedbyhavinglovedher.”
Isit,tryingtoreconcilethewordswiththemanIknew.Identityisastrangething.Arewewhowesayweare,ordowebecomethepersonotherssee?Dotheydefineusbywhatwechoosetoshowthem,orwhattheyseedespiteourbestattemptstoconcealit?Rory’swordsalongsideahappyweddingphotographpaintonepicture,butthepeoplereadingthismagazinecan’tseewhathewaslikebeforeorafteritwastaken.Andthereareclues,ifyouknowwheretolook.They’rethere,inthewayhegripsmyelbow,intheangleofhishead,thewayheleansforwardandIleanback.
Irememberthatmoment,notbecauseitwaswonderful,butbecauseofwhathappenedshortlybeforehand.I’dwanderedovertothesideoftheroomtotalktoJim,oneofmyformercolleaguesfromChristie’s.I’dbeenlaughing,myhandonJim’sarm,whenRoryjoinedus,interruptingJim’sstorywithahardstare.
“Smile,”I’dchidedRory.“It’ssupposedtobeahappyday.”
Instead,Rorywrappedhishandaroundmywrist,squeezingitsohardInearlycriedout.“Ifyou’llexcuseus,”hesaidtoJim,“we’reneededacrosstheroomforsomephotographs.”Hisvoicewassmooth,givingJimnocluethatanythingwaswrong,butIknew,inthewayhegrippedmywrist,inthesteelsetofhismouth,inthenarrowingofhiseyes,thatmyflippantcommentwassomethingI’dpayforlater.
Icaughtmycollegeroommatewatchingusfromacrosstheroom,wheresheandafewotherfriendswereseatedneartheDJ’stable,andIgaveherawidesmile,hopingtoconvinceherthateverythingwaswonderful.ThatIhadn’tjustmarriedamanwhowasbeginningtoterrifyme.
RorydemandedIremainbyhissidefortherestofthereception.Hemadetheroundsoftheroom,charmingguests,crackingjokes,butneverspeakingaworddirectlytome.Itwasn’tuntilwewereintheelevator,onourwayuptoourlavishsuite,thatheturnedtomewithiceinhiseyesandsaid,“Neverhumiliatemelikethatagain.”
Istareatthephotoofmyself,barelyrecognizingthewomaninit,andmyfingertracesthecontoursofherface.IwishIcouldtellherthateverythingwasgoingtobeokay.Thatshe’dgetoutinthemostextraordinaryway,andallsheneededtodowashangon.
***
Afteraquickpeanutbutterandjellysandwich,Isettleinfrontofmycomputeragain,clickingovertochecktheDoc.It’sblank,butInoticethatRoryhasbeenworkingonmyeulogy.Iopenitandstarttoread.
Mywife,Claire,wasanincrediblewomanwholivedanextraordinarylifeofserviceandsacrifice.
Icringe.Thepullquotefromthemagazinecarriedmoreemotion.Thismakesmesoundlikeanoctogenarianwhohasdiedpeacefullyinhersleepafteralongandproductivelife.NotthevibrantpersonIwas—andstillam.AndIwonder,whatwouldIlikeRorytosayinstead?
IwasincrediblyhardonClaire—muchmoresothanshedeserved.IknowIscaredher.Isometimeshurther.Ilovedherinabrokenandwarpedwaythatmadeitimpossibleforustotrulybehappy.ButClairewasagoodperson.Astrongperson.Ishakemyhead.Eveninmyimagination,Ican’tmakeRorysaywhatIneedhimtosay.
I’msosorry,Claire.WhatIdidtoyouwaswrong.
Buttheeulogyonthescreeninfrontofmedoesn’tsayanyofthat.IttalksaboutmychildhoodinPennsylvaniaandgoesontodescribemycharitywork,themanylivesItouched,thepeopleI’veleftbehind.Evenhere,Ifeelalackofanyrealgrieforregret.Butperhapsthat’sallIwastohim.Thewifefromhumblebeginnings.Thewifewhotragicallylostherfamily.Thewifewhowassuccessfulintheartworlduntilshegaveituptojoinherhusband’scharitablefoundation.Andnow,thewifewhodiedtooyoung.Itreadsliketheplotpointsofasecondarycharacterinanovel,notmylife.
IimaginemyformercolleaguesfromChristie’s,sittinginabackcornerofthechurchatmyfuneral.PeopleIhaven’tspokentoinyears,thankstoRory’sisolation.Howmanywillactuallyshowup?Four?Two?Inmanyways,IfeellikeIdiedalongtimeago.Nothingofmyformerselfremains.Thepersoninthiseulogyisastranger.
Justthen,Rory’semailpingswithanewmessage,andItoggleovertohisinbox.It’sfromthedirectoroftheNTSB,andthepreviewsendsachillzippingdownmyspine.
DearMr.Cook,Iwantedtofollowuponourearlierconversationregardingthesectionoftheplanewhereyourwife…
I’mtemptedtoopenit,readit,andthenmarkitUnread.Ineedtoknowhowthatsentenceends.ButIforcemyselftowait.
Istandandpacetheroom,nevertakingmyeyesfromthescreen,silentlyurgingRorytocheckhisemail.Finally,afterfifteenminutes,themessageshiftstoread,andIimmediatelyracebacktothedesktoclickonit.
DearMr.Cook,Iwantedtofollowuponourearlierconversationregardingthesectionoftheplanewhereyourwifewasseated.I’vejustbeeninformedthatdespitetherelativelyintactconditionofthefuselage,recoveryworkersreportthatyourwife’sseatwasempty.Wewillcontinuetoprioritizetherecoveryofherremains,andIwillupdateyouonanynewdevelopments.
Alltheairleavesmylungsinawhite-hotrush,everythingI’dbelievedshiftingandturningintosomethingcompletelydifferent.
Rory’sreplypopsupbelowthisemailimmediately.
Whatdoesthismean?Whereisshe?
Isitbackinmychair,Rory’squestionsaboutwhatmighthavehappenedtomybodytumblingaroundinmymind,evolvingintoquestionsabouthowEvacouldhavepulleditoff.Whoelseshemanipulated,andwhereshemighthavegone.Apartofmeisn’tsurprisedatall.Awomanwholiesaboutkillingherhusband,amanwhodoesn’tevenexist,iscertainlycapableofthis.
Afterafewminutes,areplyarrives.
Untilwerecovertheblackboxandgetmoredetailsaboutthecrash,it’simpossibleformetospeculate.Therecouldbeanynumberofreasonswhyyourwifewasn’twhereweexpectedhertobe.Iapologize,andaskforyourpatience.Reconstructingeventsofacrashtakestime.Itwillbeawhilebeforewehaveanyanswers.
Iseeitallagain,thatflashofpinkatthenewsconference.Forthefirsttime,Iletmyselfseriouslyconsiderthepossibilitythatsomehow,despitebeingscanned,Evadidn’tgetonthatplane.
Eva
Berkeley,California
September
FiveMonthsbeforetheCrash
Let’sswitchitupandmeetatChávezPark.
EvahopedhertexttoDexwouldgivetheimpressionshewasfeelingjumpy.Scared.
CésarChávezParkwasagiantstretchofgrassthatsatdirectlyontheSanFranciscoBaywithapaththattraveledaroundtheperimeter.Onweekendsitwascrowdedwithfamiliesflyingkites,joggers,andlotsofdogs.Butattwoo’clockonaTuesdayinlateSeptember,itwasdeserted.EvafoundDexsittingonabench,hisbacktothesweepingviewsofthebay,handsshovedinhispockets.Whenhesawher,hestood.
“Let’swalk,”shesuggestedwhenshereachedhim.
EvagrippedherpurseclosetohersideandremindedherselfthatDexwasjustaregularperson.Hecouldn’treadmindsorpeerthroughthesideofherpurseandseethevoice-activatedrecordershe’ddroppedintherebeforesheexitedhercar,theredRecordbuttonilluminated.Allhesawwasascaredwomaninfrontofhim.Thatwouldbeheradvantage.Italwayshadbeen.
Evawaspreparing,thewayothersmightprepareforanaturaldisaster,storingfoodandwater,mappingtheirexitroutes,packingtheiremergencykits.Castrowouldreturn,andEvawouldcastherownnet,tradingtheinformationshealreadyknewandtheinformationshewouldsoonfindoutforanewidentity.Anewlifeinanewtown.Castrocouldgiveherabackstorythatdidn’tincludedrug-addictmothers,fosterhomes,andexpulsion.Shecouldwipetheslateclean.Butfirst,she’dhavetowalkarazor’sedgeandhopeshedidn’tslipup.
Together,theybeganalaparoundtheparkonthecementpath.Atall,grassyhillroseinthecenterofit,blockingtheirviewoftheBerkeleyHillsandmarina.“Sowhatdoyouhaveforme?”heasked.
Evacrossedherarmsagainstthewindthatwhippedupoffthebayandsaid,“Tellmethetruth.Isitreallyover?”
“Itoldyou,Fishtookcareofit.”
Evalookedathim,incredulous.“Howcanyoupossiblythinkthatwouldbeenoughforme?Theytargetedme.Followedmetomyhouse.”Hervoicerose,tremblingwithemotion.“Don’tfuckingtellmeFishtookcareofitandexpectmetorollover.”
Longago,whenshewasagirlinthegrouphome,Evadiscoveredthatbigfeelingsmademostpeopleuncomfortable,andshelearnedhowtouseangerorsadnesstoturnupthepressure,tomaneuverpeopleintoapositionwheretheironlydesirewastomaketheemotiongoaway.Tostopthetears.Tofixthefear.Toplacatetheanger.Dexwasnodifferent.AndEvadidn’thavetoreachtoodeeptofindthefear,tomakeacompellingcaseforwhyshemightneeddetailstoreassureher.
Inthedistance,twowomenwalkedtowardthemonthepath,deepinconversation,andEvacontinued.“EverywhereIgo,IwonderifI’mbeingfollowed.Themaninlinebehindme,thewomanonherphone…”Evagesturedtowardthetwowomen,closernow.“Eventhem.HowdoIknowtheydon’tworkforCastro?”
Dextookherarmandpulledhercloser,hissing,“Calmdown,Eva.Fuck.”
Theysteppedtothesideandletthewomenpass,andwhentheywereoutofearshotagain,Evasaid,“Sotellme.Whatdoesitmean,‘Fishtookcareofit’?How?Becausethere’sadifferencebetweenadutyofficerlosingsomepaperworkandasergeantorlieutenantcallingoffafederalinvestigation.”
InformationabouthowFish’speopleoperatedinsidethedepartmentwasn’tEva’sendgoal.Itwouldbeuseful,butEvawasusingittowarmDexup.Togethimtostarttalking.Likeacrackinawall,itwouldgrowwiderwithtimeandpressure.
Dexlookedawayfromher,hisvoicelow,andEvasteppedclosertohim.“Thewomanyoumetintheparkwasfreelance,”hesaid.“Yourinstinctsweren’twrong.Shewasanaddict,tryingtocurryfavorinexchangeforalightersentence.Fish’speopleinsidethedepartmenthavesuccessfullyneutralizedherasasource.Becauseyoudidn’tsellheranything,andnomoneyexchangedhands,theyhavenothingtogoon.They’regone.”
They’dresumedtheirslowstroll,shouldertoshoulder,thewindnowattheirbacks,thegreenhillsofBerkeleyrisinginthedistance.EvapickedouttheCampanile,thestadium,andthewhiteshapeoftheClaremontHotel,andletDexthinkshewasabsorbingwhathetoldher.“Sowhathappenedtoher?”
“Noclue,”Dexsaid.“Jailorrehab,probably.”
Evaturnedtofacehim,placingahandonhisforearm.“Look,youknowme.I’mnotpronetohysteria.Butthere’snowayI’mhandingoverdrugsoutintheopenlikethis.Notuntilthingssettledown.”
Dex’seyesnarrowed.“Youhaveanobligation.Youdon’tgettosettheterms.”
“IthinkIdo,”Evasaid.“I’mtheonewiththeskills.”
Dexpeereddownather,angerradiatingoffhim.“Thisisn’tafuckinggame.Brittanymightbedealtwith,butitisn’tover.Nowthecleanupstarts,thedeconstructionofwhathappened.Whoelsewasinvolved,whattheyknew,andwhen.Youbeingdifficultrightnowputsmeatrisktoo.”
Theywalkedinsilenceforafewminutes,thewindwhippingandgrabbingtheedgesofhercoat,beforeEvaaskedhernextquestion.“WhathappenedtothechemistFishhadbeforeme?”Dexlookedather,surprised.“Youtoldmehewasleavingthebusiness.Butthatwasn’tentirelytrue,wasit?”
“Herefusedtodowhathewastold,”Dexfinallysaid.“Idon’twantthesametohappentoyou.”
AgainEvaletthepanicshefeltbubbletothesurface,whereDexcouldseeit,andpressedherlipstogether,asifshewerebattlingtostaycalm.“Thatbodyyoushowedmeatthemotel?Wasthathim?”
Dexshookhishead.“No,thatwassomeoneelse.Thechemistwasgonebeforeyouevencameonboard.”Heloweredhisvoice,andEvasteppedclosertocatchwhathe’dsaynext.“You’vegottopullittogether.Formeaswellasyourself.Thisishowmistakesaremade.”
Evanodded,asifsheweremakingherpeacewithhowthingsweregoingtobe.Shehadenoughfornow.They’dreachedtheouteredgeofthepark,withnothingbutblackasphaltlitteredwithtrashbetweenthemandhercar,andshereachedintoherpocketandpulledoutanenvelope.“FootballticketsforthisSaturday,”sheexplained.“We’retakingthingsin-housefornow.”
In-housewasatermsheandDexusedwhentheyfeltitwastooriskyforEvatopasshimhisweeklysupplyinaparkorrestaurant.Manyyearsago,Evahadbegunbuyingseasonticketstofootballandbasketball,thoughsherarelyusedthem.Butthepurchasealsoincludedaccesstoeliteclub-levelvenuesthatgaveitsmembersasenseofentitlementandsecurity.Accesstoplacesanundercovercopcouldn’teasilyfollowthem.
Atthispoint,shecouldn’tstopmakingdrugsforFish.ButifCastrowasstillwatching,shewasn’tgoingtodoanythingtoincriminateherselfuntilshehadsomethingtoofferhim.
Dexslippedtheticketsintohiscoatandputhisarmaroundhershoulders,pullingherclose.“Whateveryouneedtogetthejobdone.”
Claire
Friday,February25
Recoveryworkersreportthatyourwife’sseatwasempty.
IstareatthatlinefromtheNTSB,tryingtomakesenseofit,mymindleapingbetweentwocompetingquestions—couldEvahavesomehowgottenofftheplane,andwhatmightRorydowhenrecoveryworkerstellhimthereisn’tanytraceofme
IopenanewtabinmybrowserandGoogleRecoveryofremainsinaplanecrash,ocean.AtleasttwentyarticlespopupaboutthecrashofFlight477,allofthemwritteninthelastfourdays.“TheLatest:SearchersRecoverRemainsandDebris.”Anotheroneistitled“VistaAirlinesCrash:Flight477GoesDownofftheCoastofFlorida.”Itrysomethingelse.Howarehumanremainsrecoveredafteraplanecrash?Again,Igetalongstringofarticlesupdatingthesearchandrecoveryefforts,outliningVista’spoorsafetyrating,speculationastothecauseofthecrash,butnothingthatwilltellmewhatIneedtoknow—whethertheywillbeabletodefinitivelysayIwasn’tthere,orwhetherit’spossiblethattheycan’trecovereveryone.
Andthebiggerquestion:HowcouldEvahavegottenoffthatplane?Itrytoimagineherouttheresomewhere,usingmynameasI’musinghers,flashingmydriver’slicensetocheckintohotels.Orperhapsshesoldittheminuteshelandedsomewhereelse.IpaidNicotenthousanddollarsformyAmandaBurnsdocuments.Ihavenoideawhatarealdriver’slicensewouldsellfor.MaybeidentitytheftwasEva’ssidebusiness,howshepaidcashforaduplexinBerkeley.
IturntoGoogleagain.Canyouscanontoaflightbutnotgetonit?Ifindathreadonadiscussionboardwheresomeoneiswonderingiftheycandothisinordertogetenoughmilestobumpthemuptothenextfrequentflierlevel.Butresponsesarenotencouraging:
Nowaytogetaroundthefinalheadcount.Ifitdoesn’tmatch,everyonedeplanesandtheyruneveryonethroughsecurityagain.There’snowaytoachievethatwithoutscrewingyourselfandeveryotherpassengerontheplane.
Anotherresponsereads
It’simpossibletohaveyourboardingpassscannedandthennotgetontheflightThinkaboutit.YougetscannedaboutsixfeetfromtheJetway.Youthinkaflightattendantisgoingtoscanyourpass,thenwatchyouwalkaway?Thisentirethreadisstupidandawasteofmentalenergy.
Right.Theheadcount.Evahadtohavegottenonthatflight.
I’mstartledbythebuzzingofEva’sphoneonthedesknexttome.AcallfromPrivateNumber.Istareatthebrightscreenasitringstwotimes.Three.Four.Ipicturemyselfansweringit.PretendingtobeEva.Askingquestionsthatmightleadtoanswersaboutwhoshereallywas.Whatshedid.Whyshemightapproachastrangerinanairportbarwithanoutrageousstoryaboutadyinghusband.Thebuzzingstops,andsilencefillstheroomagain.Afteraminute,thescreenlightsupwithanewvoicemail.IpunchinthenewcodeIsettheotherdayandlisten.
It’sawoman’svoiceontheotherend.Hi,it’sme.Checkingintoseehowitwent.Ifyou’reokay.IthoughtI’dhearfromyoubynow,socallme.
That’sit.Noname.Nocallbacknumber.Ilistentothemessageagain,tryingtograbatanydetails—theageofthewoman,anybackgroundnoisethatmighttellmewhereshe’scallingfrom—butthere’snothing.
MymotheroncetookVioletandmeonatriptothebeachinMontauk.Shegaveeachofusanemptyeggcarton,tellingustofillthespaceswithtreasures.VioletandIwalkedformiles,searchingforseaglassandintactshellsthatlookedblackontheoutside,butwhenyouturnedthemoverrevealedthepearlypinkofcottoncandyandballetslippers,orthepurplyblueofmusicboxesandbabyblankets.Wesortedourtreasuresbytype,bycolor,andwhenwe’dfilledourcartons,wereturnedtotherentalhousetoshowourmother.
TryingtofigureoutEva’slifeisliketryingtofilloneofthosecartons.Somespacesarefilledwiththingsthatdon’tmakesense—aprepaidcellphoneleftbehind.Alackofanypersonalitems.Ahousepaidforincash.Awoman,waitingforaphonecallfromEva,inquiringabouthowthingswent.Andothersarestillempty,waitingtoconnectitall.Tomakesenseofeverything.
Aheavinessdescends.Thisisn’thowIthoughtitwouldbe.Maybeitwasnaive,butIneverconsideredthestressoftryingtolivealie.IonlythoughtofhowitwouldfeeltobefreeofRory.
AndhereIam.I’mfree,butfarfromliberated.
***
Saturdaymorning,I’mupearly,eatingavanillayogurtandwatchingRoryandBrucedebatewhethertoreleaseaprintedversionoftheeulogyRorywroteformeafterthefuneralisover.Bruce—yes.Rory—no.
Andthen:
RoryCook:WhatdidCharliesaywhenyoumet?
IsitupandcarefullysetmyyogurtasidewhileIwaitforBrucetorespond.
BruceCorcoran:Ididasyouasked.IexplainedthatyouweretoodevastatedbyClaire’sdeathtocomeyourself,thatitwasincrediblyopportunistictocomeforwardnow,violatingthetermsofanironcladnondisclosureagreement.Doingsowouldforceustobringalawsuit,whichnoonewantedtodo.Especiallynow.RoryCook:And?BruceCorcoran:Didn’tmakeadifference.Keptsayingifyou’regoingtorunforoffice,thevotersneedtoknowwhatkindofacriminalthey’revotingfor.ThatwhathappenedtoMaggieMorettineedstobebroughtoutintotheopen.Thepeoplewholovedherdeservedtoknowthetruth.
Andjustlikethat,allofmyassumptionsrearrangeintosomethingnew.IfeelarushofadrenalinepassthroughmeatthementionofMaggieandIholdmybreath,waiting.
BruceCorcoran:Whatdoyouwantmetodonow?
IcanpracticallyhearRoryyellingaswordsappearnexttohisname.
RoryCook:Iwantyoutodoyourfuckingjobandmakethisgoaway.BruceCorcoran:I’llputtogetherapackage,seewhetherthatmightsilencethis.Trytobepatient.RoryCook:Idon’tpayyoutotellmetobefuckingpatient.
Andthenthey’regone,leavingmymindspinning,tryingtofigureouthowCharlieFlanagan,Rory,andMaggieMorettiintersect.
WhenIwasyoung,Iusedtoridemybikeacrosstownandintoasmallwoodedarea.Ilovedthewaythesidewalkwouldjustend,pickingupthebeginningofadirttrail,ruttedandwindingthroughpatchesofshadeanddappledsunlight,ridingbeneathtalltreesthatkeptmysecrets.
ButmyfavoritepartwaswhenI’demergeagain,myentirebodyvibratingaftersolongontheroughterrain,andwhatitfeltliketoglidebackontotheasphalt—allthebumpssmoothedflatagain.
Ifeelthatzipnow,aftersomanydaysofroughriding.I’vecomeoutagainandcanseeapathforward.
Ireturnagaintothethumbdrive,findingafileburiedintheM’s,labeledsimplyMags.ButwhenIopenit,thereisn’tmuch.RoryandMaggiedatedpre-internetandpre-email.Sothereareonlyabouttwentyscannedimages—photographs,notesonlinedpaper,cards,ahotelbarnapkin.EachonelabeledwithameaninglessIMGnumber.Clickingthroughthem,aneerieshiverpassesthroughme,Maggie’shandwritingaspersonalasafingerprint,asquietasawhisperinmyear.
Itdoesn’tsurprisemethatRorykepttheseimages,longafterhe’ddestroyedthehardcopies.Iknowhelovedher,intheonlywayheknewhow.Likearoadmap,theytracethepathoftheirrelationshipfromthebrightandshinypassionofnewloveintosomethingmorecomplicated,andreadingthemislikelisteningtoanechoofmyownmarriage,musicalnotesthatarebothfamiliarandhollowatthesametime.
Nearthebottomofthefolder,Iopenascannedimageshowingthebluelinesandraggededgesofapagetornfromaspiralnotebook.It’sdatedjustafewdaysbeforeshedied.
Rory,I’vethoughtalotaboutyoursuggestionwespendtheweekendupstate,toworkthingsout.Idon’tthinkit’sagoodidea.IneedspacetofigureoutwhetherIwanttokeepseeingyou.Thelastfightwehadscaredme.Itwastoomuch,andrightnowIdon’tknowifit’spossibletocontinueaswehavebeen.Pleaserespectmywishes,andI’llcallyousoon.Nomatterwhat,Iwillalwaysloveyou.Maggie
Ireadthenoteagain,feelinglikeawheelyankedoutofalignment,steeringmeinanewdirectionasIrememberthatdinnerfromsolongago.Maggiewantedustogetawayforaquietweekend.Toreconnectandreallytalkwithoutthedistractionsofthecity
ButMaggiedidn’twantaweekendawaytoreconcile.Shewantedtobreakup.AndIknowfirsthandhowRoryreactswhenawomantriestoleavehim.
It’sagruesomeironythatbothMaggieMorettiandIhadtodietofinallybefreefromhim.
Eva
Berkeley,California
October
FourMonthsbeforetheCrash
Itdidn’ttakelongforLiztostartaskingquestions.First,itwasacommentaboutasmellinthebackyardshecouldn’tplace,whichforcedEvatoworkatnight,aftershewascertainLizwasasleep.
“Areyousick?”Lizaskedheranotherday,afterthreeconsecutiveall-nighters,darkcirclesunderhereyes.Evahadtriedtodeflectthequestionsasbestshecould,blamingtheneighborsacrossthealleyforthesmellandasinusinfectionforherhaggardface.
Inthefewweeksshe’dbeenonhiatus,thelandscapeofEva’slifehadshifted,andshewasstrugglingtonavigatebacktonormal.Shebeganthinkingaboutherlifeastwoparalleltracks,theoneshewasliving,withherlate-nightlabworkandthedemandsofDexandFishtakinguphertime,andthelifeshe’dhadjustacoupleweeksago.DinnerswithLiz.Anuncomplicatedwindowoftimethathadfeltlighterandbrighterthanshe’deverimagined.
Andnow,asshewoveherwaythroughthecrowdsdressedinblueandgold,upthehillthatledtoMemorialStadium,hermindwasfuzzy,hereyesgritty.Shewaitedinlineatthegate,hereyestrainedonthesecurityguardsaskingeveryonetoopentheirpursesandbagsforinspection.Shepressedherarmagainstherside,feelingtheoutlineofthepackageofpills,safelytuckedintoaninnerpocketofhercoat.
Evahadn’tcontactedanyofherclientstoletthemknowshewasbacktowork.ShewouldmakethedrugsforFish,butasfarasherclientswereconcerned,shewasstillonhiatusandwouldremainsoindefinitely.HersingulargoalwastogatherasmuchinformationaboutFishandthewayhisorganizationwasstructuredasshecould,notmakemoneyshedidn’treallyneed.
Whenshereachedthefrontoftheline,sheopenedherpurseandwatchedtheguard’seyesscanthecontents—awallet,sunglasses,andsmallvoicerecorder—andheldherbreathasshealwaysdid,waitingforsomeonetofinallyseethroughheract,tofinallyseeherforwhatshereallywas.
Butthatwasn’tgoingtohappentoday.
Asshepassedthroughtheentranceandintothestadium,thefieldspreadoutbelowher,eachendzonepaintedwithayellowCaliforniasetagainstadarkbluebackground,thetrademarkscriptCalcenteredonthefifty-yardline.Evaignoredthepeopleintheseatsaroundher,insteadstaringacrossthefieldasthemarchingbandplayedandstudentsfilledthesectionnexttoit,feelingmoreisolatedandalonethanshe’dfeltinyears.
Asanundergrad,Evahadonlybeentoonegame,andthememoryofithauntedhereverytimeshereturned.Meetmeinthenorthtunnelafterward,Wadehadsaid.She’dbeenshockedtoseethenumberofpeoplelingeringthere,waitingforplayers.Hangers-on,followers,sororitygirlsflippingtheirhairandcheckingtheirlipgloss.She’dhungback,watchingasshealwaysdid,fromtheperimeter.Whenhecameout,hiseyesscannedthecrowdandlandedonher.Asifsheglowed.Hepassedthroughthecrowdofpeopleandclaimedher,puttinghisarmaroundherandleadingheraway,thesmellofhissoapmixingwiththeredwoodtreesthatsurroundedthestadium.Sheknewthenthatshewaslost,thatWadeRobertshadchosenher,andshewasboundtofollowwhethershewantedtoornot.
She’dfirstmethiminthechemistrylabshewasTA’ing.Atthebeginning,she’dassumedhewasjustanotherjock,tryingtoflirthiswaytoabettergrade.ButeverytimeWadehadlookedather,shefeltanelectriczingpassthroughher.
Earlyinthesemester,she’dbeenwalkingthemthroughsomebasicchemicalreactionswhenWadehadsaid,“Whyarewedoingthis?Whenareweevergoingtoneedtoknowwhatsubstancesreactwithcalciumchloride?”
Sheshouldhaveredirectedhimbacktothetask.ButEvaknewsheneededtobesomeoneunexpectedifshehopedtoholdhisattention.“Doyoulikecandy?”she’daskedhim.Andthenshe’dshownthemallhowtomakestrawberry-flavoredcrystals,asimpleprocedurethatanyonecouldfindontheinternetiftheywantedto.
Thatwashowitstarted.Apininthemapthatmarkedthebeginningofajourneysheneverwantedtotake.Wadehadbegunpressuringhertotrymakingdrugsshortlyaftertheystarteddating.Atfirst,shedidn’twantto.Butwhathewasaskingwassosimple,shefiguredshe’ddoitonceandgethimoffherback.Sciencehadalwaysbeenwhereshefeltthesafest—amongthelawsofphysicsandchemistry.Unlikelife,whichcoulddumpyouatagrouphomeattheageoftwowithnowarningorsecondchances,chemistrywaspredictable,itsactionsabsolute.Wadewasthepersoneveryonewantedtobecloseto,andhewantedtobeclosetoher.Andso,whenheaskedhertodoitagain,shedid.Andthenagainafterthat.
Thestadiumwasfillingup.Evacheckedherwatchandreachedintoherpursetoactivatethevoicerecorder.Acrossthefield,themarchingbanddrumspoundedarhythm,thesameonefromthatdaysomanyyearsago.Thepeoplearoundherpressedcloser,makingherfeelsmothered,andshetriedtoshrinkdowninsideherself,tojusthangon.Wait.Todoherjobandbeready.
“Beenherelong?”Dexasked,slidingintotheseatnexttoher.
“Maybefiveminutes.”Hereyestraveledupthehillwherethecannonthatfiredaftereverytouchdownpokedthroughthetreesonitsplatform,awhiteCaliforniabannerflutteringinthewind.TightwadHill,opentoanyonewillingtohikeupthereandsitinthedirt.FuckingBerkeley.“God,Ihatethisplace,”shesaid.
“Thengivemewhatyou’vegotandlet’sgetoutofhere.”Hetwistedaround,lookingintothecrowdbehindthem,andthenfacedforwardagain,hiskneebouncingajitteryrhythm.
Evashookherhead.“Notachance.Wedothismyway.”SheknewthatjustbecauseDexsaidCastrowasgone,itdidn’tmeanhewasn’tstilloutthere,watchingher.Waitingforhertomakeamistake.
“Youreallydon’tneedtoworry.”
“Yourlackofdetaildoesnotinspireconfidence,”Evasaid.Shepulledherpursefromunderneathherseatandinspectedthebottomofit,wipingdeadleavesandanoldgumwrapperoffofitbeforeplacingitnexttoherarmrest.“Youneedtogivemespecifics.Whowasfollowingme.Why.Andhowitisthey’regonenow.”
Dexsloucheddowninhisseat,hisgazeleapingfromonethingtoanother,neverlanding,neverstill.“Fine,”hesaid.“Itwasajointtaskforce,DEAandlocals,lookingtograbFish.Whichthey’vebeentryingtodoforyears.Thewholethinggotdisbandedtwoweeksago.”
“HowisitpossibleFishcancalloffajointtaskforce?”sheasked.
Dexsquintedacrossthefieldwherethebandlaunchedintoaversionof“FunkyColdMedina.”Finally,hesaid,“Itcostsalotofmoneytorunsurveillance,andyouweren’tgivingthemanything.Theycan’tkeepwatchingyouforever.Higher-upspulledthemoney,andwithnoevidencepointinganywhere,Fish’sfriendsinsidethedepartmentbeganrumblingaboutbetterusesofresourcesandbitchingaboutthebudget.Theyhadnochoicebuttofold.”
“Listentoyourself,”shesaid.“Federalagents.Jointtaskforces.Andyou’retellingmenottoworry?”
“I’mtellingyouthistopicisclosed.Youneedtodropit.”
Shestudiedhisprofile,softeraroundthecontoursofhisjaw,laughlinesframinghiseyesandmouth.She’dknownDexfortwelveyears.Andsomethingwasoffabouthimtoday.
Justthen,thecannonfiredastheCalteamburstoutofthenorthtunnel,andnexttoher,Dexnearlyleapedoutofhisseat.Hecovereditbyrisingalongwiththerestofthecrowdasthebandlaunchedintothefightsong,butEvawasn’tfooled.“Areyouokay?”sheasked.
“Yeah,”hesaid,shovinghishandsinhispocketsastheysatagainandthefirstquarterstarted.“Justalittlerattled.”
“Youjustfinishedtellingmeallwaswell.Whatthehell,Dex?”
Heshookhishead.“It’sfine.Just,FishislookingintothatguyItoldyouabout.MyfriendwhoreferredBrittany.”
“Areyouindanger?”
Dexgaveahollowlaughandlookedather,hiseyessad.“WhenamInot?”
Athalftime,theyheadedbackintothemezzanine.Aspeoplemadetheirwaytowardthebathroomsortheconcessionstands,EvaledDextowardthedoorslabeledStadiumClub.Shehandedherbadgetotheguardatthedoor,whoscanneditandwavedthemthrough.ThenoiseofthestadiumfadedassheledDexupasetofstairsandintoalargeroomthatoverlookedthecampus,allthewaytotheSanFranciscoBayandtheGoldenGateBridgeinthefardistance.
“I’llgetdrinks,”Dexsaid,leavingEvatostareoutthewindowandthinkaboutanothertime,anofficewithanalmostidenticalview,theghostofWadeRobertsstillfollowingher.
***
IthadbeenthenicestofficeEvahadeverseeninallheryearsatBerkeley.Sethighonthehillatthetopofcampus,itswindowofferedsweepingviewsallthewaytotheGoldenGateandbeyond.Inacorner,aclockticked,measuringEva’sfateinseconds.Thedeanhadflippedthroughherfile,andshe’dglancedatthedooragain,wonderingwhenWadewouldshowupanddeliverthepardonhepromised.
“Iseeyou’reascholarshipstudent.”Thedeanlookedup,waitingforhertoconfirm.Shestaredathisnose,asharpbeakthatproppedupapairofbifocals,andsaidnothing.Heresumedhisreading.“YoucamefromSt.Joe’sinthecity?”
Thefirstglimmerofsympathy.Shecouldalmosttimeitsarrival.Whenpeoplefoundoutshegrewupinagrouphome,theyeithertookastepbackorastepforward.Butitalmostalwayschangedhowtheyviewedher.She’dshruggedandlookedatthedooragain.“It’sallinthefile.”Hertonewasmoreabruptthanshe’dintended,andshewishedshecouldreelherwordsbackinandstartover.Tellhimhowattachedshe’dgrowntoherlifeasastudent,thatBerkeleywasaplacewherepotentialseemedtoshinedownandtouchhershoulders.ButEvahadneverbeenabletoofferhonestylikethat.Soshesaidnothingandwaitedfortheresttohappen.
“Itseemsfoolishtothrowitallawaybymakingdrugsinthechemistrylab,”he’dsaid.
Evawassavedfromrespondingwhenthedoorswungopenandthedean’sassistantusheredWadein.ThebreathEvahadbeenholdingreleased.Wadehadpromisedherhewouldtellthedeanthatmakingthedrugshadbeenhisidea,andwouldassumealloftheblame.Asthequarterbackofthefootballteam,he’dgetaslaponthewrist,maybeaone-gamesuspension,butnothingthatwouldruinhiscareer
ButherreliefquicklyvanishedasWadewasfollowedbyCoachGarrison.Evahadonlyseenhispictureinthepaper,oronceasatiny,pacingantonthesidelinesoftheonlyfootballgameshe’deverbeento,atWade’sbehest.Iwantmygirlfriendtowatchmeplay.Ithadbeenthewordgirlfriendthathaddoneit.Evahadneverbeenanythingtoanyone—notdaughter.Notfriend.Certainlynevergirlfriend.Shehadfeltfoolishthatthebetrayalstruckhersodeeply,thatshe’dallowedherselftobelieveWademightbedifferent.
***
“Alltheyhadwaswhite,”Dexsaid,handingherasmallplasticcupofwine.Evatorehereyesawayfromtheviewandrefocusedonthepresent.She’dbelievedshe’drisenfromtheashes,makingalifeforherself.Butithadallbeenanillusion.Adelusion.Nothinghadchangedatall.DexhadsteppedintothespaceWadehadvacated,andthingscontinuedasthey’dbegun,onlyonamuchlargerscale.
Dexdrankfromhiscupandgrimaced.“Howmuchdoyoupayeveryyearfortheprivilegeofdrinkingshittywine?”heasked.
ThelastthingEvaneededwasarecordingfilledwithmusingsaboutbadwine.“SometimesIwonderwhetherI’veeverencounteredFishandnotknownit.Like,maybehe’soneofthosehigh-rollingdonorsoverthere.”Shepointedtoagroupofoldermen,clusterednearatrophycase,cladindarkblueandgold.“Itmakessense,really.Forhimtohideinplainsightlikethat.”Dexstaredatheroverthetopofhisplasticcupandshecontinued.“Youknowhim.What’shelike?”
Dexshrugged.“Aregularguy,Iguess.Nothingspecial.Scaryasfuckifyoumakehimmad.”Ashiverpassedthroughhim,andheturnedtolookatEva,hisexpressionsad.“Don’tstartaskingquestionsnow.”
Evatookasipofherwine,thesharptangbitingthebackofherthroat.“Don’tworry.Iknowyoucan’ttellmeanything.ButI’vebeenthinkingaboutwhathappensafterIgiveyouthepills.Ineverconsidereduntilnowwhetheranyofitcouldsomehowbetracedbacktome.Theycandosomecrazyshitwithforensics.”
“Itdoesn’tstaylocal,ifthat’swhatyou’reworriedabout.”
“Iguessmyworryhingesonwhatyouconsiderlocal.Sacramento?LosAngeles?Farther?”
Dextookanothersipofwinebeforedumpingtherestintoanearbytrashcan.“Let’sfinishthisandgetoutofhere.”
Theywalkeddownasmallsidehallwaytowardarestroomwithagender-neutralicononthedoor,wheretheyfellinlinebehindamotherandsmallchild.Anoldermanexitedandthemotherandchildentered,lockingthedoorbehindthem.Aserverpassedtheminthehallwayandsaid,“Ifyouguyswant,therearebiggerbathroomsaroundthecorner.Nowait.”
DexandEvasmiledandassuredhertheywerefine.Afteranotherfiveminutesandsomemuffledcryingbehindthecloseddoor,itwasfinallyherturn.Shelockedthedoorandcheckedtherecorderinherpurse,frustratedDexhadn’ttoldhermore.Sheleanedagainstthewall,thecooltileseepingthroughhershirtsleeve,tryingtofigureoutwhatshecouldask,whatshecoulddo,togetDextotellhersomethingmorespecific.Wheretheysentthedrugs,andwhoboughtthem.DetailsaboutFishshecouldtrade.Finally,sheflushedthetoilet,onlypullingoutthebrightlywrappedpackageofpillsaftershe’dwashedanddriedherhands.
Sheplaceditontopofthetoweldispenserandexited,lettingDexslipinafterher.Whenhecameout,hepattedhiscoatandsaid,“Hopeyoudon’tmind,butI’drathernotstickaroundforthesecondhalf.”
“Igetit,”shesaid.Theymadetheirwayoutoftheclubandbackdownthestairs,exitingthestadium.
Theypausedoutside.“Look,”hesaid.“We’rebothalittlewoundup,andyou’rerighttowanttobecautious.”Hegesturedtowardthestadiumbehindthem,wherethegamehadresumed.“We’lldothisyourwayuntilwe’rebothcomfortableagain.”
Shelookedathim,hisexpressionsofternowthathe’dgottenwhathewantedfromher.Hewasbothcomradeandcaptor.Protectorandprisonguard.Regardlessofhowhebehaved,Dexwasnotherfriend.Shehadtoremindherselfhewasn’tworriedabouthercomfort;hewasworriedabouthimself.
Shegavehimagratefulsmileandsaid,“Thanks,Dex.”Aslongashebelievedhewashandlingher,hewouldn’tnoticehowshewashandlinghim.
***
Laterthatnight,insteadofworking,Evasatinfrontofhercomputer,staringatablanksearchfield.Beingatthestadiumtoday,rememberinghowitfelttosittherealone,withnoonetofightforher,tosayEvaisagoodperson.Shedeservesasecondchancemadeherwonderifasecondchancewouldhaveevenbeenpossible.Liz’swordsfloatedbacktoher.Informationispower.Lizhadpokedthroughtheboundariesshe’dconstructedforherself,andshewasn’tsureifthiswouldhelpresurrectthemordestroythemcompletely.
Evatriedtoprepareherselfforthemostpainfuloutcome—hermother,recovered,livingahappylifewithafamilyandfriends—andenteredhermother’sfullnameintothesearchfield,theonlylightintheroomtheglowingofthescreen,illuminatingherface.Outsideacarglidedby,quiettireshummingonthepavement,thensilencefilledwiththerelentlesschirpofcrickets.
Shepressedreturn.
Alonglistofhitspoppedup.RachelAnnJamesonFacebook.Images.Twitter.ARachelAnnJamesatacollegeinNebraska.Shescrolleddownandclickedonafreepeople-finderlink,whichbroughtupeighteenpotentialmatches.Butnoneoftheagesmatched.Hermotherwouldbeinherearlyfifties,andthesepeoplewereeithertooyoungortooold.
Herbodyvibratedwithanxiety,morethanhermoststressfuldrugdeals,andshewastemptedtostop.Toclosehercomputer,getbacktowork,andforgetaboutallofit.ButshenavigatedbacktoanewsearchandenteredRachelAnnJamesobituary,California
Thistime,itwasthefirstlinkinherresults.ItwasashortparagraphfromalocalpaperinRichmondjustafewmilesnorthofBerkeley.Nodetailsweregivenabouthowshe’ddied,justtheyearandherage,twenty-seven.Rachelissurvivedbyherparents,NancyandErvinJamesofRichmond,California,andbrother,Maxwell(35).Nomentionofher,thegranddaughtertheydidn’twant.
Evastaredatthescreen,listeningtothebloodpumpinherears.Evahadbeeneight.Shetriedtomatchupthechildhoodsherememberedwiththisnewinformation.HertimewithCarmenandMark.Thereturntotheconvent,whenthenunshadreachedouttoherfamilyagain.Somewhereinthere,hermotherhaddied.Andyet,hergrandparents,NancyandErvin,finallyfreedfromthenightmareofhavinganaddictdaughter,hadstillsaidno.
Shethoughtaboutprintingtheobituary,takingitdownstairsandknockingonLiz’sdoor.Askingherhowanyofthisgaveherpower.Asfarasshewasconcerned,itfeltlikeathousandtinycutspiercingherskin,apainwithnocenter,justaradiatingfirethatconsumedher.
Butinstead,sheclearedhersearchandclosedhercomputer,settlingherselfintothedarkness,andgottoworkfittingthisnewrejection,thisnewheartbreakalongsidealltherest.
Claire
Saturday,February26
ThatRoryliedabouthislastweekendwithMaggieisinteresting,butnotincriminatinginalegalsense.Ofcourse,hewouldmakehimselflooksympatheticwhenrecountingthestorytome,hisnewgirlfriend,andIcan’tbegintoguesswhyMaggiemighthavechangedhermindandgoneanyways.ButMaggie’sreferencetoascaryargumentchillsme,becauseIknowwhatRory’stemperlookslike,howeasilyshecouldhaveendedupatthebottomofthatstaircase.
Butthenotedoesn’tproveanythingotherthantheyfought.Whichwaswidelyreportedatthetime.WhatnagsatmeishowCharlieFlanaganisconnectedtothatweekendin1992.That’sthekeytofiguringouteverything.PerhapshewastheonetoorganizethepayoffsAuntMarymentioned,illegallyskimmingthemfromthefoundation’saccount.
AquickcheckofthetimetellsmeIhavejustahalfhouruntilI’msupposedtomeetKelly,soIgointothekitchenandgrabaDietCokefromthefridgeandtakeasip,staringoutthebackwindow.AsIwaitforthecaffeinetohitmybloodstream,IimagineCharliereleasingwhateverhehastothemedia.HugeexposésintheNewYorker,VanityFair,theNewYorkTimes,strippingRoryofallhispower.Iknowit’saleap,butthefantasystillenergizesme.
Isetthecanonthecounterandheadupstairsinsearchofapairofblackpantsandawhitetop.
***
WhenIarriveatthecoffeeshop,Kellyisalreadythere,waitinginhercar,andIopenthedoorandslidein.
“Ready?”Kellyasks.
“Let’sdoit.”
Kelly’sphoneringsaswehittheendoftheblock.“Jacinta,”shesaysintothephone.“I’monmywaytowork.”Shelistensforamoment,andthencurses.“Okay,I’llbethereinfiveminutes.”
Shehangsupandturnsthecararound.“Sorry,”shesays.“Mydaughter,Jacinta,hasbeenworkingonthisprojectforherarthistoryclassandsheleftthepostersuppliesinmytrunk.”
“Idon’tmind,”Itellher.
“Normally,I’dleavehertosweatitout,butshe’sworkingwithapartnerandIdon’twanttopunishherforJacinta’scarelessness.”Shesighs.“Thisprojecthasbeenapainintheassfromdayone.”
“Whatisit?”
“Compareandcontrasttwotwentieth-centuryartists.Deliveranoralpresentationwithvisuals.”Sherollshereyes.“Berkeleytakesitsartseducationveryseriously.”
“Howoldisyourdaughter?”Kellycan’tbemucholderthanherlatetwenties.
“Twelve.”
Sheglancesatme,catchingmysurprisedexpression.“IhadherwhenIwasonlyseventeen.”
“Thatmusthavebeenhard.”
Kellyshrugs.“MymothernearlykilledmewhenshefoundoutIwaspregnant.Butthenitwasbuckledowntobusiness.”Westopataredlight,andsheglancesatme.“Mymomismyrock.Icouldn’tworkorgotoschoolwithouther.AndsheandJacintaaretight.WhereIgetattitudeandeyerolling,mymothergetsgigglesandsecrets.”
“Youmustbebusy,workingtwojobsandgoingtoschool,”Isay.
Kellysmilesasthelightturnsgreen.“Isuppose.ButI’vealwaysworked,soI’musedtoit.Ihavetheearlymorningshiftatthecoffeeshop,takeclassesduringtheday,anddocateringeventsforTomatnightsandontheweekends.I’msavingmoneysoJacintaandIcangetourownplace.Rightnow,welivewithmymotherandit’scrowded.”
Ibitemylip,wishingIcouldtellhernottobeinsuchahurrytoleave.
***
Kelly’shouseisinaneighborhoodofsmall,one-storyhousessosimilartomymother’sinPennsylvania,IcouldsquintmyeyesandbelieveIwasbackhomeagain.Whenwepullintothedriveway,sheturnstomeandsays,“Comeinandmeetmyfamily.”
Ihesitate,knowingIshouldstayinthecar.There’sadifferencebetweenbeingoneofmanyblack-and-white-cladserversataneventandshimmyinguptoKelly’sfamilywithanameandahandshake.ButitwouldbestrangeifIrefused.
AndI’moverwhelmedbyhowmuchIwanttogoinside.Aftersomanydaysofbeingalone,Iwanttositinsomeone’skitchenandtalkaboutart.“Iknowabitaboutarthistory,”Ifinallysay.“MaybeIcouldhelp.”
“Wecanuseallthehelpwecanget,”Kellysays.
It’sexactlyasIimagineditwouldbe.Thelivingroomisspare,justacouch,arecliningchair,andatelevision.Throughanopendoorwayisasmallkitchenandeatingareawheretwogirlssit,hunchedoverthetable.Beyondthelivingroomisashorthallwaythatprobablyleadstoacouplesmallbedroomsandabathroom.Mymother’shousehadthesamefeeltoit,frayedandscarredaroundtheedges,butpolishedtoahighshine.Icanimaginethethreeofthemhereintheevenings,eachoftheminherfavoritespot.Kelly’smotherinthearmchair,KellyandJacintaoneitherendofthecouch,theirlegsinatanglethewayVioletandIusedtowatchTV.
Anolderwomanstandsatthecounter,choppingvegetables,whileonthestove,potssimmer,theairthickwiththesmellofrosemaryandsage.
Oneofthegirlslooksupasweenter.“Sorry,Mom,”shesays.
Kellyleadsmeintothekitchenandsays,“Let’spracticesomemanners,Jacinta.ThisisEva.”
“Nicetomeetyou,”Isay.
Jacintasmiles,andIcanseeKellyinthesetofherbrowneyesandthesharpstructureofhercheekbones.“Nicetomeetyoutoo.”
“Andherfriend,Mel.”
Theothergirlraisesherhandinahalfwave,thenturnstoKellyandsays,“Thanksforcomingback,Kelly.”
Kellysqueezeshershoulderandsays,“Onlyforyou,Mel.”
Theolderwomanchimesinfromthecounter.“I’msorryIdidn’tcheckinwithherbeforeyouleft.”SheshootsalookatJacinta.“Shetoldmeshehadeverythingsheneeded.”
Kellyturnstomeandsays,“Eva,thisismymother,Marilyn.”
Ibracemyself,waitingforaflashofsomethinginhereyes,aflickerofaquestion,knowingthisishowitwillalwaysbewhenImeetsomeonenew.Butshesmilesandwipesherhandsonatowelbeforeshakingmyhand.“Nicetomeetyou.”
I’mstruckbythepowerofbelief.Howeasilyittransfersfromonepersontoanother.KellybelievesI’mEva,andnowhermotherdoestoo,withoutquestion.Ilookbetweenthem,theirbondasfamiliarasanold,favoritecoat.Itwrapsaroundme,makingmewanttositdownatthetableandneverleave.“Tellmewhatyou’vechosenforyourproject,”Isaytothegirls.
JacintaslidesherlaptopsoIcanseetwopaintingssidebysideonthescreen.JasperJohns’sFalseStartandJean-MichelBasquiat’sBoyandDoginaJohnnypump
“Greatchoices,”Isay.“BasquiatstartedonthestreetsofNewYorkasagraffitiartist,commentingonthesocialinjusticeshesawandexperienced.He’sresponsibleforgraffitibeingthelegitimateartformweknowittobetoday.”
“Ithinkwereadsomethingaboutthat.Butit’sallkindofblendingtogether,”Jacintasays.“Thisistheprojectfromhell.”
“Jacinta,”Marilynwarns.
“Sorry,Grandma.It’sjust…lookhowdifferenttheyare.It’seasytocontrastthem.Buthowaretheysimilar?They’renot.Atall.”
Isitdowninthechairnexttothemandleanmyelbowsonthetable,whichwobblesinthesamewaymymother’susedto.“Here’satip.Don’tgettiedupintheimages.Artisallaboutemotion.Teacherswanttoknowwhatyoutakeawayfromthepieceandhowyouapplythattoyourownlife.It’stotallysubjective,sohavefunwithit.”Withthelightstreaminginfromthewindows,therichsmellofacookingmealfillingtheroom,andthereassuringsoundsofMarilynbehindus,openingtherefrigerator,movingbetweenthesinkandthestove,IfeelasifI’vetraveledbackintime.Allmyedgesmatchingupwiththespacearoundme.
Ispendfivemoreminutesfillingtheholesintheirresearch.Backgroundabouteachartist,theirchildhoodsandearlyinfluences,beforeKellytellsmewehavetoleave.
“Ilikeyourfamily,”Isayaswepulloutofthedriveway.
Kellysmiles.“Thankyou.It’snotalwayseasy,tryingtoraiseachildundermymother’sthumb.BecauseIhadJacintasoyoung,mymothersometimesforgetsthatI’mJacinta’smother,nother.Iappreciateherhelp,butthathouseistoosmallforthethreeofus.”
Iwanttotellherthatthetangleoftheircrowdedlifeshouldbeacomfort,notaburden.I’dbeeninsuchahurrytoredefinemyself,notknowingthatI’dbecarvingawayapieceofmyheart.Iassumedmyfamilywouldalwaysbethere,waitingforme.SometimesIcantrickmyselfintobelievingmymotherandVioletarestillinourhouse,movingaroundeachother,waitingformetofinallycomehome.
***
“How’dyouknowallofthat?”Kellyasksasweturnontotheon-rampofthefreeway.
I’vebeensilentformostoftheride,mymindstillbackatKelly’shouse,sittingatthattable,feelingasifthefartherwedrivefromit,thefartherI’mtravelingawayfrommyself.WhoI’msupposedtobe.
“Iwasanarthistorymajorincollege.”Idon’tfeelI’mriskingtoomuchtotellherthat,anditfeelsgoodtosaysomethingtrue.
Kellylooksatme,impressed.“Youshouldbelookingforjobsatmuseumsorauctionhouses.”
“It’scomplicated,”Isay,suddenlyafraidifIkeeptalking,I’lltellhereverything.
Kellylaughs.“Showmesomeonewhoselifeisn’tcomplicated.”WhenIdon’trespond,shesays,“Nopressure.Igetit.”
“I’mleavingabadmarriage,”Ifinallyadmit,beforetackingonalie.“Hidingoutatachildhoodfriend’shousewhileshetravels.It’stemporary,untilIcanfigureoutwhat’snext.Butmyhusbandwillbelookingforme,soIcan’tworkinmyfieldanymore.”
Thecarfeelslikeaprotectivelayer,safeandwarmaswespeeddownthefreewaytowardOakland.Ilookoutthewindow,atthepeopleinthecarsaroundus.Somanysecretsplayingoutintheirminds.Nooneisgoingtolooktoocloselyatmine.AndasfarasKellyisconcerned,mystoryhasbeenlivedahundredtimesalready.
“Ittakesalotofcouragetostartover,”shesays.
Idon’trespond.NothingaboutwhatI’vedonefeelsbraveorcourageous.Kellyreachesacrossthecenterconsoleandsqueezesmyhand.“I’mgladyou’rehere.”
***
Kellywasn’tkiddingwhenshesaidtonight’spartywasabigone.Therearetwelveofushiredtosetupandworktheevent,whichisbeingheldinagiantwarehouseindowntownOakland.Nearlyfortytablesfilltheenormousroom,eachoneseatingeight.Whensheintroducesmetoherboss,Tom,Ionlyholdhisattentionforasplitsecondbeforesomeonecallsforhimfromthekitchen.“Thanksforgivingmethejob,”Isayashebeginstohurryaway.
“Thanksforhelpingoutinapinch,”hecalls,justbeforedisappearingbackintothekitchen.“Kellywillshowyouwhattodo.”
Soonwe’rebusywithlinens,tablesettings,andflowers.“I’vebeenwaitingforthiseventformonths,”Kellysays.
“Why?”
Hereyessparkle.“It’sabanquetfortheOaklandA’s.”Shelooksaroundtheroom.“Inafewhours,thisplaceisgoingtobecrawlingwithprofessionalathletes.I’mhopingtoatleastgetanautograph.”Thenshewinksatme.“Maybeaphonenumber.”
Sheslidesawayagain,leavingmetomynapkin-folding,butI’msuddenlyunabletomakemyfingerswork.Mygazeleapstotheexitandthenbacktomypileoflinens.I’veruneventslikethisbefore,withbignamesinabiglocation.Andoneofmyfirstcallswasalwaystothemedia.Themorephotographers,thebetter.
Ifinishthenapkinswithtremblinghandsandbeginthetablesettings,tryingtoremindmyselfthatIlookdifferentnow.Andinmyblackpantsandwhiteshirt,I’llbejustoneofmanyfacelessworkersslidingbetweenthecrowd,paidtoremaininvisible.
***
Anhourintotheparty,Ifeelmorerelaxed.Thephotographerswereclusteredneartheentrance,takingpeople’spicturesastheyarrived.Thereareonlytwoinside,andthey’reeasyenoughtoavoid.Ifeelmychestloosenagain,andInavigatethelargespace,offeringappetizersandnapkins.Somepeoplesmileandthankme,whileotherstakewhatI’mofferingwithoutevenmakingeyecontactorstoppingtheirconversationsatall.
I’msurprisedbyhowphysicaltheworkis.
“You’reanatural,”Kellysaysasshepassesme,carryingatrayofdirtyglassestowardthekitchen.
Imassageaknotinmyshoulder.“Itseemsprettysimple.Keepthefoodmoving,stayinthebackground.”IthinkofMarcy,thecatererIalwaysusedinNewYork.AtinywomanwhohadthegraceofJackieKennedybutthecountenanceofabulldog.Shecommandedtherespectofallwhoworkedforherandhadagiftformakinganyeventsparkle.Herstaffwasalwaysimpeccable,thoughuntiltonight,Ihadnoideahowhardtheyworked.IwonderwhatMarcythinksofmypassing.Whethershewillcatermyfuneral.
***
AsIcirculateamongtheguests,offeringbacon-wrappedscallops,Ipassabeautifulwomaninatightbluedress,holdingawhisperedargumentwithawell-builtmanwhomustbeoneoftheplayers.
“Juststop,Donny,”thewomanhisses.
“Don’tfuckingtellmewhattodo.”
Mynervestightenreflexively,eventhoughIknowhe’snotspeakingtome.Butthewayhespitsthewordsather,hisvoicelacedwithvenom,makesmehurrypastthem,eyescastdownward,fearzappingallmynerveendingsandmakingmyskinbuzz.Iknowwhatit’sliketobeonthereceivingendofthatkindofanger.AndIwishIcouldturnback,helpthatwomaninsomeway.Iwonderhowmanypeoplehereknowthisishowhetreatsher.Theotherplayers.Theirwivesandgirlfriends.Dotheyseeitandlookaway,assomanypeopledidwithme?Dotheywhisperaboutittoeachother,butdonothingtohelp?Ifeelimpotentwithrage,atthecarelesswaypeoplediscardotherpeople’sproblems,andhowI’mnobetter.Watchingithappenanddoingnothing.
Myeyestrackthemastheymoveawayfrommeandbecomeswallowedbythecrowd,thewayhishandremainsonherlowerback,andhoweasilythatcanshiftfromsolicitoustoashove.
***
Midwaythroughdinner,amanapproachesthemicrophonesetupatthefrontoftheroom,andthecrowdclaps.Itakemytrayandstandalongsidethebackwalltolisten.Hehasthevoiceofaradioannouncerandtalksabouthisyearsofworkinginsidetheboothatthestadium.Butmyattentionissoondrawnbacktothatsamecouple,nowdirectlyinfrontofme.Atfirsthe’stryingtosilenceherwithwhatlookslikeplatitudesandpromises,butshe’shavingnoneofit.Herangerspiralsupward,andItense,waitingforhimtoreact.Don’tmakehimmad,Isilentlypleadwithher.Youstillhavetimetoturnthisaround.Mypalmsgrowsweaty,andmybreathcomesinshortgaspsthatItrytoelongate,remindingmyselfthatallcouplesargue.Justbecausemyhusbandusedtohitmedoesn’tmeanthismanwillhither.Andyetmybodyisreacting.Tensing.Preparing.
Themanatthemicrophonedrawsanotherlaugh,whichcoversthesoundoftheirargumentforamoment,butwhenitdiesdownagain,theirwordsslipintothesilence.
Headsturntowardthem.Thewomanbeginstostepaway,butDonnygrabsherarm,yankinghertowardhim,thepeoplenearestthemgasping.
I’mcloseenoughtoseethefearflashthroughthewoman’seyes.It’sjustasplitsecond,butit’slongenoughtotellmethatthishashappenedbefore.Thatsheknowswhatwillcomenext.
Withoutthinking,Idropmyemptytraytothegroundandpushoffthewall,takingtwogiantstepsuntilI’mbetweenthem,doingwhatnooneeverdidforme.Ipressmypalmagainsttheman’sshoulderandsay,“Youneedtoletgoofher.”
Surprised,hisgriploosens,andthewomanyanksherarmaway.Sherubsit,staringdaggersathimovermyshoulderandsays,“You’reafuckingliar,Donny.”
Morepeopleturnawayfromthespeechatthesoundofhervoiceandstareatthethreeofus.
“Cressida,”hesays.“I’msorry.Ididn’tmeanit.”
“Don’tfollowme.Don’tcallme.I’mdone.”Shepushespastmetowardtheentrance,andIfinallystepback.
Andthat’swhenIseethem.Threeseparatecellphones,pointingatus,recording.
Eva
Berkeley,California
December
TwoMonthsbeforetheCrash
EvarewoundthetapeandlistenedagaintoDex’svoice.Herefusedtodowhathewastold.Idon’twantthesametohappentoyou.
Itstillwasn’tenough,soshebegantokeepalog,writingdownthenumberofpillsmadeandthedatesshepassedthemovertoDex.Shecouldn’talwaysriskrecordings,andshedidn’tevenknowifCastrocouldusethem.Itwasliketryingtodriveblind.Shehadtointuitherwaytowardwhatshe’dneedthroughinstinctandguesswork.
Andthroughoutitall,shetriedhardnottothinkaboutwhatmighthappenifshewasdiscovered.Despitehereffortstoremainfocused,imagesflashedlikeamoviebehindherclosedeyes,jerkingherawakeatnight,sweatyandpanicked,certainitwouldneverwork.Convincedtheyalreadyknew.Butsheusedthatfear,allowinghertogetevenmoreworkdone,hersleeplessnightsgrowingmoreandmorefrequentasshewaitedtoseeifCastrowouldreturn.Shecouldfeelhimoutthere,aheavypresencethatlurkedinthedarkcorners,bidinghistime,andsheonlyhopedshe’dbereadywhenheshowedupagain.
Downstairs,someoneknockedonthedoor.SheandLizhadplanstoshopforaChristmastreeataspecialtreefarmLizhadfoundonline.Evahaddeclined—notonce,buttwice—citingreasonsthatLizsteppedaround.She’dbadgereduntilEvacapitulated,rationalizingthatitwaseasiertoaccommodateLizthantokeepavoidingher.Lizwouldonlybethereforanothermonth,andthenshe’dbegone,backtoPrincetonforspringsemester.EvatriedhardtoignorethesharpstabofsadnessshefelteverytimesheimaginedLiz’sapartmentquietandempty.Butifallwentwell,Evawouldbegoneshortlyafterthatanditwouldnolongermatter.
Shehurrieddownthestairs,reachingforhercoatassheswungthedooropen.Butitwasn’tLiz.ItwasDex.
“Whatareyoudoinghere?”sheasked.
Hedidn’twastetimewithagreeting.Instead,hesteppedintoherhouse,kickingthedoorclosedbehindhim,hisexpressionhard.“Whatareyouplayingat?”
Panicpulsedthroughher,atthethoughtthatsomehowsomeonehadfiguredoutwhatshewasdoing.“Idon’tunderstand,”shewhispered.
“Lastweek’spackagewasonehundredpillsshort.”
“What?No.That’samistake.”
“Noshitit’samistake,”Dexsaid.“Whatthefuck,Eva?Areyoutryingtogetyourselfkilled?”
Sheshookherhead,desperatetomakeDexunderstand,desperatetogethimoutofherhousebeforeLizshowedup.“I’mtired,”shesaid.“I’mnotsleeping.Imusthavemiscounted.”Shecouldn’texplainthebone-deepexhaustionthataccompaniedtryingtobetwocompletelydifferentpeoplesimultaneously.
“Youneedtofixthis.”
“Iwill.”
“Today,”heinsisted.
Nextdoor,shecouldhearLiz’sfootstepsdescendthestairs,andEvaclosedhereyesmomentarily.“Ican’ttoday.”
Dexlookedincredulous.“Doyouhavesomethingmoreimportanttodo?”
Shelookeddownatthecoat,stillgrippedinherhand.“MyneighborandIareshoppingforaChristmastree.”
Dexlookedupattheceiling,asifhecouldn’tbelievewhatshewastellinghim,andswipedhishandacrosshisjaw.“JesusChrist,”hesaid.Thenhelookedather,hisgrayeyespiercingthroughher.“DoyourealizehowhardIhadtoworktoconvinceFishtoletmehandlethis?Howclosehecametosendingsomeonewhowouldn’taskquestionsorgiveashitaboutafuckingChristmastree?”Hisvoicewasgrowinglouder,andEvaworriedthatitwouldtravelthroughthewall.Orontothefrontporch,whereLizwouldbeanyminute.
Asifoncue,sheheardLizcloseherfrontdoorandlockit.
“Youneedtogo,Dex.I’lltakecareofit.Ipromise.”
Helookedather,asifheweretryingtoseebeneaththesurface,togleanwhethersomethingbiggerwasgoingon.“Bytomorrow,”hesaid.
“Tomorrow,”sheagreed.
Hepulledopenthedoorandcameface-to-facewithLiz,startled,herhandraisedtoknock.
“Hello,”shesaid,hergazetravelingbetweenDexandEva,curious.
Dex’sexpressionshiftedintoaneasysmile.“Ihearyoutwoareshoppingforatree.Havefun.”Hegavethemawink,evertheperformerplayinghispart,beforeboundingdownthestairsandstridingaway.
“Whowasthat?”Lizasked.“He’shandsome.”
Evatriedtogatherherwits,tolightenherexpressiontomatchDex’sfriendlytone.Thelastthingshewantedtodonowwasshopforatree,butifshebackedout,Lizwouldhaveahundredquestions.“ThatwasDex,”shesaid.
“Areyoutwo…?”shesaid,trailingoff.
Evapulledherdoorclosedandlockedit.“It’scomplicated,”shesaid.“Let’sgo.”
AstheydrovenorthtowardSantaRosa,Evaletthemilesputdistancebetweenherselfandwhathappened,compartmentalizingitintoatinyball,whereitsat,likeapebbleinhershoe.Shewasfuriouswithherselfforbeingsocareless.Forworkingherselfsothinshe’dmadeamistakelikethat.Shecouldn’triskanykindoftargetedattention,andyetshe’dinviteditin.
Bythetimetheyreachedthetreefarm,she’dworkedoutaplan.AftertheyreturnedtoBerkeley,she’dworkallnight.Again.SheredoubledhereffortstofocusonLiz,whowasdescribingthetreethey’dbuy,aspecialonethey’dplantinfrontofthehouseinsteadofproppingitinastandofwaterforafewweeks.
“Youwon’tbelievehowbeautifulitwillbe,”Liztoldherastheywalkedbetweenrowsandrowsoftall,majesticpines.Sheexaminedeachtree,checkingtoseewhetheritwasfullallthewayaround,beforemovingontothenextone.Shespokesoftly,carriedsomewhereelsebymemory.“MydadandIusedtodothiswhenIwasagirl.Everyplacewelived—andthereweremany—thetwoofuswouldlookforanewtreetojoinourfamily.”Shereachedherhandoutastheywalked,brushingthepineneedleswithherfingertips.“HemadeChristmasmagical.”
WhenEvawaslittle,whenshethoughttherewasstillachancethey’dcomebackforher,sheusedtofantasizewhatChristmaswouldbelikeifshe’dgrownupwithherbirthfamily.Ifhermotherhadn’tbeenanaddictbutinsteadthekindofparentwhowouldinsistSantawasreal,stayinguplateassemblingtoysandfillingstockings.AndwhenEvawoke,she’dracetothetreeandtearoffwrappingpaper,eachpresentbiggerandbetterthanthelast,alwaysexactlywhatshewanted.Maybehergrandparentsandextendedfamilywouldcomeover.Perhapstherewouldbecousins,otherchildrentoroundouttheimageofherperfectfamily.Butnowthatpicturehadshifted,carryingwithittheknowledgethatthoseChristmaseswouldhavebeenheavywithhermother’sabsence.
“Willyourdaughterbecomingfortheholidays?”Evaasked,unsurehowshe’dfeelaboutmeetingEllie,ofbeingdisplacedbythedaughterofLiz’sheart.
“She’sworking,”shesaid.Thefinalityofhertonemadeitclearthatshedidn’twanttodiscussitmore.
Lizslippedbetweentwotreesandintoanotherrow.“Thisone,”shecalled,herwordsmutedbythethickpineneedlessurroundingthemandunderfoot.
Evafollowedthesoundofhervoiceandfoundherinfrontofatree,nearlyeightfeettallandperfectinshape.“Howarewegoingtogetithome?”Evapicturedthetwoofthemdrivingdownthehighwaywiththismassivetreestrappedtotheirroof,itsrootsdanglingbehindthem.
“They’lldeliverit,”Lizsaid,walkingaroundthetreeslowly,lookingatitfromallangles.“We’llstringitwithlightsthatwillsparkle.Wecanbundleup,makesomehotchocolate,andsitontheporchandadmireit.Thebestpartisthatthetreewillbehere,yearinandyearout.NomoredeadtreesbythecurbatNewYear’s,”shesaid.
AsifEvahadeverdraggedadeadChristmastreetothecurb.“Whatifitrains?”
Lizshrugged.“Outdoorlights.Glassandceramicornaments.IhaveboxesofthemathomeinNewJersey.ButIcouldn’tstandtheideaofatreelessChristmassoIpackedsomeofmyfavoritesandbroughtthemwithme.”
Liztookthetagthatthey’dbeenhandeduponenteringandhungitonthetree,claimingitastheirs,andremovedadifferentonethattheywouldtakewiththemtothefrontofthetreefarmtopay.
Thedaylightwasmeltingintoeveningastheypulledoutofthelotandheadedsouthtowardhome.Evaleanedbackintheseatandstaredoutthewindowasthewarmglowoftheafternoonbegantofade,thinkingofthelongnightaheadofher
***
Theirtreewasdeliveredtwodayslater,itsrootswrappedinaburlapbag.Itcameonanenormoustruckthatalsocarriedequipmenttodigaholedeepenoughtoplantit.Lizsupervisedtheentirething,choosingaspotinfrontofEva’ssideoftheporch.Afterthetreehadbeenplantedandtheworkmenpaidandtipped,LizopenedherfrontdoorandcarriedoutaboxlabeledChristmas
WithLiz’sstereoblastingcarols,thetwoofthemgottowork.Firsttheystrungthewhitetwinklelights,andthencametheornaments.Lizhadastoryfornearlyeveryoneofthem.Giftsfromcolleaguesandformergradstudents,whomsherememberedwithvividdetailandfondness.Handmadeceramiconesfromwhenherdaughter,Ellie,hadbeenalittlegirl.“I’mprobablytheonlyvisitingprofessorwhoeverpackedaboxofChristmasornamentsforasix-monthpost,”shesaid.“ButI’veneverhadasingleChristmaswithoutatree.”Shesetasideaclumpywreathconstructedoutofdough,thenameElliewrittenontheback,aquietsadnessonherfacethatEvapretendednottonotice.
Astheyworked,Evafoundherselfwantingtoslowthingsdown,todrawtheeveningout.Shethoughtaheadtothistimenextyear,wheneverythingwouldberesolved,onewayoranother.She’deitherbesomewherefarawayordead.AndLizwouldbelonggone,hershorttimeinBerkeleyadistantmemory,Evajustanothernameonaholidaycardlist.
Whenthelastofthedecorationshadbeenhung,Lizdisappearedinsideandreturnedcarryingsomethingwrappedintissuepaper.AsshehandedittoEva,shesaid,“IwantedtobetheonetogiveyouyourfirstChristmasornament.Ihopethatfromnowon,whereveryouare,whereveryougo,youwillthinkofmewhenyoulookatit.”
Evaunwrappedthelayersoftissuepaper,revealingahandblownglassbluebird.
“Thebluebirdistheharbingerofhappiness,”Lizsaid.“That’smyChristmaswishforyou.”
Evaranherfingeroverthesmoothglass.Thedetailonitwasamazing,withdeepswirlingbluesandpurples,fadingintoalmosticewhiteinsomeplaces.“Liz,”shewhispered.“It’sincredible.Thankyou.”ShereacheddownandhuggedLiz.
Lizpulledhertight,embracingEvainawayshe’dalwaysimaginedhermothermight,andshenearlybroke,sostrongwasherdesiretobeknown.Tobeseen,insteadofconstantlyprotectingherself,measuringherwordsandactionsagainstdiscovery.Itallfeltliketoomuchtocarryalone,andLizwasthesortofpersonwhomighthelpEvaoutfromunderit.Thewordsrestedrightbehindherlips,trembling,waitingtobreakfree,butEvaswallowedthemdown.“Ididn’tgetanythingforyou.”
“Yourfriendshipisgiftenough,”Lizsaid.“Let’sturnontheselightsandhaveacupofhotchocolate.”
TheycarriedchairsfromLiz’sdiningroomontotheporchandsatwiththeirfeetproppedupontherailing.Thetreelitupthedarknight,itslightsglowingasiffromwithin,cloakingeverythingelseinshadows.
“Ifoundoutmymotherisdead,”Evasaid,hervoicejustawhisperinthedark.Shecouldn’tgiveLizthetruthaboutherlife,butshecouldgiveherthis.“ShediedwhenIwaseight.”
Lizturnedsidewaysinherchairandlookedather.“I’msosorry,”shesaid.
Evashrugged,tryingtosteelherselffromthepainshestillfeltatthediscovery.“I’mtryingtotellmyselfthisisbetter.Simpler.Atleastshehadagoodreasonfornotfindingme.”
“That’sonewaytolookatit,”Lizsaid,turningbacktowardthetree.“Willyoutrytofindyourgrandparents?”
Evathoughtabouthowthediscoveryofhermother’sdeathhadcrushedher,andshewasn’tsureshehaditinhertobedisappointedalloveragain.“Idon’tthinkso,”shesaid.“It’seasiernottoknow.”
“It’seasieruntilit’snot,”Lizsaid.“Whichiskindofhowlifegoes.Whenyoufeelready,maybeyou’lllookagain.”
Witheveryconversation,witheveryconfidenceEvashared,shewasdrawingLizclosertoher,tothetruthofwhoshewas.ShewantedtobothpushLizawayandinhaleheratthesametime.Itsettledsomethinginsideofher,tosetsomeofhersecretsdown.Toknowthatevenaftershedisappearedintoanewlife,someonewouldholdthepiecesofheroldoneandrememberwhoshe’dbeen.
Inthedistance,theCampanilebellschimedthehour.Whentheyweredone,Lizsaid,“Thatmanfromtheotherday.Tellmemore.”
Evahesitated,sotiredoflying.“It’snothing,”shefinallysaid.“He’sjustafriend.”
Lizsatwithherexplanationforafewmomentsbeforeasking,“Areyousafe?”
Evashotheralook.“Ofcourse.Why?”
Lizshrugged.“IthoughtIheardyelling.Andhisface,forasplitsecond…”Shetrailedoff.“Myex-husbandusedtodothat.Beangryonesecond,thenthenextitwasasifamaskhadslippedoverhistrueself.”Sheshookherhead.“Itjusttriggeredsomethinginme,that’sall.”
EvaconsideredtellingLizaversionofthetruth.ThatDexwasacolleague.Thatshe’dmadeamistakeatworkandputhiminabadpositionwiththeirboss.Butthatwasthetrickythingwithhalf-truths.Theyledsoquicklytowardbiggerrevelations,likeslidingdownahill,gainingmomentumwitheveryone.
LizturnedinherseatagainsothatshewasfacingEva,watchingher,waitingforhertoexplain.
“Wehadplanstomeetforlunch,”shefinallysaid.“Iforgot.Hewasmad.Butit’sfine.I’mfine.”
Lizstaredather,asifweighingEva’sstory,waitingfortherestofit.ButEvaremainedsilent,andnexttoher,shefeltLiz’scuriosityandworrymorphintohurt.DisappointmentthatEvadidn’ttrustherwiththetruth.“I’mgladtohearit,”Lizfinallysaid.
AsEvalookedatthetree,somethingshiftedinsideofher,somethingshinyandvulnerableanddangerousrisingclosetothesurface,breakingthroughherhardexterior.AndEvaknew,withoutadoubt,thatbeinglovedbyLizwasmoreterrifyingthananythingshe’deverdone,becausesheknewshewouldn’talwayshaveher.
***
LongafterLizhadgonetobed,Evasatthere,watchingthehousesalongthestreetgodark,onebyone,unwillingtoturnthelightsonthetreeoffandgoinside.Notyet,atinyvoiceinsideherwhispered.Shefeltinvisible,asifsheweretheghostofwhosheusedtobe,cometovisitthislifeandleadherselfsomewherebetter.
Frombeyondthetree’sillumination,Evaheardthesoundofquietfootsteps.Shesatup,hersensessharpening,thoughtsleapingimmediatelytoDex,ortoFish,andthefactthatshewouldn’tevenknowitwashimuntilitwastoolate.
Amanappearedonthefrontwalk,castinadarkshadowfromthebrightlightsofthetree,andshesquintedintotheblacknightasheapproachedandmadehiswaytowardher.AgentCastrosteppedintothecircleoflightcreatedbythetreeandleanedagainsttheporchrail.
Evaremainedseatedandwaited.Alltheseweekspreparing.Organizing.Planning.Andnowthemomenthadarrived.
SheglancedatLiz’sdarkwindowsandsaid,“Howlonghaveyoubeenwaiting?”
“Alongtime,”hesaid.“Years.”
Evatookinhisface,fatigueetchingshadowsbeneathhischeekbones,andrealizedtheywerenotsodifferent.Bothofthemwearyfromtryingtomaintainafacadethathadgrownunwieldy.
Inaquietvoice,hesaid,“WhatcanyoutellmeaboutamannamedFelixArgyros?”
Evakepthereyesonthetree.“I’veneverheardofhim.”Thatmuchwastrue.
“YoumightknowhimasFish.”
Shedidn’tanswer.Aslongasshedidn’tsayanything,shecouldstayinsidethisneutralspacewhereshe’dneitherbetrayFishorhavetolietoafederalagent.
Hecontinued.“Youarenotmytarget,Eva.Ifyouhelpme,Icanprotectyou.”
Evagaveashort,mirthlesslaugh.IfFishknewCastrowashererightnow,Evawouldn’tseetheendoftheweek.
“You’regoingtohavetomakeachoice,”hesaid.
“Ithoughtthetaskforcewasdisbanded.”IfCastrowassurprisedsheknewthis,hedidn’tleton.
“Let’sjustsaywescaledback.You’veturnedintoquiteasportsfan.”
Evakepthereyesonthetree,althoughallherattentionwasonCastro,markinghisposture,watchinghisbodylanguage.Sheknewhedidn’thaveanythingonher,orhewouldhavearrestedher,notcreptuptoherporchlateatnight,askingquestions.“I’mjustaserverwholikesfootballandbasketball,”shesaid
“WanttoknowwhatIthink?”heasked.
“Notparticularly.”
“Ithinkyouwantout.”Hisvoicewassoft,buthiswordscutthroughheranyways,howclearlyhesawher.Howmuchofhermindhealreadyknew.
Sheshothimaquickglance,andhesmiled,asifsomethinghadjustbeenconfirmed.“Time’srunningout,”hesaid,pushingofftherailingandstandingupright.“Icaneitherkeepthisconversationasecretorletsliptosomeoneinsidethedepartmentthatwe’vetalked.HowdoyouthinkthatmightgooverwithFish?”Heshookhisheadslightlyandsaid,“Evenifyouweretotellhimaboutitfirst,he’dhavedoubts.Andinmyexperience,doubtsalwayscauseproblems.”
Evastaredathim,heroptionsnarrowingdowntojustone.“Whyme?”sheasked
Castrolockedhiseyesontohersandsaid,“Becauseyou’retheoneIwanttohelp.”
Heslidhiscardontotherailingandwalkeddownthefrontpath,disappearingasquietlyashe’dappeared.
Claire
Saturday,February26
OntheridehomefromtheA’sevent,KellyandIaresilent,mymindleapingforwardandbackward,tryingtorewritewhatI’vejustdone.Iknowwhatthosepeoplewilldowiththevideosandphotostheytook.They’llshowuponlinefirst,theneventuallymigratetotelevision.Thequestionishowsoon,andwillanyonerecognizeme?
Irelishthequietofthecarandstareoutthewindow,lookingatthedarkenedapartmentsthatbackupagainstthefreeway.Asweheaduptheon-ramp,Kellysays,“Whathappenedbackthere?”
Ikeepmyfaceaverted,wonderingwhatshe’dsayifIunloadedeverythingfromthepastfewdays.IimaginehereyesgrowingwideasIspeak,thehorrorofwhatI’vedonetosavemyselfedgingoutanyfriendlinessthatusedtolivethere.“Whatdoyoumean?”Iask.
“ThewayyoujumpedinbetweenDonnyandhisgirlfriendwhenhelosthistemper.Whatdidyouleavebehind?”
Theroadisnearlyemptythislateatnight,andthecarglidesoverseverallanes,settlinginthemiddle.“It’sbetterifyoudon’tknow.”
Kellykeepshereyesontheroad,occasionalheadlightsfromtheoppositedirectionbrieflyilluminatingherface,beforeit’scoveredindarknessagain.“Didyourhusbandhityou?”
Iletthequestionhangintheair,wonderingifIhavethenervetoanswerit.FinallyIwhisper,“Manytimes.”
“Andnowyou’reworriedhemightseethevideoandfindyou.”
“Idon’tknowhowIcouldhavebeensostupid,”Isay.
WedriftoffthefreewayintodowntownBerkeley,andinalmostnotime,we’reapproachingEva’shouse.Whenshepullsupinfront,Kellyturnstome.“Letmehelp,”shesays.
Iknowbetterthananyonehowsecretscanfester,cuttingyouofffromtherestoftheworld.IneverhadanytruefriendsinNewYork,otherthanPetra,becauseIhadtoomuchtohide.Somuchtoconceal.AndnowthatI’veescaped,nothing’schanged.IhavetoholdKellyatthesamedistanceinordertoprotectmysecrets.They’rejustdifferentsecrets.
Iofferaweaksmile,wishingmorethananythingKellyandIcouldbefriends.
“Thanks,”Isay.“Butitmightbetoolateforthat.”
***
Upstairsatmycomputer,ItypeinthewebaddressforTMZ.RightatthetopisalinkshowingDonnyandCressida’sfight,postedjustforty-fiveminutesago.Theheadlinesays“FightBetweenBaseballStarDonnyRodriguezandGirlfriendTurnsPhysical.”Iclickonit,andthevideopopsup.There’snosound,justthefootage,buttheresolutionisincredible.ItshowsDonnyandCressidafighting,thewayhegrabbedherarmandyankedhertowardhim,andme,steppingintothemiddleofallofit.
Therearealreadyovertwohundredcomments,andabouthalfwaydown,Iseeit.
NYpundit:Hey,doesanyonethinkthatwomaninthebackgroundlooksalittlebitlikeRoryCook’sdeadwife?
“No,”IbreatheintotheemptyroomandthinkabouttheGooglealertthismentionhasactivated.ToDanielle’semail.ToRoryhimself.
Iquicklynavigatetohisinboxandopenhisalertsfolder.Theemailsitsatthetopofalonglistofunreadnotifications,andmyfirstinstinctistodeleteit.Butthatwillonlydelaytheinevitable.Daniellewillstillseethealert,readit,andclickonthelink.Shewillwatchthevideo,perhapsseveraltimes,beforetakingittoBruce.Together,they’llfigureoutthebestwaytoapproachRory,toshowhimthatthewifewhowasabouttoleavehim,theonewhosupposedlydied,isaliveandwellandworkingforacatererinOakland.
Ichecktheboxnexttothemessage,alongwithseveralothersforgoodmeasure,andhitDelete,andthentoggleovertothetrashandemptyit.I’mscrewedeitherway.
***
BySundaymorning,overahundredthousandpeoplehaveviewedthevideo,andIscrollthroughatleastonehundredrepliestothecommentfromlastnight.MostofthemarechastisingNYpunditforbeingblind,stupid,orsimplyacallousconspiracytheorist.
Peoplelikeyouarewhat’swrongwiththiscountry.Youhidebehindyourcomputerandthrowoutbaselesstheoriesinthehopesofbecomingfamous.
ButNYpunditisn’tgivingup.Hepostedascreenshotofmyfacefromthevideo,andnexttoit,thesameimagefromtheStarsLikeUsmagazinearticle.Youtellme,hesays.
Theydolooksimilar,anothercommenterconcedes.Ifyouswapoutthehair,maybe.
Iknowthatdespitemyshortblondhair,Rorywillrecognizemerightaway.ThewayImove,theexpressiononmyfaceasIstepbetweenDonnyandCressidaisunmistakable.It’sonlyamatteroftimeuntilRoryseesthevideoandtracksmedown—throughTom,orKelly—andIneedtobefarawayfromBerkeleywhenthathappens.
Butsofarthismorning,theDocremainsemptyofthewordsIexpecttomaterializethereatanymoment.
Didyouwatchthevideo?Doyouthinkit’sreallyher?
***
Butwhentextfinallyappears,it’snotaboutthevideo.
BruceCorcoran:Charliesentmeadraftemailofapressreleaseandasworndeposition.RoryCook:What’sinit?BruceCorcoran:Everything.
Thewordsitsthere,andIcanfeeltheweightofit,whateveritis.
Brucecontinuestyping,andIcanpracticallyhearhisappeasingtone.
BruceCorcoran:Obviously,wearen’tgoingtoletthishappen.WehavepeoplelookingintoCharlie’sbackground.Allthewaybacktocollege.We’llfindsomethingthatwillputanendtothisRoryCook:There’salotthere.Keepmeposted.BruceCorcoran:Willdo.
Aknockonthedoordownstairsstartlesme.IcreepdownandpeekthroughthewindowandseeKellystandingontheporch,holdingtwocupsofcoffeefromthecoffeeshop.I’mtemptednottoanswer,togetbackupstairstofindoutwhateverythingmeansandwhatexactlyasenioraccountantfromthefoundationknowsaboutMaggieMoretti’slastweekendwithRory.
Butshe’sseenme.“Ithoughtyoumightneedsomecaffeinethismorning,”shecallsthroughthecloseddoor.“Iwantedtothankyouforhelpingthegirlsyesterday.Theyfinishedlastnightandit’sprettygood.”
Wesettleonthecouch,thelowtablebetweenus.Kellysipsfromhercup,andIholdmine,theheatradiatingthroughmyhands.
“There’savideoofmeonTMZ,”Itellher.
“Isaw,”shesays.“Butit’sonlyonline.NothingonTV.Sounlessyourexlikestotrollcelebritygossipsites,you’llprobablybefine.”
Ifshelookedatthecommentsatall,it’sunlikelyshereadfarenoughtocatchNYpundit’s.Irotatethecupinmyhands,wishingIcouldexplainthatitisn’tsosimple.Thatthisisn’tgoingtogoawaysoeasily.
“Thanksforcheckinginwithme,andforthis.”Iholdupmycoffee.“ButIneedtogetpacking.I’mleavingthisafternoon.”Ilookaroundthespacethat’sbeenmyrefugeforthepastfewdays.Mycoat,thrownacrossthebackofthechair,thestackofnewspapersonthefloornexttothecouch,howquicklythishousehasbeguntofeellikeahome.
“There’sstillachancehewon’tseethevideo.”
Iplacemycoffeeonthetablebetweenus,untouched.“It’smorecomplicatedthanyoumightthink.”
“Thenexplainittome,”shesays.“Ifyouneedmoney,Icanloanittoyou.Ifyouneedadifferentplacetosay,Ihaveafriendwhocanfindoneforyou.”
Inthismoment,I’mremindedofmymother,whoneverhesitatedtoreachouttosomeoneinneedandofferhelp,evenwhenshecouldn’taffordtogiveit.IwantmorethananythingtoletKellyhelpme.ButIcan’triskpullingher—orherfamily—intosomethingbiggerthananysanepersonwouldbewillingtocarry.
“Thankyou,”Isay.“Iappreciateeverythingyou’vedone,morethanyouwilleverknow.”
“Letmeatleasthelpyouearnalittlemoremoneybeforeyougo.Tom’sgotapartythisafternoon.Nomedia,Ipromise.Justastraight-upeventatahouseinthehillswithkillerviews.Icanpickyouupattwoandhaveyouhomebynine.”Shegivesmeasadsmile.“Earlyenoughsoyoucanstilltechnicallyleavetoday.”
Ontheothersideofthelivingroomwall,tuckedawayinthedarkgarage,isEva’scar,andIfeelanurgencytogonow.Nottowasteanotherminute.Totossmycoffeeintothetrash,clearoutthedebrisofthelastfewdays,throwmythingsintohercar,andtakeoff.
Butcautionpullsmeupshort.Ican’taffordtobeimpulsive,tomakeanothermistake.Ineedtohaveaplan.FigureoutwhereI’llgonext,gathertherelevantdocumentsImightneedfromEva’soffice,andpack.EvenifRoryseesthevideorightthissecond,theearliesthemightappearintownistomorrow.Icanstillleavetonight,withanothertwohundreddollarsinmypocket.Ican’taffordtosayno.
“I’llseeyouattwo.”
AfterKellyleaves,Iheadbackupstairstomycomputer,hopingtoseemoreofthediscussionaboutCharlie.ButtheDocisemptyagain,andIfeelthesilence,likeawhisperedthreatonlyIcanhear.
***
IstartwithEva’sdesk,locatingthemostrecentbankstatementandsettingitaside.Fromtheboxinthecorner,Ipullthetitleandregistrationtohercar,hersocialsecuritycardandbirthcertificate,andtakeasecondunsuccessfullookforapassport.Iseemyselfsomewherefaraway,abigcitylikeSacramentoorPortland.MaybeSeattle.Findingacheapmotelorhostel,andthenajob,fillinginEva’sinformationontheW-2,themomentumofpossibilitygrowinginsideofme.
IgrabapaystubfromDuPree’s,therestaurantwhereEvaworked,andaddittomypile.MaybeIcanusethemasareference.Ireachupandtouchmyshortblondhair.ToanyoneoutsideofBerkeley,IamEvaJames.Icanproveitwithadriver’slicense.Abankaccount.Asocialsecuritycardandtaxreturns.Likeafunhousemirror,I’mnolongersurewhereIendandshebegins.Iimaginearestaurantmanagersomewhere,callingDuPree’s,askingaboutme.EvaJames?Yeah,sheworkedhere.
Iturnbacktowardmycomputer.WhereshouldIgo?Thepossibilitiesbubbleupinsideofme.Headingnorthseemstobethebestchoice,withsomanylargecitiesandmilesbetweenhereandCanada.MaybeIcancirclebackandsettleinChicagoorIndianapolis.Ibeginmysearch,usingCraigslisttolookforjobsandinexpensiveplacestolive,calculatinghowlongmymoneywilllast.
Afteranhour,IclickbackovertotheDoc,whichisstillempty,ablankwhitesquareofferingnothingbutstressandfear.It’stheonlythinganchoringmetomyoldlife,andI’mtemptedtocutmylosses,logout,andleaveitallbehind.Ihavetofindmyownpathforward,thinkaboutmyownnextsteps,notsomehypotheticalMaggieMorettiscandalthatmightnotevenbetrue.Maggieisdead.AndifIdon’tkeepmywitsaboutme,Icouldendupthatwaytoo.
BecauseonceRoryseesthevideo,I’mcertainhe’llcome.He’llflytoOaklandandtrackdownTom,demandinganswers.AllTomwillbeabletotellhimisEva’sfirstname.HehasnoW-2.NoemployeerecordstoevenindicatewhereEvalived.
ButKellyknows.
IcanseeRory,givingherthatsmile,theonethatknockseventhemosthard-hearteddonorsintowritingacheck.Iknowwhathe’llsayaboutme—thatI’mtroubled.Unbalanced.Pronetoexaggerationandlies.I’dliketothinkKellycouldwithstandthat,butthetruthis,Idon’tknowherwellenoughtobecertainofanything.Whichiswhybytonight,Ineedtobegone.
***
Thepartyisupawindingroad,perchedhighintheBerkeleyHills.KellyandIarriveshortlyaftertwo.Aquickcheck-inwithTomhasusstartingwithtableclothsofcrispwhitelinenthatsnapopenandfloatontoeachtableinalargeroomwith360-degreeviewsofthebay.
“Wheredoyouthinkyou’llgo?”Kellyasksinalowvoice.ThebartenderTomhired,atwentysomethinggraduatestudent,bouncesaroundbehindthebar,earbudsin,settingupbottles,polishingglasses.
Ismoothmyhandsacrossthetableclothandlookouttheplateglasswindows,theharshafternoonsunmakingtheviewlookwashed-outanddirty.“MaybePhoenix,”Ilie.“OrLasVegas.East,Ithink.”
I’vedecidedtoheadnorth,bypassingSacramentoinfavorofPortland.SaveasmuchofmycashaspossiblebyusingEva’sdebitcardandzipcodetofillupatthepump,goingasfarasIcanuntilhermoneyrunsout.I’vepackedasmallbag,simplethings,enoughtogetmethroughatleastaweekontheroaduntilIcangetsettledsomewheremorepermanent.
Kellyleanscloser.“Youwon’twanttodocasinowork.Theyfingerprint.”
Itakeastepback,wonderingwhatsheknows,whatImusthaveinadvertentlyrevealed.
Shecatchesthelookofpaniconmyfaceandsays,“Hey.Idon’tmeananythingbythat,otherthanyoumightwanttoavoiditifyourhusbandisworkingwiththepolicetofindyou.”
Tomemergesfromthekitchenwearingawhitechef’scoatandcallsusinforthedebrief.KellyandIdropwhatwe’redoingtostepupforourfinalinstructionsbeforethepartystarts.Ashefinishes,thehostessjoinsus.She’syoung—aboutmyage—anddoesn’tpayusmuchattentionaswestandtotheside,lettingTomexplainhowservicewillwork.Hereyesslideoverus,asifwe’refurniture,beforeshesays,“Thatsoundsperfect.Pleasemakesuretokeeptheappetizerscirculating.”
***
Soon,KellyandIaremovingamongthecrowdwithourheavytrays.TheglasswindowshavebeenopenedsothatguestscanpassbetweenindoorsandasmallgrassyyardoverlookingBerkeleyandthebaybeyond.Thesunhasmovedacrossthesky,andtheviewthatseemedharshearlierisnowcastinrichgreensandgolds.There’sachillthatmightmakemeshiverifIwasn’tworkingsohard.Aspromised,thepartyisprivate,nosignofanyoneinterestedinphotographingtheguests.
Atatableneartheedgeoftheyard,Isetmytraydowntogatherdirtyglassesandemptyplates,andletmyeyeslingeronthehorizon.SanFranciscoisshadedindeepbluesandpurplesasthesunbeginstoset,thelightsontheBayBridgebecomingmorevibrantagainstthedarkeningsky,astreamofcarstravelingintothecity,theirredtaillightsabrightnecklace.Behindme,thepartygoeson,voicesmixedinwithpocketsoflaughter,theclinkofglassesandcutlery,andbeneathitall,lowclassicalmusicsmoothingouttheedges.
Iheftmytraybackontomyshoulderandmakemywaycarefullytowardthehouse.AsIcrossthethreshold,onevoiceliftsupabovetheothers.Awoman’s,brightwithsurpriseandjoy.“Ohmygod,Claire!Isitreallyyou?”
Heatzipsupmyspine,spreadingoutward,growingintoawhite-hotpanicasthepartyswirlsaroundme.Myeyesdarttowardtheexits—frontandback—measuringwhichonemightbecloser,butpeoplepressinonmewithnoclearpathofescape.
IshouldhaveleftwhenIhadthechance.Andnowit’stoolate.
Eva
Berkeley,California
January
SevenWeeksbeforetheCrash
ColdJanuarywindandaresolution—onewayoranother,shewasdone.EitherAgentCastrowasgoingtohelpherescapeorshe’ddoitherself.TheyweremeetinginadesertedbeachparkinglotinSantaCruz,anhourandahalfsouthofSanFrancisco.EvahopedFish’sreachdidn’textendsofar.She’ddrivenslowly,watchingherrearviewmirrorforanyonefollowingher.Theroadthatwoundthroughthelowhillsseparatingthe101freewaywiththecoastwasonlytwolanes.Severaltimesshepulledoverandletcarsbehindherpass.Nooneappearedtonoticeher.Nocarsdoubledback.BythetimeshepulledinnexttoAgentCastro’scar,shefeltconfidenttheywerealone.
Theywalkeddownthestairsthatledtothebeachwithoutspeaking.Windblewherhairaroundherface,andthepoundingwavesseemedtovibratethroughher.Shewonderedwhattheylookedliketooutsiders,walkingonthebeachinthemiddleofwinter.Wouldpeoplethinktheywereacouple,hashingoutanargument?Orperhapssiblings,cometoscattertheremainsofalovedone?ShewasalmostcertaintheywouldneverguessdrugdealerandDEAagent.
“You’remakingtherightdecision,”hesaid.
Evastaredoutattheocean,saltspraymistingherface.Sheresentedtheworddecision,asifshewerechoosingbetweenasofaandachair,deliberatingbetweenoptions,weighingtheprosandcons.
Shefelttimeslowdown,forcinghertonoticethemomentthatseparatedbeforeandafter.Thelasttimesomethinghadsplitherlifesocleanly,theconsequenceshadbledfarintothefuture,stainingeverything.“Ihaven’tdecidedanything.ButI’mwillingtolistentowhatyouhavetosay,”shesaidfinally.
AgentCastroshovedhishandsinhispocket,hiseyessquintingagainstthewind.“FelixArgyrosissomeonewe’vebeentrackingforalongtime.AsI’msureyou’reaware,hisreachintheBayAreaisextensiveanddeep.Andhe’sdangerous.Wehaveatleastthreeactivemurderinvestigationsthatwethinkareconnectedtohim.”
Evagavehimasharplook.“You’rewastingyourtimetryingtoscareme.Iknowwhathecandotome,whichiswhyIwon’tagreetoanythinguntilyoucanoffermeprotection.”
AgentCastro’sbrowneyesstudiedherface,andsheheldhisgaze,diggingdeeptoholdit,toshowhimshewasdeterminedtodothisherway.Shehadwhathewanted,andifhewanteditbadenough,hewouldagreetoherterms.
“Ofcoursewe’llofferyouprotection.We’llbewithyoutwenty-fourhoursadayuntilafteryoutestify,andI’vebeenauthorizedtoofferfullimmunity.”
Evalaughedandlookeddownthebeach,whereinthedistance,alonewomanthrewastickforagoldenretrieverintotheocean.“‘Immunity’isameaninglessword.I’mtalkingaboutwitnessprotection.Givingmeanewidentity,settingmeupsomewhereelse.”
AgentCastroblewouthard,thinking.“Icanask,”hesaidfinally.“ButIcan’tmakeanypromises.It’snotascommonasyoumightthink,andwedon’tusuallydothatforpeopleofFish’scaliber.”
Evaknewhehadtosaythat,totrytodirecthertowhatwassimplerandcheaperforhisbosses.Butshewouldn’tbedeterred.“IknowhowharditistomakeaconvictionstickonaguylikeFish.Iknowhowlikelyitishe’llgetoffonatechnicality.Andifhedoes,whatdoyouthinkwillhappentome?Yourimmunitywon’thelpmethen.”
“Iunderstand,”AgentCastrosaid.“AllIcandoisassureyouweknowwhatwe’redoing.”
“LikeyouknewwhatyouweredoinggettingBrittanyinvolved?”
“Brittanywasamistake,”heconceded.“Butitwasn’tacompletedisaster,sincesheledustoyou.”HeturnedhisbackontheoceantofaceEva,andhiscoatbillowedoutlikeaparachute.“Youhavetotrustus.”
Evanearlylaughedoutloud.Trustingothershadneverturnedoutwellforher,andthiswouldbenodifferent.“Ifyoucan’toffermewitnessprotection,Idon’tthinkIcanhelpyou.”
Castro’seyessoftened,andshenoticedthelaughlinesthatframedthem.Someone,somewhere,mustknowwhathelookedlikewhenhewashappy,andshefoundherselfwonderingwhothatwas,whatitwasliketoloveamanwhospenthisdayschasingshadows.
“Look,”hesaid.“I’vebeendoingthisalongtime,andI’veseenalot.OfallthepeopleIknowinthisbusiness,you’retheonewhodoesn’tfit.”
Evalookedbeyondhim,outacrossthechurningwavesandwhitecapstothehorizonline,knowingthatitwasjustanillusion,thatitwouldalwaysbeoutofreachnomatterhowfaryoutraveled,howhardyoutriedtogetthere.“Youdon’tknowanythingaboutme,”shesaid.
“Iknowyougrewupinagrouphome.IknowwhathappenedtoyouatBerkeley,andIknowyoushouldn’thavebeentheonlyonepunished.”
Shebitbackaresponse,angryathimforknowinghersecrets.She’dneededsomeonetosaythatyearsago,whenitcouldhaveactuallyhelpedher.Now?Theywerejustemptywords.
Hecontinued.“Ithinkyou’reagoodpersonwhowasforcedtomakeanimpossiblechoice.Helpmehelpyou.”
Evastaredathim,tryingtomakehimbelieveshewasstillconsideringit,lettingthesilencespooloutbetweenthem.Sheknewenoughaboutlifetoknowthattheminuteyouagreedtosomething—whetheritwasmakingdrugsforafootballplayeroradrugdealer,orturningevidenceovertothefeds—theystoppedtryingtotakecareofyouassoonasyousaidyes.
AgentCastrocontinued.“Ifyoudon’tcooperate,wewillprosecuteyou.Immunitywilldisappear,andIwon’tbeabletodoanythingforyouoncethathappens.You’llgotojail,foraverylongtime.”
EvathoughtshehadenoughforCastro,buttheminuteshehandeditover,hewouldn’thavetopromiseheranything.“IfyoucangivemewhatI’maskingfor,wemightbeabletocometoanagreement,”shesaid.
“I’lldomybest.”
Evahuggedherarmstightagainstherbodyandsaid,“Iassumeyou’llkeepfollowingme.Ihavetoaskthatyounotmakethingsdifficult.YouseemtothinkFishisamidrangedealer,butifhefindsoutwetalked,he’llkillme,andthenyou’llhavenothing.”
***
ShebarelyregisteredthereturndrivetoBerkeley,hermindtakingover,siftingthroughheroptionsandnextsteps.RegardlessofwhatCastromightbeabletodoforher,sheneededtobereadytowalkawayfromallofit—Berkeley,herhouse,herjob.AndLiz.
Evaarrivedhomeafterdark,thelightsinLiz’sapartmentwarmandinviting.Shepausedtotouchthesoftbranchesoftheirtree,emptyofdecorationsnow,waitingforanotherChristmasthatwouldneverarrive.WouldLizimagineEvahere,decoratingitalone?WouldshetrytocallEvaandwonderwhysheneveransweredherphone?ComebacktovisitfriendsandfindEvagone,herapartmentabandoned?Evaknewwhatthatwaslike,tofeeltheraggedstrandsofunansweredquestions,ticklingthebackofyourmind,tormentingyourquietestmomentswithwhy
Asifshe’dconjuredher,Lizappeared,openingherdoorandpeeringoutatEva,stillstandingnexttothetree.“Whatareyoudoingoutthere?”
Evalookedather,framedbythebrightrectangleoflight,anddidn’tanswer.
Liztookastepoutontotheporch,hersmilefadingasshecaughtEva’sexpression.“Areyouokay?”sheasked.“Youlookupset.”
“No,justtired.”
Lizlookedasifshewantedtosaysomething,buthesitated.Finally,shesaid,“Whenareyougoingtotellmewhat’sreallygoingonwithyou?WheneverIask,yougivemenonanswers.Ortellmeyou’retired.Butthat’snotit.Whywon’tyoutalktome?”
“Italktoyou.Allthetime.”
Lizshookherhead.“No.Youtellmethingsthathavealreadyhappened.Thatarealreadyover.ButIknowalmostnothingaboutyourdays.Nothingaboutwhatyoustrugglewith.Whatworriesyou.Whyyou’renotsleeping.Outofnowhere,amanappears,fightingwithyou.ThenIneverhearofhimorseehimagain.”Shetookadeepbreath.“No,Eva.Youdon’ttalktome.Youdon’teventrustme.”
“You’rereadingtoomuchintothings,”Evasaid,hatinghowshesounded.Patronizing.Dismissive.Whenwhatshewanted,morethananything,wastothrowherselfatLiz’sfeetandbeghertofixit.Tohelpher.
Liz’svoicewaslowasshesteppedallthewayontotheporchandcrossedherarmsoverherchest.“Ithoughtwewerefriends.Butyoulietome.Allthetime.Aboutwhereyougo.Whatyoudo.Whoyouspendtimewith.I’mnotstupid.Ipayattention.Ihearyouatnight,onthephonesometimes.Arguing.Withthatguy?”Lizgaveathinlaughandsaid,“Don’tbotheranswering.Ialreadyknowyouwon’ttellmethetruth.”
Evawastemptedtothrowthetruthinherface.Tospitthewordsather,likebullets,piercingLiz’sbeliefthatshecouldcarrywhatEvawashiding.SheimaginedrollingbacktheshelvesinherkitchenandleadingLizdownintoherbasementlab.ThisiswhereImakethedrugs,she’dtellher.IcookthemuponthatcampingstoveoverthereandgivehalftoanincrediblyscarymanwhomighthavemekilledifIstop.
EvathoughtofCastro’swordsfromearlier.OfallthepeopleIknowinthisbusiness,you’retheonewhodoesn’tfit.“IliveinaworldwhereIdon’tbelong,”shefinallysaid.
Lizsteppedtowardher,butEvabackedaway,needingtomaintainthespacebetweenthem.“Whywouldyousaythat?”Lizasked.“Lookatwhatyou’vedone.Whatyou’veaccomplished,despitealltheoddsagainstyou.”
“Andthereitis,”Evasaidunderherbreath.Whatshe’dbeenrunningfromherentirelife.Eventually,everyone—evenLiz—viewedhersuccessesandfailuresthroughthelensofpitytheyfeltforher.
ApressurebegantobuildupinsideofEva,allthethingsshewantedtosaybutcouldn’t.Shepressedherfingerstohertemplesandsteppedtowardherdoor,needingtogetoutfromunderLiz’sgaze,needingtoescapeinsidewhereshecouldthinkclearly,whereshewouldn’thavetohideandobfuscate.“Ican’tdothis.I’msorry.”
Lizreachedout,closingthedistancebetweenthem,andlaidahandonEva’sarm.“Youcan’trunfromwhat’shurtingyou.Youcan’tburyitandhopeitwillgoaway.Youhavetofaceit.Lookatit.Talkaboutit.”
Evayankedherarmaway.“Pleasestop.Youcan’tfixthiswithafuckingpeptalkabouthonestyandself-reflection.”
Lizrecoiled,buthergazewasfiery,hervoicerisingtomeetEva’s.“Thentellme.Whateveritis.Justsayit.”
Again,Evafellsilent,thewordssimplytoobigtospeak.ShelookedthroughLiz’swindowandintoherlivingroom,rememberingthefirsttimeshesatthere,terrifiedthatherentireworldwasabouttocrumblebecauseofCastro.NotunderstandingthatLizwouldbetheonetopullitallapart.TodismantleEva’swallsenoughtoshinelightintoherdarkestcorners.Tomakeheryearnagainforsomethingmore.Toforcehertowanttobesomeonebetter.
WhenitbecameclearEvawasn’tgoingtosaymore,Lizpulledaway,lettingEvaunlockherdoorandstepinside.Butassheclosedandlockedit,Liz’svoicefloatedinfromtheporch.“Whenyou’rereadytotalk,I’llbehere.”
Evamadeherwaytothecouchwhereshecurledupinaball,wishingshewasalreadygone.Thatthispartwasalreadyover.
Claire
Sunday,February27
I’mfrozen,waitingfortheownerofthatvoicetofindme,grabmyarm,andlookintomyface.TocallmeoutandsnatchwhatlittlebitoffreedomIhaveleft.
Fromacrosstheroom,Kelly’swatchingmeandmouthsthewordsAreyouokay?Inodandforcemyselftokeepmoving.IslidebetweenguestsuntilI’moutofthecenteroftheroom,keepingmytrayelevatednearmychin,highenoughtopartiallyobscuremyface,ortotipitforwardontosomeoneelseifIhaveto.
Ourhostessenters,arminarmwithawomanIdon’trecognize.Thetwoofthemtalk,theirheadsbenttowardoneanother,whensomeoneelsefromacrosstheroomcalls,“Claire,overhere.PaulawantstotellyouaboutourtriptoBelize.”
AndIrealizeourhostess’snameisClaire.Myhandsbegintotremble—shake,really—myarmsandlegssuddenlyturnedtojelly,unabletosupportme.ImakemywayovertoKellyandhandhermytray.“Ineedtousetherestroom,”Iwhisper.
“Youlooklikeshit,”shesays.“Whathappened?”
Ishakemyhead,brushingoffherconcern.“I’mokay.Ididn’teatenoughbeforework,andI’malittlewoozy.Ijustneedaminute.”
“Hurry,”shesays,thoughIcantellshedoesn’tbelieveme.
Inasmalldownstairspowderroom,Isplashcoldwateronmyfaceandstareatmyselfinthemirror.Icanchangemyappearance.Usesomeoneelse’sname.Gotoanothercity.Butthetruthwillalwaysfollowme.NomatterhowcarefulIam,howguarded,Iwillalwaysbeonemistakeawayfromdiscovery.
Idrymyhandsandslipbacktotheparty,pickingupanewtrayonmyway.IgiveKellyanodandplasterasmileonmyface.Aroundme,conversationswirls,andI’mbacktobeinginvisibleagain.ButmyearscatchonthenameClaireseveraltimesovertheevening,andeventhoughIknowthey’renottalkingtome,Istillflinch.Bytheendoftheevening,I’mbatteredandjittery,readytoleapintoEva’scarandgo.
***
OntheridebacktoEva’s,Igiveintotheexhaustion,theflushofadrenalinestillseepingoutofme.ThewadofbillsTomgavemepokesasharpcornerthroughmypocket.Twohundreddollars,whichbringsmysavingsuptonearlyeighthundreddollars.WiththehelpofEva’scarandherdebitcard,thatcancarrymealongwayfromhere.
“Youreadytogo?”Kellysays,breakingthesilence.We’reonlyafewblocksfromEva’s,onelightandacouplestopsignsbetweennowandgoodbye.
“Yeah,”Isay.
Shepassesmeascrapofpaper.“Mynumber.Callmeifyouneedanything.Ifyou’recomfortabledoingso,letmeknowwhereyouland.”
“Iwill,”Isayasshepullsuptothehouseandstops.
Shegivesmeasadsmile.“Youwon’t.Butthat’sokay.”
Ihesitatebeforereachingacrosstogiveheratighthug.“Thankyouforbeingmyfriend.Forhelpingme.”
Shelooksintomyeyesandholdsmygaze,herbrownonessteadyonmine.“You’rewelcome.”
***
Inside,Igoupstairs,needingashowertowakemeupforthelongdriveahead.Iletthesteamfillmeup,rememberingthelasttimeIpreparedtoleaveaplace,gearingmyselfupforaverydifferentkindofdeparture.Iemergeanddressquickly,tidyingupthebedroomasbestIcan,makingsurewhateverorwhoeverEvawasrunningfromwon’tfindatraceofmewhentheyfinallyshowup.IhesitateinfrontofEva’sdresser,thenoteI’dfoundstilltuckedintothemirrorEverythingyoueverwantedisontheothersideoffear.IhavenowayofknowingwhatthismeanttoEva,orwhyshemighthavethrownitaway.ButIfeeltheneedtotakesomethingofherwithme.Notthelegalpaperworkthatoutlinesthespaceshefilledintheworld,nottheclothesshewore,butsomethingfromherheart.Islipitoutofthemirrorandtuckitintomypocket.
Ienterheroffice,pickingupthestackofpapersI’dcollectedandslidingthemintomypurse.IchecktheDoc,thetimestampatthetopshowingnoactivitysincethatmorning’sexchange.Whatawasteoftimethishasbeen,auselessdistraction.RoryandBrucearealmostneverapart.Anythingtheyhavetosaytoeachothercanbewhisperedacrossaquietroom.WhateverCharlieFlanaganknowsabouttheweekendMaggiedied…itdoesn’thaveanythingtodowithme.
Iwanttoletgo.Disconnect.Butatinyvoiceinsidemyheadwarnsmethatthisisn’tover.Thatwiththevideooutthereandthesearchandrecoverystillactive,IneedtouseeveryresourceavailableuntilI’mcertainthedangerhaspassed.
“Andwhenwillthatbe?”Isayintotheemptyroom.Iwait,asifImightgetananswer.Withasigh,Iclosemycomputerandslideitintomybag,thenclickthelightoff,plungingtheroomintodarkness,tryingnottothinkabouthowflimsymyplanfeels.Paper-thinandalreadyrippingalongtheedges.
Downstairs,IsetmybagbythecouchandgointothekitchentoputawaythelastofthedishesI’dwashedthatafternoon.Insidetherefrigerator,alonecanofDietCokesitsonthetopshelf,andIgrabit,poppingitopen,eagertogetasmuchcaffeineintomeasIcan.
Thewindowoverthesinkisablacksquare,reflectingtheroombackatme,soItugthecurtainsclosedandtakealongswallow,thebubblesreignitingmyenergy.Behindme,Eva’sphonebuzzeswithacall.
Ipickitup,thescreenflashingPrivateNumber.Thatwomanagain.Stillworried.StillhopingEvawillcallher.Iwonderhowmanymoretimesshe’lltrybeforeshegivesupandassumesEvadoesn’twanttotalk,thatthefriendshipmustnothavebeenwhatshethoughtitwas.Ifeelsorryforher,whoeversheis.Tossingherworryintothevoid,neverknowingthatit’slandinginthewrongplace
Afterafewseconds,thescreenlightsupwithanewmessage.I’mtemptedtoignoreit,todeleteitwithoutlistening,butcuriositypushesmeforward.Apartofmewantstohearhervoiceagain,topretendtheworryshefeelsisforme.Thatthere’ssomeoneouttherehopingI’msafe.Happy.IpressPlay.
Butit’snotthewomanlookingforEva.It’savoiceIrecognize,oneI’veheardhundredsoftimes,speakingdirectlyintomyear.
Mrs.Cook.It’sDanielle.Iknowyoudidn’tgetonthatflight.Youneedtocallme.
Aloudrushingfillsmyhead,myheartslammingagainstmychestinarhythmthatseemstosayTheyknow.Theyknow.Theyknow.TheDietCokecanslipsfrommyfingersandcrashestothefloor.
Istareatthephone,unabletobreathe.HowmanymessageshaveIlistenedtothatbeganexactlylikethis?Itshootsmestraightbackintime,tensionandfeartwistingmeintoahardknot.
It’sDanielle.
Withquestionsaboutmyfailures,orthingsIforgottodo.
It’sDanielle.
Alwayspressingme,watchingme.
It’sDanielle.
Andshe’sfoundme.Whichmeansitwon’tbelonguntilRoryisonhisway.Belowme,thecanlaysonitsside,dark-brownliquidpoolingout,agrowingpuddlethatresemblesblood.
Eva
Berkeley,California
January
FiveWeeksbeforetheCrash
ThedayLizmoved,Evastayedhiddeninsideherhouse,watchingfromherupstairsofficeasLiz’srentalfurnituregotloadedontothecompany’struck.Lizhadslippedanotethroughhermailslotafewdaysaftertheirargument,justapieceofpaper,herneatscriptslanted,asiffromanotherera.Everythingyoueverwantedisontheothersideoffear.Evahadcrumpleditupandtosseditinthetrashcanbyherdesk.
SheknewthatwhenLiz’sapartmentwasemptyandthetruckwasreadytoleave,Lizwasgoingtowanttosaygoodbye.EvatriedtoimaginefacingLizontheporchaftertwoweeksofnearsilence,searchingtofindthewordstoapologize,totellLizthattheirfriendshiphadmatteredtoher,despitethewayshe’dbehaved.
Shedistractedherselfbygettingherownaffairsinorder.ShecheckedherbankaccountinSingapore.SheorganizedtheevidenceonFishshe’dbeenabletogathersofar.She’dhadallofitnotarizedtheotherday,justincase.Theborednotarypublichadcrackedhergum—thumbprinthere,signthere—notevenlookingatwhatEvahadtypedup.
Butsomethingtuggedonhersubconsciousnow,somepieceofunfinishedbusinessthatwouldn’tletgountilshelookedatit,onelasttime.Soon,she’dbegone,withanewnameandanewlife.Andonceshewas,shecouldneverreturn.Theopportunitytoseeherbirthfamily,maybeevenspeaktothem,wouldbeclosedforever.
Sheenteredhergrandparents’namesintoaGooglesearchandclickedononeofthepeople-finderwebsites,quicklyenteringhercreditcardinformationtoaccessthepremiumoptionsthatwouldgiveheraphonenumberandastreetaddress.
Itwasn’thard.Allthistime,theinformationhadbeenthere,waitingforhertofindit.NancyandErvinJames,andanaddressjustafewmilesawayinRichmond.
WhenLizwenttobuysandwichesforthemovers,Evaslippedaway.Shewasn’tcutoutforprolongedgoodbyes.Andtherewastoomuchshe’dleftunsaidtopretendotherwise.
***
Shedrovenorth,marvelingathowclosethey’dbeenallthistime,andwonderediftheyeverthoughtofher.Iftheyeverlookedforher.Perhapstheydidn’tpayforaccesstoheraddresslikeEvahad,butmaybethey’ddonetheirownwebsearch.EvaJames.Andthereshe’dbe,onalistofpeoplewhosharedhername.Age32,Berkeley,California.
Sheexitedthefreewayandnavigatedthelastfewblocks,finallydrivingdownawide,barrenstreetfilledwithrun-downhouses.Theyardswerefilledwithjunk,deadgrassandweedsleachingallthecoloroutoftheenvironment.Thiswasnothinglikewhatshe’dimagined,andshewastemptedtokeepdriving,tohangontotheillusionshe’dbuiltforherselfovertheyears.
Shepulledupoutsideafadedgreenhousewithabrokenwindowinthegaragedoor.Someonehadtapedapieceofcardboardoverit,thoughthetapelookedoldandbrittle,thecardboardwarpedfromwaterdamageandedgedwithmold.Acrossthestreet,adogchainedintheyardsplitthesilencewithitsbarks.
Asshewalkedupthecrackedcementpath,hereyesscannedthebrownlawnandtatteredshrubberyandtriedtoseeherselfplayingthere,butnoneofitmatchedwhatshe’dspentsomanyyearspicturing.Whereweretheflowerbedsshe’dimaginedhergrandmothertending?Thewell-maintainedcarinthedriveway?Whereweretheironedcurtainsinthewindows,thedrivewayhergrandfatherpower-washedonceayear?Whatshesawwassounexpected,likeanout-of-tunepianohittingallthewrongnotes,loudandjarring.
Evastoodontheshadyporch,tryingtobreathethroughhermouth,thestenchofcigarettesmokeseepingthroughthecloseddoor.Sheknocked,andinside,thesoundoffootstepsapproached,causinghertowanttoturnaroundandwalkaway.Shenolongerwantedtoseewhatwasbehindthatdoor.
Butbeforeshecouldmove,itwaspulledopen.Anoldermanstoodinloose-fittingjeansandanoldT-shirt,hisropyarmscoveredintattoos.“Helpyou?”heasked,lookingpasther,towardhercarparkedatthecurb.Shewasstruckimmediatelybyhiseyes.Theywerehers.Sameshape,sameshade,andforamoment,shefeltabreathlessrecognition,likethecenterpieceofapuzzlesnappingintoplace,completingthepicture.
“Whoisit?”avoicecalledfrominside.
Overtheman’sshoulder,Evacouldjustmakeoutalarge,lumpyfigureinachair.Thesmellofcigarettesmokewasoverwhelming,andunderneathitsomethingelse—unwashedbodiesandovercookedfood.
“Sorry,”Evasaid,backingdownthesteps.“Ihavethewronghouse.”
Themanstaredather,andsheheldherbreath,waitingforaflashofrecognitioninhiseyes,toseesomethingshakeloose—perhapshe’dseetheghostofhermother—hisdeadsister—standingbeforehim.Buthejustshrugged,said“Suityourself,”andswungthedoorclosed.
Sheturnedandwalkeddownthewalkway,herlegsandarmsuncoordinatedandjerking,lurchingherfromthefrontpathtothesidewalkandintohercar.Asshestartedtheengine,shechastisedherselfforeverthinkingtheymightbemorethanthis,angrythatshe’dbelievedanythingbutthelowestpossibledenominator
Andyet,asshenavigatedthestreetsbacktothefreewayandheadedsouthtowardBerkeley,sherealizedshe’dspentherwholelifewishingforsomethingsheneverwouldhavehad.Alltheseyears,she’dbelievedthatifonlytheyhadlovedherenoughtoraiseher,shesomehowcouldhaveavoidedwhathappenedtoheratBerkeley.Shecouldhavefinishedherdegreeandbuiltalegitimatelifeforherself.Butnowsheknewthathadshegrownupthere,sheneverwouldhavemadeittoBerkeleyinthefirstplace.
Informationispower.
Evacouldwalkawaywithnoregrets,knowingforcertainthepastheldnothingofvalueforher.Thatsometimes,thedeathofadreamcanfinallysetyoufree.
***
Whenshearrivedhome,themovingtruckwasgone,Liz’sapartmentempty.Thewindowswereuncovered,revealingbarerooms,theredaccentwallalmostglowing,andacoldandheavysadnesssettledoverher.
Shesteppedontotheporchandunlockedherdoor,keepinghereyestrainedforward,tryingnottonoticethatLizhadlefttheflowerpotsshe’dtendedsocarefully.Sheglancedtoherright,tothetreethey’dplantedtogether,theonlythingleftoftheirfriendship,whereitwouldcontinuetostand,aquietsentinel,keepinghersecrets.
Eva
Berkeley,California
February
OneWeekbeforetheCrash
Jeremy’stextcamefifteenminutesbeforeEvawastoleavetomeetDexatabasketballgame.
I’mfailingmyclasses.IhaveapaperdueonTuesdayandIneedsomethingtohelpmegetanAonit.Please.
Ofallherclients,Jeremyhadbeenthemostpersistent,badgeringherforweekstosellhimsomething.She’dmanagedtoputhimoff,offeredtoconnecthimwithsomeoneelse,buthe’drefused.Hewantedher.Hetrustedher.Inthepast,shewouldhaverolledhereyesathisloyalty,butnowsheknewhewassmarttobecautious.
Shetextedback.
Goingtomen’sbasketballgameatHaas.Meetmeatentrancetosectiontenathalftime.
ShewouldhandoffwithDexintheclubroomandthenfindJeremy.Shepulledfourfromherdiscards—pillsthathadanoddshapeorwerebroken—andslidthemintoaplainwhiteenvelope.Theyweren’tpretty,butthey’dgetthejobdone.
Twodaysearlier,Castrohadslidupnexttoherinthefrozen-foodaisleatthesupermarket.He’donlybeenthereforasecond,justlongenoughtogivealocationandatime,andsaythatshe’dsoonhaveheranswer.Evafeltthehours,theminutes,slippingaway,carryingherforwardtoanunknownoutcome.Shelookedaroundherhouseandwonderedifshe’dmissit.Hergazetrailedacrossthefamiliarwallsofthelivingroom—herfavoritechairshe’dsatinmillionsoftimes,towatchTVorread.Theprintsonthewall,chosenbecauseshewantedtoinfuseherdarkandlonelylifewithsplashesofcolor.Heroldtextbooks,theonlyreminderofwhoshe’dhopedtobecome.Andyet,thepiecesdidn’tadduptoalife.Evafeltaclarityasshestoodthere,asifshe’dalreadyleft,andrealizednoneofitmattered.Nothingwouldbemissed.Theonlypersonshe’devercaredaboutwasalreadygone.
Shegrabbedhercoat,tuckingthepackageofpillsinaninnerpocket—theenvelopeforJeremyinanotherone—andhervoicerecorderintoherpurseforanothernightofwhatwouldprobablybeuselesschitchat,andslippedoutthedoor,tryingtoignoreLiz’semptywindows,thesoundofherfootstepsontheporchlouder,echoingthatemptinessbacktoher.
Shewalkedthefewshortblockstocampus,cuttingacrossthewidelawnthatleddowntowardthelibrary,andfollowedadarkandwindingpaththatletoutbySatherGate.AstreamofstudentsandfansheadedtowardHaasPavilion,andshepushedthroughthecrowd,enteringthearenaandgoingstraighttoherseat.
Shegaveatightsmiletothepeoplewhosataroundher,familiarfacesnowthatshewasattendingallthehomegames.Butshedidn’ttalktoanyone.Insteadshestareddownatthecourtwheretheteamwaswarmingupandletthesoundsofthearenafoldoverherassherealizedhowfaroffcourseshe’ddrifted,likeaboatpulledbythetide.Shewasaworldawayfromwhereshestarted.Lostatsea,withnohopeofnavigatingbacktofamiliarland.
***
Dexdidn’tshowupuntilthemiddleofthefirsthalf.“SorryI’mlate,”hesaidasheslidintohisseat.“DidImissanythinggood?”
Evaignoredhisjokeandlookeddowntowardthestudentsection,standingroomonly,wheretheymovedandjumpedasone,jeeringtheopposingteam.“Ineverwenttoasinglebasketballgameasanundergrad,”shesaid.“AllIdidwasstudyandgotoclass.Exceptforattheend.WithWade.”
Dexnoddedbutdidn’tsayanything.
“IalwaysthoughtI’dstayinBerkeley.Maybetoteach,ortoworkinoneofthelabs.Thiswastheonlyplacethatfeltlikehometome.”Belowthem,aplayerhadgrabbedareboundandexecutedafastbreaktowardthebasketattheotherend,andthecrowdaroundthemwentwild.ButEvacontinued.“I’mlivinganupsidedownandbackwardversionofthelifeIwanted.I’mhereinBerkeley.Ihavemoneyandahome.IhaveeverythingIthoughtIwanted,andyetit’sallwrong.”
Dexshiftedinhisseatsothathecouldlookather.“Youthinkanyoneelsehasitanybetter?”Dexgesturedtowardanoldermanattheendoftheirrow,whosesweatshirtlookedfrayedatthecuffs,whoseeyeshadbagsunderthem.“Lookatthatguy.I’llbethe’ssomekindofanaccountantinthecity.TakingtheBARTatthecrackofdawn,shovinghimselfintothesmallestspaceonthetrain.Eatinghisbreakfastathisdesk.Kissinghisboss’sassandtakinghistwoweeksinthesummer,barelymakingenoughtopayforhisbasketballseasontickets.Youwantthatlifeinstead?Whatwehaveisbetter.”
Shewantedtothrottlehim.Better?Hidingandschemingandconstantlywatchingherback?Howmanypeopleintheseatsaroundthemhadtheconstantfearofeitherbeingarrestedorbeingkilledfortheirmistakes?
Shewasedgy,rattlingaroundinalifethatwasslowlyemptying.Butthelongerthistook,thelesscertainshewasCastrowouldbeabletogetherout.Shewantedtohaveabackupplan,awaytodisappearonherownifshehadto.
Asthenoiselevelinthearenarose,EvaleanedclosertoDexandloweredhervoicesoherrecorderwouldn’tpickitup.“I’vegotanundergradclientwhowantstobuyafakeID,”shesaid,hopingDexwouldn’thearthewaverinhervoice.“She’snineteen.WantstogetintoSanFranciscoclubs.Doyouknowanyonewhocanmakeherone?”
IfDexthoughtshewaslying,heshowednosignofit.Heleanedhiselbowsonhiskneesandangledhisfacesohewaslookingather.“IusedtoknowsomeoneinOaklandwhodidthat.Butitwasyearsago,backwhenyoucouldslideonephotooutandanotheronein.”Heshookhishead.“Now?Herbestbetwouldbetofindsomeonewholookslikeherwillingtogivehertheirs.Paythemfortheirrealdriver’slicenseandletthemreportitstolen.Ithappensallthetime.”
Shelookedtowardthecourt,pretendingtobeinterestedinthegamesothathecouldn’tseethedefeatinhereyes.“That’swhatItoldher,”shesaid.“Butyouknowwhatcollegekidsarelike.Twoyearsseemslikeaneternityatnineteen.”
Awhistlesounded,signalingatimeout,andloudmusicblaredoverthesoundsystem.
Hervoicegrewlouderagain.“Whatendeduphappeningtothatfriendofyours,theonewhoreferredBrittany?”
Dexstaredatthecheerleadersdancingonthecourtbelowthemandsaid,“He’sbeendealtwith.Wasn’tmycall,butIcan’tsayI’msorryaboutit.”
“Doyouknowforsurehewasapartoftheinvestigation?”
Dexshookhishead.“Itdoesn’tmatter.”
“Seemskindofdangerous,”shesaid,“togetridoftheguywhowasBrittany’scontact.Won’tthatdrawtheattentionofthepoliceagain?”
Dexgaveatightsmilethatdidn’treachhiseyes.“They’llneverfindhim.”
Evafeltahollownessdirectlybeneathherribsandwaitedforhimtocontinue.
“FishhasawarehouseinOakland.Somekindofimport/exportbullshit.There’sanincineratorinthebasement.”
Sheswallowedhard,fightingtokeephergazesteadyonhis,andnodded,hopingherrecorderwaspickingthisupandnotjustthejumped-upmusicofDaftPunk.Belowthem,thecheerleaderstwirledandspun,theirhairflyingout,armsandlegspumpingfasterandfasterasthemusicaccelerated.
Claustrophobiabegantooverwhelmher,theheatofthearena,thepeoplecrammedintonarrowseatsthatspikedupwardtowardtheroof,givingherthesensethattheywereallpressinginonher.Evacheckedthetimeonthescoreboard.“Let’sgetaheadstart,”shesaid.“Beatthecrowds.I’mstartingtogetaheadache,andIthinkIwanttogohome.”
“Youdon’thavetoaskmetwice.”Dexpushedhimselfoutofhisseatandslidpastthepeopleintheirrow,Evafollowingbehindhim.
***
Theywerefirstinlineatthebathroom,andthedroptooklessthanthirtyseconds.“Seeyounextweek?”Dexasked,pullinghiscoattightaroundhim.
Evalookedoutthewindowoftheclubhouse,downtothebaseballdiamondbelowthem,thinkingaheadafewmonthstospringwhentheplayerswouldbedownthere,runningbasesandspittingsunflowerseedsintothegrass.Hopefully,she’dbegonebythen,onewayoranother.
Shelookedathim,takingintheprofilethathadbecomeasfamiliarasherown.Thiswasahardlife,andhe’ddonehisbesttoteachhereverythingheknew.Andshe’dlearnedwell.Foralongtime,she’dbeenhappyenough.Butthosedaysfeltfarbehindher,likefadedsnapshotsofapersonsheusedtoknow.“Sure,”shesaid.“Staysafe.”
“Always,”hesaid,givingherawink.
Backonthecrowdedconcourse,sheglancedatthetime.ShehadfivemoreminutestogetacrossthearenaandmeetJeremy.Shewasn’tlyingabouttheheadache,whichwascreepingaroundhertemples,andsheknewitwouldbeafull-blownmigrainebytheendofthenight.ShepulledherphoneoutofherpocketandtextedJeremyagain.
Meetmeattheentrancetosectiontwoinstead.
Shepushedthroughthedoorsoftheclubhouseandmaneuveredherwaybackintothecrowd.
Peoplesqueezedpastherontheirwaybacktotheirseats,andshesearchedforasmallcornertoclaimwhileshewaited.Shelookedacrossthecourt,tosectionten,tryingtoseeifJeremywasovertherewaitingforher,whensomeonecaughthereye.
Atfirst,shesawjustthebackofhim—shortbrownhair.Asportcoatlargeenoughtoconcealaholster.Asifinslowmotion,shewatchedhimglanceathisphone,readsomething,andpushoffthewall,headinginherdirection.
Sheglancedatherownphone,asifseeingitforthefirsttime,realizationcreepingoverher,blurringhervisionaroundtheedges.Shethoughtbacktoeverytextshe’dsentoverthepastfewweeks.ToDex.AndtoJeremy,tellinghimexactlywheretomeether,andwhen.AndtherewasCastro,whereJeremywassupposedtobe.
Inaflash,shesawitallagain.Apieceofwhitepaperbeinghandedthroughanopencarwindow.Brittany.Whohadhernumberandwasabletopassiton.TheWhisprappwasuselessifsomeonewasreadinghertextsatthesametimeshewas.
Shepushedthroughthecrowd,alonefigureagainstthetideofpeoplemakingtheirwaybacktotheirseats,keepingherheaddown.Afraidtolookanyoneintheeye,certainCastro’shandwouldgrabheranymoment,yankingherbackward,askinghertoemptyherpockets.Explainwhyshewasstillsellingdrugs.Tellinghertheirdealwasoff.
Sheburstoutofasideexitandintothecoldnightair,sprintingdownthestairs,hercompromisedphonestillgrippedinherhand.Asshepassedanoverflowingtrashcan,shefoughttheurgetoburyitunderoldfoodwrappersandemptycups.Togetridofitassoonaspossible.Butsheheldontoit,knowingthatshehadtokeepusingit,thatCastroneededtobelievenothinghadchanged.
ShewalkedbrisklytowardSproulPlaza,pullingupherlasttexttoJeremyandhittingReply.
Bytheway,Iranintoyourmomtoday.Shelooksgreat!
Thatwasthecodeshesetupwithallherclients,theonethatletthemknowitwasn’tsafetomeet.Hopefully,Jeremywouldgobacktohisspotinthestudentsectionandforgetabouther.
EvawalkedupBancroftanddroppedtheplainenvelopecontainingJeremy’spillsintoatrashcanoutsidethestudentunion,andturnedtowardhome.
Claire
Sunday,February27
Mrs.Cook,it’sDanielle.Iknowyoudidn’tgetonthatplane.Youneedtocallme.
Adeep,thumpingfearpassesthroughmeasIsetthephonedownandbackawayfromit,asifDaniellemightbeabletoreachthroughitandgrabme,pullingmebacktoNewYork,whereRorywaits.
Mymindswirls,cloudywithpanic.Howdidshefindmesofast?Thevideohasbeenupforlessthantwenty-fourhours.Andthen,aterriblerealization.Couldallofthishavebeenasetup?HowelsewouldDanielleknowhowtoreachme—onaburnerphonebelongingtoastrangerallthewayacrossthecountry?Mybreathingcomesoutsharpandrasping,andIfighttheurgetovomit.
IfRoryandEvawereconnected…Itrytograbontothesecondhalfofthatidea.Ofhowtheymighthavemet,howtheycouldhavehatchedaplantosendmetoPuertoRico,swappingticketsatthelastminuteandleadingmesomewherewithnofriends.Noresources,isolatedandalone.Aperfecttarget.Becauseifsomethinghappenedtomehere,noonewouldknow.
ButIcan’tfitittogether.Theplanewasn’tsupposedtocrash.AndIneverintendedtoendupatEva’s.IwasgoingtocallPetra.SlipintoandoutofEva’slifewithinafewhours.Rorycouldn’thaveknownIwouldenduphere.Hecertainlycouldn’thaveorchestratedit.
Iletthesilenceofthehousewashoverme,willingmyselftocalmdownandlookateventsastheyreallyhappened,notthroughthelensofanabusedwoman,paranoidandseeingthreatswheretherearenone.Mymindworksbackward.Somewhere,somehow,there’salink.Ipickupthephoneagain,tracingtheedgeswithmyfingers,staringattheblackscreen,myfaintshadowreflectedbackatme.
Me.BrucetoldRoryhewaslookingintothenumberI’dcalledthedayofthecrash.IthinkbacktotheeveningIunlockedEva’sphoneanddialedPetra’snumberagain,hopingsomehowthecallwouldconnect.IftheycanaccesstherecordsforPetra’snumber,it’spossibletheycanalsoseewhoelsetriedtocallher.
I’mtheonewholedDaniellehere.Iftheyknowthenumber,whatelsedotheyknow?Couldtheysomehowusethephonetotrackme?Ilooktowardthekitchenwindow,thebackdoor,temptedtoopenitandtossthephoneintothebushes.
“Think,Claire.”Myvoicesoundsscratchyintheemptyroom.Thisisn’ttelevisionorabadmovie.Roryhasalotofmoney,andBrucehasconnectionsthatmightgivehimsomeinformation,butIdon’tthinkthey’dhavethecapabilitiestotrackthephone.Tofollowmethewaylawenforcementcould.
Itakeadeepbreathandletitoutslowly.Idoitagain,andthenoncemore,allowingthemostimportantquestiontosurface.
WhyisDaniellecallingandnotRory?Itdoesn’tfitwithhowRorylikestooperate.AndiftheyknewwhereIwas,theywouldn’thavecalledatall.Rorywouldhavejustshownup,slippingupnexttomewhenIleastexpectedit.Hello,Claire.
Withshakingfingers,Ilistentothemessageagain,Danielle’svoicestillsendingajoltoffearthroughme,eventhoughI’mexpectingit.Iknowyoudidn’tgetonthatplane.Youneedtocallme.Thistime,Inoticehervoice,lowandurgent,asifshe’sdeliveringawarning,notathreat.
Onethingiscertain—Ineedtogo.Theovenclockreadsjustpastten.LateenoughthatIcaneaseoutoftownwithoutanyonenoticing,butearlyenoughthatIwon’tbetheonlyoneontheroad.IleavemybagsbythedoorandgrabEva’skeyring,headingtowardthegarage.TimetoseeifEva’scarworks.
***
Thegarageislockedwithapadlock.Istrainmyeyesinthedark,flippingthroughthekeysuntilIfindtherightone,andpopthelockopen,prayingthecarwillstart.Thatithasgas.Thatit’sinenoughworkingordertogetmeoutofhere.
Thedoorliftseasilyonwell-oiledsprings,andIentertheevendarkerspace,lettingmyeyesadjust,makingouttheedgesofdustyshelveswithpaintcans,acobwebbedladderleaningagainstawall.Butnocar.Justtheshadowoftiremarkstoshowwhereitshouldbe,alargetrayinthecenter,spatteredwithdriedoil.Ifeelthelosslikeablow,crushingwhatlittlehopeIhad.NomatterwhichwayIturn,opportunitiesandopeningsslamclosedagain,forcingmeintoatighterandtightercorner.
Iwalkallthewaytotheback,mygazescanningthebarewalls,asifImightfindaclueifIjustlookhardenough.WhenIturnaroundtofacethedarkenedstreetbeyond,mymindfightstorearrangemyplansintoanewconfiguration.OnemorenightatEva’s.AnearlymorningBARTtraintoSanFrancisco.Preciousmoneyspentonabusticketnorth.Gonebeforethesuncomesup.
Irelockthegarageandstarttoheadbackinside.ButwhenIsteparoundthetreeandintoviewofthefrontporch,Ipullupshort,nearlydroppingEva’skeys.Peeringintotheuncoveredwindowsoftheapartmentnextdooristhemanwhobumpedintometheotherday.Theonewhoseemedtobewatchingmethroughthewindowofthecoffeeshop.
Ishrinkbackintotheshadows,glancingovermyshoulderanddownthestreet,wonderingifIshouldslipaway.ButI’veleftEva’sdoorunlocked,withmybag,computer,andpursesittingjustinside.
Itakeadeepbreathandapproach.“CanIhelpyou?”
Heturnsandgivesmeawarmsmile,asifwe’reoldfriends.“Helloagain.”Thelightcomingfrommylivingroomwindowilluminateshisfaceenoughformetoseehiseyes—astartlinggraycolorthatlookslikeastormyocean.“CanyoutellmewhoImightcalltoinquireaboutrentingthisapartment?”
ItakeafewmorestepsontotheporchandputmyselfbetweenhimandEva’sunlockedfrontdoorandsay,“Seemsalittlelatetobeapartmenthunting.”
Heopenshishandswide.“IwasjustpassingbyandIwonderedabouttheemptyunit.”
“Iwouldn’tknow.I’mjuststayingherewhilemyfriendtravels.”
“Ah.Whenwillshereturn?”Heholdsperfectlystill,hisfaceamaskrevealingnothing.ButIfeelashiftashewaitsformyanswer,asifwhateverItellhimisoftheutmostimportance.
Whenwillshereturn.
“She’soutofthecountry,”Ifinallysay,wantingtoputasmuchspaceaspossiblebetweenEvaandthisman.
Henodsasifthisexplainssomething,asmirkcurlingthecornersofhismouth.Hestepsclosertome,reachingouttoplucksomethingfrommyshoulder.“Spiderweb,”hesays.Buthemaintainshisproximity,andIfeeltheheatofhim,thesmellofcigarettesandcologneenvelopingme,andIshrinkbacktowardEva’sdoor,wonderingsuddenlyifhemightfollowmeinside.
HegesturestowardEva’sfrontdoorandsays,“Iknowthislookslikeagoodneighborhood,butyoureallyshouldn’tleavethatunlockedforanylengthoftime,especiallyatthistimeofnight.Berkeleyisn’tassafeasitseems.”
Ifeelasifhe’spunchedme,mychestconstrictingintoatightballthatmakesithardtobreathe.Withoutresponding,Igrabtheknobandtwist,slippinginside,lockingthedoorbehindme.
Ihearhimsay,“Thankyouforyourhelp,”beforedescendingthestairsagain.Iscourtheroom,searchingforanyhintthathe’sbeeninside.
ButeverythingisasIleftit.Mybags,undisturbedbythewall,nothingamiss.Isnifftheair,butthere’snotraceofhiscologne.Hecouldn’thavebeeninside.Iwasinthegarageforlessthanfiveminutes.Ipressmyfingersagainstmyeyes,tryingtoholdmyselftogether,tryingtothinkrationallyamidstthepanicracingthroughme.
IenterthekitchenandnearlystepinthepuddleofDietCoke,whichhasspreadoutfromthetipped-overcan,travelingallthewaytowardtheshelvesandunderit.Myeyesfollowthepath,catchingonthecastwheelsoftheshelvingunit.Ibendfartherdown,beingcarefulnottokneelinthebrownliquid,andpeerunderneath,wheretheCokehaspooledupagainstthebottomedgeofadoorframe.
Icirclearoundtotheendoftheunit,pushingitforwarduntilI’mlookingatadoorwithapadlockloopedthroughasteelhinge.“Whatthehell,Eva,”Imutter.
Igrabherkeysagainandfindtheonethatpopsthelock,andwhenthedooropens,Ifeelaroundonthewallforalightswitch,turningiton.Afanbelowmebeginstowhir,andIcreepdownasmallsetofstairsthatleadsintoatinybasementthatmighthavebeenalaundryroomatonepoint.
Butit’snotalaundryroomanymore.Countersandshelveslinethewalls,withasmallsinkandportabledishwasherinthecorner.Ingredientsarearrangedontheshelves—largecontainersofcalciumchloride,atleastthirtybottlesofvariouscoldandcoughmedicines.Acampingstovesitsinthecorner,severalsiliconepillmoldsupturnednexttothesink,asiftodry.Highabovemeinthewallisaboardedupwindow,thefancenteredinit,spinning.
Totheleftofthestairsisacounterstrewnwithpapersandavoicerecordernexttothem.Ileanover,reluctanttotouchanything,andbeginreadingwhatappearstobeanotarizedlettertosomeonenamedAgentCastro.
MynameisEvaJamesandthisisaswornstatementofeventsbeginningtwelveyearsagoallthewaythroughthepresent,January15ofthiscalendaryear.Ireadquickly,thepagesturningfaster,thestoryofacollegestudentwhojustwantedtofitin.Whotooktheonlyoptionshebelievedwasavailableatthetime,latchingontoamannamedDex,whopromisedherthingshehadnointentionofevergivingher.Alife.Happiness.Freedom.It’sthestoryofawomanwhowastiredofthecornershe’dbeenforcedinto,awomanreadytoburnitalldownonherwayout.
Evawasn’taconartistoranidentitythief.Shewasawomanlikeme,forwhomtheworldwillneverbend,tryingtosetherpathstraight.
IpickupthevoicerecorderandpressPlay.Thesoundofasportsarenafillsthesmallspace,chantsandcheers,anannouncer’svoice,amarchingbandofsomekind.
“SeemskindofdangeroustogetridoftheguywhowasBrittany’scontact.”Eva’svoice,justasIrememberit.“Won’tthatdrawtheattentionofthepoliceagain?”
Afamiliarvoice,oneIheardnottenminutesagoontheporch,warningmenottoleavemyfrontdoorunlocked,answersher.“They’llneverfindhim.FishhasawarehouseinOakland.Somekindofimport/exportbullshit.There’sanincineratorinthebasement.”
Istoptherecording,unabletolistentoanymore.Likescenesflipping,fasterandfaster,imagesappearinmymind.Thecashpurchaseofherhome.Eva’sdesperationattheairport.Thewaysheshovedherpurseintomyarms,withoutevenlookingthroughittoseeiftherewassomethingshewantedtokeep.Thephoneshehadwithher,andtheblackonesheleftbehind.NowonderEvadidn’ttellmethetruth.Thisiswhyshecouldn’treturntoBerkeley.
AndwhyIneedtogetoutofhere.Now.
Ileavethelabuntouched,butIgatherthepaperworkandthevoicerecorder,pressingthemclosetomychestasIsprintupthestairs.
Eva
Berkeley,California
February
TwoDaysbeforetheCrash
EvawasmeetingAgentCastroattheRoundHouse,adinerthatsatattheentrancetotheGoldenGateBridgeontheSanFranciscoside.SheparkeddownbyCrissyFieldandwalkedup,checkingoverhershoulderseveraltimesasshemadeherwayalongtheshadedpathsofthePresidio.She’dtakenthelongwayintothecity,throughSanRafaelandMillValley,insteadofcrossingoverontheBayBridge,hopingshewasn’tfollowed.
AletterhadarrivedfromLizthedaybefore.Evatouchedthefoldededgesofit,likeatalisman,pullingitfromherpocketagaintoread.
Eva,I’msosorrywedidn’tgetachancetosaygoodbye.IhadreallyhopedwecouldtalkonemoretimebeforeIleft.IfeellikeIoweyouanapology.ImadesomeassumptionsthatIshouldn’thave,soI’mgoingtospellitoutforyou,justsowe’reclear.Therearenoconditionsonmyfriendship.Idon’texpectyoutobeanyoneotherthanwhoyouare.Whateveryourpastis,Iacceptit.Whoeveryouwanttobe,Iwillstillloveyou.Whenyoushareyourproblemswithsomeoneelse,yourloadgetslighter.Andso,I’mhere,wheneveryou’rewillingtosharewhat’stroublingyou.JustbecauseI’mnolongernextdoordoesn’tmeanIwon’tbetherewhenyouneedme.Callmeanytime.
Andthenshe’dscribbledaphonenumberatthebottom.Evatuckedthenotebackintoherpocketwhereshe’dbeencarryingitsinceitsarrival,wishingshe’dmetLizallthoseyearsagoinsteadofDex,wonderinghowdifferentherlifewouldhavebeenifallshe’dhadtoconfesswasonebadmistakeinthechemistrylab.ShecouldseehowthatmighthavebeensomethingLizcouldforgive.Evahadbeenyoungandstupid.Shecertainlywasn’tthefirstpersontodosomethingdumbforaguy.
Butitwastoolatenow.Lizwasgone,andsoon,Evawouldbetoo.Maybeitwasbetterthisway.
***
ShefoundCastrosittingintheback,nearthekitchen,awayfromthegiantwindowsthatoverlookedthebridge.“Iorderedyouaburgerandfries,”hesaidbywayofagreeting.
Shedroppedherbagontheseatandslidacrossfromhim.Theredvinylboothswerefilledwithtouriststakingselfieswiththeircellphones.Intheparkinglotoutside,atourbusunloadedandacrowdofpeoplemadetheirwaytowardthewalkingsideofthebridge.
Nervesslippedthroughher,likelongribbonstwirlingandtwistingintoatangleassheimaginedleavingfromthere.Exitingtherestaurantandclimbingintoananonymoussedananddisappearing.Herfingerstappedthetable,herlegjigglingbeneathher.“Thanks,”shesaid.“ButI’mnotreallyinterestedinamealandsmalltalk,ifthat’sokaywithyou.”
AgentCastronodded.“Mysupervisordeniedtherequestforwitnessprotection,”hesaid.
Evafelttheairrushoutofher,thesoundsaroundthemgrowingsharper.Theclatterofplatesandcutlery,thesteadydroneofconversations.Allofherplansdissolvedandvanished,asifthey’dneverexisted.“Why?”shemanagedtoask.“Youtoldmeyourselfyou’dbeenafterFishforyears.”
AgentCastrotookapacketofsugarfromthesmallcupattheedgeoftheirtableandtracedtheedgesofitwithhisfingers,unabletomeethereyes.“Ihappentoagreewithyou.ButlikeIsaid,witnessprotectionisexpensive,andwedon’tdoitveryoften.”
“Whendoyoudoit,then?”
Helookedupather,andshesawgenuineregretinhiseyes.“Weuseitmostlyforbigtargets.Organizedcrime.Majornetworks.IknowFishfeelslikeabigtargettoyou.Andhecertainlyisforme.I’vebeenclosetohimmoretimesthanIcaretoadmit.Andeverytime,heslipsaway.Mycontactgoesdark,andI’mbackatsquareone.”
“Allthemorereasontomakethishappen,”shesaid,workinghardtokeephervoicelow.Tonotletthedesperationshefeltbreakthrough.
“Icanofferyoutwenty-four-hourprotectionatanundisclosedlocation.Allthewaythroughthetrial.Ipromiseyou’llbesafe.Ifyouhaveanattorney,nowwouldbethetimetocallthem.”
Evasatwithhiswords.Letthemassembleintoapicture.Her,aloneinahotelroom,twoguardsatthedoor.Anarmedescorttoandfromthetrialthatwouldsurelyresultinanot-guiltyverdict.Oramistrial.Andthenwhat?She’dbefreetogobackhome?Tounlockherfrontdooranddowhat?Wherevershewent,Fish’speoplewouldfindher.Dexwouldprobablydothejobhimself.Afterabetrayallikethisone,hewouldn’trestuntilhe’dfoundher.
Whenshewasachild,thegirlsinthegrouphomewouldgotoSisterBernadetteforadvicewithaproblem—afriendshipgonebad,anunfairteacher,afosterhomethathadn’tworkedout.Evaneverhad,butshe’dlistenedallthesame,slidingherselfalongtheedgesoftheirconversations,absorbingwhateverwisdomSisterBernadettehadtooffer.ShewouldoftentellthemTheonlywayoutisthrough,thatnomatterthesituation,onestepwouldleadtothenext,andthenextoneafterthat.AndsoEvaleanedintothisnewdevelopment.Wrappedhermindarounditandgottoworkthinkingthroughtotheotherside.ShefounditironicthatbothSisterBernadetteandDexofferedhersuchsimilaradvice.Playthrough.
“ThenIguesswemoveforwardandhopeforthebest,”shesaid.“Whatdoyouneed?”
Castrotuckedthesugarbackintoitscupastheserverbroughttheirfood,thesmelloftheburgerandfriesturningherstomachsour.“Ideally,we’dliketoputawireonyouandhaveyoumeetwithFish.”
“That’simpossible,”shesaid.“I’venevermethim.ItwouldbeahugeredflagifIaskedtonow.”
Castro’seyesnarrowed.“Thiswholedealgoesawayifyoustartlyingtome.”Gonewastheapologetictone,theregrethefeltatnotbeingabletodomoreforher.
“I’mnotlyingtoyou,”shesaid.“That’snothowthingswork.I’vebeentryingtofindoutmore—howthedrugsaremoved,aboutFishhimself.ButIdon’tknowmuchmorethanmysmallcornerofit.”
Castrosatbackinhisseat,bothhandsflatonthetable.Finally,hesaid,“Wehaveproof,Eva.Photographsofthetwoofyoutogether.”
Evashookherhead,confused.“That’snotpossible,”shesaid.“IswearI’venevermethim.”
Castroreachedintohiscoatforhisphoneandflippedthroughphotosuntilhefoundwhathewaslookingfor.Thenhehelditupsoshecouldseethescreen.
IthadbeentakenatHaas,thenightshewassupposedtomeetJeremy.Sherecognizedthepeoplearoundthem,thesadaccountantinhisfrayedsweatshirtattheendoftherow.Andthere,inthemiddleoftheframe,wereEvaandDex,theirheadsbenttowardeachother,deepinconversation.Thequalitywasincredible—theshotmusthavebeentakenwithahigh-poweredlens.
Sheshookherheadagain,unabletoprocesswhatshewasseeing.“That’snotFish,that’sDex.”
Castropulledthephonebackandstaredather,squintingasifhedidn’tquitebelieveher.“Idon’tknowwhoDexis.ButthatmanisFelixArgyros.Fish.”
Claire
Sunday,February27
Isprintupthestairsandthroughthekitchen,myshoestrackingDietCokeintothelivingroom,stuffingEva’ssworndepositionandvoicerecorderintomybag.Idon’tknowwhatcompelledmetotakethem,whatinstinctwarnedmethatleavingthembehindwouldbeamistake.Mymindflashesbacktothemanontheporch,howclosehestepped,thescentofcigarettesmokestillticklingthebackofmythroat,andIknowwithoutadoubtthesepapers,thisrecorder,arewhathe’safter.ThenIthinkofEva’scellphone,sittingonthekitchentable,Danielle’smessagestillonit.Iscurrybacktograbit,poweringitoffbeforeshovingitintomypocket.
Outsideacardrivesby,theradioafaintthumpasitpasses,andIpeekthroughthecurtains,thinkingaboutwhomightbeoutthere,watchingfromtheshadows.Ihavetoforcemyselftoopenthedoorandstepontotheporch,myinstinctsindisarray,unsurewhetherIriskmorebyleavingorstaying.Butinmymind,Iseethebasementdruglab,anotarizedlettertoafederalinvestigator,andamanwhoismostcertainlynotaDEAagent,leaningintooclose,asilentpromisethathe’llbeback.
Icrossthelawnquickly,keepingmyheaddownasIwalktowardcampus,bracingmyselfforavoiceorahandonmyshouldertostopme.Inthedistance,acatyowls,longandlow,thenrisesintoascreamthatsoundsalmosthuman.
***
Ifindasmallmotorcourtmotelonabusystreet,aboutamilefromcampus.Myshouldersache,myfeethurt,andI’mfreezing.Alightburnsinthesmalloffice,revealinganolderwomansmokingacigaretteandstaringatatelevisionmountedonthewall.WhenIenter,sheturnstofaceme,hereyessquintingthroughacloudofsmoke.
“I’dlikearoomplease.”
“It’seighty-fivedollarsanightplustax,”shetellsme.
“That’sfine,”Isay,althoughIwobblealittleasIdothemath.
Shegivesmeaonce-overandsays,“I’llneedyourname,yourdriver’slicense,andacreditcard.”
“I’dliketopaycash.”
“Doesn’tmatter.Wehavetoenterthecardintooursystem.Wewon’trunituntilyoucheckout,andifyouwanttopaybycashthen,wewon’trunitatall.”
Iconsiderarguingwithher,butIdon’twanttosolidifymyselfinhermemory.IhandoverEva’sdriver’slicenseandhercreditcard,anxiousasIwatchherenterthemintohercomputer,waitingforthetiniesthesitation—perhapsjusthereyes,aslightwidening,thenflickingbackuptomyface.Butshetapsinthenumber,herexpressionbored,beforehandingeverythingback.
“Howmanynights?”sheasks.
Ican’tthinkpastthismoment,thedaysstretchingaheadofme,blank,withnoideawhatI’lldonext.“Idon’tknow.One?Two?”Ateighty-fivedollarsanight,mymoneywillrunoutquickly.
“I’llputyoudownfortwo,”thewomansays,handingmeakey.“Roomfive,justoutthedoorandtoyourleft.Checkoutisateleven.Ifyou’reherepastthat,wechargeyouforanothernight.”
Theroomissmall,withcheapcarpetingandapolyesterbedspreadonthedoublebedthatfacesatelevisiononasmallbureau.Atinydeskandlampareinthecornernexttothebathroom.Isitonthebedandtrytoletthelastfewhoursdrainoutofme.
Theclockonthenightstandreadseleventhirty,andmyheadisheavywithfatigue.ThepartyintheBerkeleyHillsfeelslikeithappenedamonthagoinsteadofjustafewhours.Ileanforward,coveringmyfacewithmyhands,andchokedownasob.Ihavenoname,noplan,andnotnearlyenoughmoney.
Myeyesaregrittywithexhaustion.It’sbeentwodayssinceI’vehadanyrealsleep,andIfallbackonthebed,fullydressed,hopingtomorrowbringsasolution.
***
Iwakeearly,havingsleptsodeeplyIdidn’tevendream.AsIlookaroundtheroomintheearlymorninglight,Iletmymindadjusttothisnewreality.Myentirelifeexistswithinthesewalls.Outside,I’meitheradeadwomanoradrugdealerontherun.
Isitup,mymusclesscreamingfromtwonightsinarowofheavycateringwork,andthinkofKelly,alreadyworkinghershiftinthecoffeeshop,imaginingmedrivingtowardtheheatofthedesert.IwishIweretherewithher,sittinginoneofthedeepchairswhileshemakesidleconversationfrombehindthecounter.Iacheforthesimplicityofit,tohaveaplaceintheworldwhereIbelong.
Mystomachgrowls,soIgrabmyNYUhatandsomecashanddartdowntothecornermartwithtendollarsIcan’taffordtospend,andreturnwithanenormouscupofcoffeeandapackageofstalecinnamonbuns.Myonlyoption—weakasitis—istofindsomethingonthethumbdriveIcanuseagainstRorytotradeformyfreedom.Asecrethecaresmoreaboutkeepingthanhedoesaboutpunishingme.
IturntheTVonforcompanyandslowlysetupmycomputer,plugginginthethumbdriveandlookingthroughthedeskfortheWi-Fidirections.WhenI’mloggedin,aquickcheckofRory’semailshowsnothingnew,butwhenIclickovertotheDoc,ajoltlikealightningboltshootsthroughme.
They’retalkingaboutme.
RoryCook:Howthefuckdidshedoit?BruceCorcoran:Idon’tknow.Theairlinesaidshewasscannedontotheflight.Noonedisputedthat.RoryCook:Theysaidherseatwasempty.Doyouthinktheyknow?BruceCorcoran:Ithinktheywouldhavecontactedyouimmediatelyiftheythoughttherewasanychanceshewasn’tontheplane.Doyouwantmetotellthem?
Rory’swordscomefast,hisangernearlyleapingoffthescreen.
RoryCook:Absolutelynot.I’mgoingtohandlethisquietly.LettheNTSBkeepthinkingshe’sdead.I’vescheduledtheplaneforOaklandtonight.
Justasquicklyasthewordsappeared,theydisappearagain,linebyline,untilI’mlookingatablankdoc,thetopreadingLasteditmadebyBruceCorcoran.Bruce’siconvanishes,leavingonlyRory’sbehind.IknowwhatRorymeanswhenhesaysI’mgoingtohandlethisquietly.Itmeanshe’sgoingtomakeaproblemdisappear,outofviewofthepublic.AndI’vegivenRorytheperfectcovertodowhateverhewantstome,becausethewholeworldalreadythinksI’mdead.
Ifeelthewallsclosingin,Danielle,Rory,andBrucetrackingmyeverymove,forcingmeintoasmallerandsmallerboxuntilI’mtrappedwithonlyonewayout.
Abangingonadooracrossthecourtyardstartlesme,causingmyelbowtoslipforward,knockingmycoffeetowardthekeyboard.Ijump,tryingtograbitbeforeittips,asmallamountspillingonthesurfaceofthedesk.Butinmyhastetosavethecoffee,Iaccidentallypressafewkeys.“Shit,”Isay,hurryingtodeletewhatItyped,myeyesleapingagaintothetoprightcorner,hopingRoryloggedoffwhenBrucedid.
Istareatthescreenforwhatfeelslikeanhour,butmusthaveonlybeenafewminutes.Nonewtextappears.Butatthetopofthepage,itnowreadsLasteditmadebyRoryCook2minutesago,andIprayneitherofthemwillrememberwhowipedtheDocclean.
Inthebathroom,Isplashcoldwateronmyface,thecheapfluorescentlightingmakingmyskinlookhaggardandwashedout.Ibracemyarmsonthecounterandtrytoregroup.Deepbreathin,deepbreathout,five,eight,tentimes.Ibringmyattentiontothewaythefaucetdripsaroundarust-edgeddrain,therepeatingswirloffakegranite,beforeforcingmyselfbacktowork.
Seatedinfrontofmycomputeragain,theweightoffutilitysettlesacrossmyshoulders.I’munsureofwhattolookfororwheretostart.ShouldIlookformoreaboutCharlie?OrmaybeIcouldfindsomekindoffinancialortaxfraud.Theproblemis,Idon’tknowenoughaboutfinancetorecognizeanythingthatmightbeuseful.I’mabouttodouble-clickonthethumbdrivewhenmyeyecatchesagainonthealertatthetopoftheDoc.LasteditmadebyRoryCooktwominutesago.Aquickcheckofthetimetellsmeit’sbeenatleastten.
Ihitrefresh,expectingtoseethetimeupdate,butinsteadI’mredirectedbacktotheGmaillog-inpage.“No,”Iwhisperintotheroom.
IretrievethecrumpledPost-itNotewithRory’spasswordfromEva’swalletandenteritagain,butitfails.Itryoncemore,slowerthistime,butagainittellsmethepasswordisincorrect.
IpictureRory,seatedathisdesk,havingjustwatchedthevideoofmesteppingbetweenDonnyandCressida,mypoorlyexecutedcutanddyejobbarelyadisguiseatall.Andthen,unbidden,textappearingonhisscreenwithhisownnameattached.IcanseehimcallingBruce,demandingtoknowhowsomeonemighthaveaccessedhisaccount.AndthenIseehishorrorwhenherealizestheonlypersonwhowouldhavehadtheopportunitytostealthepassword—andavestedinterestinwatchinghim—isme.
Istandandpressmyfistsagainstmyeyes,tearsseepingthroughthecreases.“Ican’tdothis,”Iwhisperintotheemptyroom.“Ican’t.Ican’t.”Iopenmyeyesandgrabthewallet,thenearestthingtome,andhurlitagainstthewall.Thechangepursepopsopen,acascadeofpenniesanddimesfallingdownandburyingthemselvessomewherebehindthedresserwhilethewalletitselflandswithathumponthesurface.
Butsomethinginsideofmeloosens,thesuddenactionreleasingjustenoughanxiety,likeapressurevalve,yankingmebacktocenter,thedingyroomcomingbackintofocus.Idon’thavetheluxuryoffallingapart.RoryknowsI’vebeenwatchinghim.Listeninginonconversationshebelievedwereprivate,watchinghispanicoverwhatCharlieknowsaboutMaggieMoretti.TherehastobesomewayIcanusethat.
Behindme,KateLane’svoicecatchesmyattention.
“Alittlelessthanaweekago,Flight477crashedintothewatersoffofFlorida.Ninety-sixpeopleperishedinthecrash,andinvestigatorsareonestepclosertofiguringoutwhathappenedwiththerecoveryoftheblackbox.”Thescreencutstooldfootage,thesamebobbingcoastguardboats,thesamepiecesoffloatingwreckagetheyshowedlastweek.“VistaAirlinesofficialsdeclinedtocommentonrumorsthatflightattendantsfailedtoconfirmthetotalnumberofpassengerswithaheadcount.ButanonymoussourcesinsideVistaAirlinesreportthatthisisnotunusualwhenflightsaredelayed.Airlineofficialssaytheyhaveconfidencethatthemanifestwasaccurate,thatthenumberofpassengersmatchedallflightrecords.”
Ifreeze,absorbingthisinformation,thinkingbacktothethreadI’dread,thecommenterwhowassocertainapersoncouldn’tgetscannedontoaflightwithoutactuallygettingonit,becauseoftheheadcount.
Butnow,IseethatEvamighthavedoneit.Alaugh,incredulousandtickling,tumblesaroundinsideofme,andIsitbackinmychair,tryingtoimagineheroutthereinsomeanonymoushotelroom,watchingthissamereport,havingsomehowslippedofftheplaneandvanished.
IthinkabouttherisksEvatooktogatherthenotesandtherecordings—thingsthatimplicatedheralongsidewhoeverthatmanwasonherporch.AndIwonderwhatwentwrong,whyshedidn’tturnitover.Whateveritwas,ithadherrunning,unabletoreturnhome.
AndIwonderwhatshe’dwantmetodowithit.
Istareatthewall,thoughI’mlookingbeyondwhat’sinfrontofmetotheimageofEva,laughingandrunningawayfromme,backlitandgrowingsmallerthefartherawayshegets.Iwatchheruntilshe’sjustadot.Justanothing.Almostgone.
Itracetheedgeofthethumbdrivewithmyfinger,certaintherearesecretsthereRorywantstokeephidden.Ijustdon’tknowwhattheyare.
ButRorydoesn’thavetoknowthat.
AsifEvawerewhisperinginmyear,anideabeginstounfurl,outrageousandbold.Butitwillrequiremetocomeoutofhidingandconfronthim.Topickupaphoneanddialhisnumber,tellinghimwhatIhave,embellishingandfabricatingacrosstheblankspots,weavingjustenoughofastorytomakehimbelieveIknowmore.NotjustaboutCharlie,butthecontentsoftheharddrive,wrappedupandreadytodelivertothemediaandauthorities.UnlesshegivesmewhatIwant.
Andyet,theideaofcallinghim,ofhearinghisvoiceontheotherendoftheline,likeahookdrawinghimtowardme,makesmeshudder.BecauseifI’mwrongandthisdoesn’twork,itwillmakeeverythingworse.
IpickupEva’scellphone,gladIbroughtitwithme,awaytocontacthimwithoutrevealingmyexactlocation.ButIhesitatebeforeturningiton,myinstinctsstillsnaggingonhowDaniellemanagedtotrackdownthenumber,andwhatelsetheymightalreadyknow.Whethershe’souttherewaitingformetomakeanothermistake.Itakeadeepbreathandletitoutslowly,thenpoweriton.
Immediately,anothervoicemessagepopsup,alongwithatext.Myfingerhesitates,unsurewhichtoclickonfirst,beforedecidingonthevoicemail.
Mrs.Cook,it’sDanielleagain.Idon’tblameyoufornottrustingme,butyouhavetobelieveI’mtryingtohelpyou.Mr.CookisonhiswaytoCalifornia,andI’mfairlycertainit’sbecauseheknowsyou’rethere.I’mtextingyouarecordingfromyesterday.Useit.I’llbackyouup.
Istareatthephone,mymindtravelingintwentydifferentdirections,pickingthroughherwords,tryingtoseethetrick.Whatshereallywantsmetodo.Becauseafterallthetimesshe’dlookedaway,stayedsilentwhenshecouldhavespokenup,Ihaveahardtimebelievingshewantstohelpmenow.
Iopenthetext,whichisavoicememofiletitledRecording1.IgrabtheremoteandmutetheTV,thenpressPlay.
Muffledvoicesfillmymotelroom—arguing—andIrealizeit’sRoryandBruce,thoughIcan’tmakeouttheirwords.Thenthere’saknockonadoorandRory’svoicecalling,“Comein.”
Danielle’svoice,closer,says,“Sorrytobotheryou,butIneedyoursignaturesontheseforms.”
“Ofcourse,”Rorysays.“Thankyou,Danielle,forhandlingallofthedetailswiththeNTSB.IknowhowmuchyoulovedandrespectedMrs.Cook.”
“There’ssomuchIwishIcouldhavedonedifferently,”Daniellesays.
Iheartherustleofpapers,thenRory’svoiceagain.“Thatshoulddoit.Pleaseclosethedooronyourwayout.”
Danielle’svoicesoundsfartherawayasshesays,“Noproblem,Mr.Cook.Thankyou.”Thenanopeningandclosingdoor.
Iexpecttherecordingtoendthere,butitdoesn’t.Rory’svoicespeaksagain,ashadecolder.“Whathaveyoufoundout?”
Brucefinallyspeaks.“In1996,”hesays,asifreadingfromafile,“CharliePrice—orrather,Charlotte,asshepreferstobecallednow—wasarrestedforpossessionwiththeintenttosell.Theycouldn’tmakeitstick,andthechargesweredropped.”Ihearapageturn.“ShemovedtoChicago,wheresheworkedasaserver.Seemedtostayoutoftrouble.Shestilllivesthere.”
Charlotte?She?Charlie’sawoman?
“Anythingelse?”Roryasks.
“Notreally.Nohusband,boyfriend,orgirlfriend.Nokids.Familyseemstobeeitherdeadorestranged.Nothingwecanuseasmotivation.”Bruce’svoicegrowssofter.“Nothingwe’vesaidsofarhasswayedher.Notmoney,notthreats.Sheinsistsontellingthetruth.”
Rory’svoiceislowanddangerous,sendingachillripplingthroughme.“Andwhatdoessheclaimtobethetruth?”
“ThatyouandCharliewerehavinganaffairbehindMaggie’sback.ThatyouweretherewhenMaggiedied,andyoutimedthefiretostartafteryourdeparture.ThatyoushowedupatCharlie’sapartment,franticandshakinglikealeaf.”Apause.WhenBrucecontinues,Icanbarelyhearhim.“Shedoesn’tcareabouttheNDAshesigned.Shedoesn’tcareaboutanythingwe’veoffered.”
“That’snotacceptable!”Roryyells,andIrecoil,asifhewereintheroomyellingatme.“Thiswillderaileverything.Youhavetwodaystomakethisproblemdisappear.”
IhearBrucegatheringthings,collectingpapers,thesnapofabriefcaselatch.“Understood,”hesays.
Footsteps,thesoundofadooropeningandclosing.Thensilence.I’mabouttostoptherecordingwhenIhearanotherknockonthedoor.
“Enter,”Rorysays.
Danielleagain.“I’msosorrytobotheryou.IthinkIdroppedmyphonesomewhere.MayIcomeandlook?”
AgruntfromRory.
“Hereitis.Itmusthavefallen—”
Andtherecordingends.
Isitonthebed,stunned.There’ssomuchIwishIcouldhavedonedifferently,Daniellehadsaid,thewordsspinningadifferentmeaning,nowthatIknowshewassayingthemtome.Offeringanacknowledgement,andperhapsalsoanapology
ThatDaniellewouldrisksomuchtogetthisformeisastonishing.Allthoseyearsofscramblingbehindme,ofmeticulouslykeepingmeonschedule.IthoughtshewasjustanotherarmofRory,controllingme.Perhaps,ifI’dbotheredtoturnaroundandreallylookather,I’dhaveseensomethingelse.Notsomeoneintentonbringingmedown,butawomandesperatelytryingtopropmeup.
IlistenagaintoDanielle’smessage,totheurgencyinhervoice,thewayitcracks,thewhisperededgesoffear.Useit.I’llbackyouup.
Onthesilenttelevisionscreen,twopoliticalcommentatorsaretalking,theirlipsmovingsoundlessly.Acrossfromthem,KateLanesayssomethingtothecamera,thensmiles.IturnupthevolumeintimetohearthefamiliartuneforPoliticsTodayfadingintocommercial.
It’sunrealthatjustaweekearlier,IwasmakingthefinalpreparationsformyDetroittrip,imaginingalifeasAmandaBurns,livingpeacefullyinCanada.Andhowquicklythingswentwrong,landingmehereinstead,pressedbetweenthesecretsEvawaskeeping,forcedtodancebetweenlandminesIcan’tevensee.
I’mnotgoingtocallRory.Threatswillneverworkonhim.Iftheydid,Iwouldhaveusedthemlongago.WhatDaniellehassentmeissomuchbetter.Rory’svoice,Rory’sanger,packagedintotheperfectsoundbite.
IGoogletheemailaddressforKateLane,thengototheGmailhomepageandsetupanewemailaccountanddraftmyemail,thewordscomingeffortlessly.WhenI’mdone,Ihesitate.TheminuteIsendit,everythingwillbesetintomotion.Therewillbenowayformetogoback.Butthisistheonlytrickleftinmybag.
Irereadtheemailonefinaltime.
DearMs.Lane,MynameisClaireCook,andIamRoryCook’swife.IdidnotdieonFlight477,ashasbeenpreviouslyreported.IaminCalifornia,andIhaverecentlyreceivedevidencethatimplicatesmyhusbandinthedeathandcover-upofMaggieMoretti.Iwouldliketospeakwithyouaboutitatyourearliestconvenience.
AndthenIhitSend.
Eva
Berkeley,California
February
TwoDaysbeforetheCrash
DexwasFish.
FishwasDex.
Evafeltherrealityshift,piecesslidingintoplaceinadifferentorder,adifferentpicture,aspanicandconfusionpoundedthroughher.Whathadshemissed?
“Didn’tyouwonderwhyyou’dnevermetFish,whyDexwasyouronlycontact?”Castroasked.
“Iwastoldthat’showitworked.Ididn’tquestionit.”Evashookherhead.“ButwhywouldDexlie?”shewhispered.
“Byallowingthepeoplewhoworkedforhimtobelievehewasjustcarryingoutordersfromabove,itgavehimameasureofdeniability.Itallowedyoutotrusthiminawayyouwouldn’thaveifyou’dknownhewastheguyatthetop.”
“Isthiscommon?”sheasked.“Don’tpeopleworkreallyhardtoearnthatspot?Don’ttheywanteveryonetoknowwhatkindofpowertheyhave?”
AgentCastroshrugged.“Sometimes,”hesaid.“Buttobehonest,thosetypesofdealersareprettyeasytocatch.They’reinitfortheirego.Theywanteveryonetoknowhowimportanttheyare,andtobeafraidofthem.ButFish”—Castrotippedhisheadtowardher—“orrather,Dex,iswhatwecallalong-termoperator.Someonewhocaresmoreaboutlongevitythananythingelse.Morethanpower,morethanfear.They’resmarterandhardertopindown.”Castrotookasipofhiscoffeeandcontinued.“I’veonlyseenthisoncebefore.AwomanupinElCerritowhopretendedshehadahusbandwhowascallingtheshots.Shehadherfingerinalotofthings,mostlybecausepeopletrustedhertokeepthemsafefromamanwhoneverevenexisted.”
EvathoughtabouthowDexhadputhimselfbetweenherandFish.Howheprotectedherandwarnedher.Ledhertobelievehewasonherside,thattheywereworkingtogether.Shethoughtbacktohowrattledhewasatthefootballgamelastfall.Howscaredhe’dbeenofangeringFish.Allofitanelaborateact.
Andthenhermindflewbacktothatearlymorningwhenhe’dshownherthebody,andeventsrearrangedinherimaginationasshesawDexexecutingthemanandthencalmlywalkingtoEva’sdoor,knocking,andleadingherbackagain,toshowherwhathe’ddone.
Shefeltsickathownaiveshe’dbeen.
“Sonowwhat?”sheasked.
“It’stimeforyoutogetanattorneyandmakeadeal.We’llputawireonyouandseewhatwecanget.”
Evathoughtofallshe’dgatheredandtuckedthatknowledgeclose,herfinalcardtoplay.Therewasnowayshewasgoingtowearawire.“AndwhatdoIgetinexchange?”sheasked.“Sincewitnessprotectionisnotanoption.”
“Yougettonotgotojailwhenthisisallover.”
Onthetable,Eva’sphonebuzzedwithatext,andhergazeflewtoCastro’sphone,wonderingwhetherit,too,wouldlightup.Butitremaineddark.
“You’dbetteranswerthat,”hesaid.
ItwasfromDex.
Arewesetforsix?Wheredoyouwanttomeet?
SheshowedittoAgentCastro.“Sticktopublicplaceswheremypeoplecanblendin,”headvised.“Fromnowon,Idon’twantyoutobealonewithhim,oranywherewecan’tgettoyouquickly.Nomoresportsarenas,nomoredesertedparks.Myteamwillstayonyouuntilwecangetthewiresetup.One,twodays,tops.”
Evatookherphonebackand,withtremblingfingers,typed:O’Brien’s?I’mstarving.
SheimagineddrivingbacktoBerkeleyandsittingacrossthetablefromDex,forcingherselftoactnormalwhileshewaitedforCastrotolineuphisfuckingwireguy.
Castromusthavesensedherrisingpanicbecausehesaid,“You’regoingtobeokay.Juststicktoyourroutineanddoeverythingyounormallywould.Makethedrugs,meetwithDex.Don’tgivehimanyreasontobealarmed.”
Throughthewindow,Evacouldseefogrollingin,thebrightorangeofthebridgefadingbeforehereyes,andsheworriedthatwouldhappentoher.She’dgrowsofaint,shewoulddisappearfromthepageandnoonewouldknowshe’dbeenthereatall.
Therestauranthummedwithconversation,thesoundofcutleryagainstdishesfillingherears,thewholeworldmovingaroundherwhileshestoodstill.“Idon’thaveachoice,doI?”
Castro’seyessoftenedwithsympathy.“Youreallydon’t.”
***
EvawashalfwayacrosstheBayBridgewhenshebegantohyperventilate,carsonallsides,inchingforward,funnelinghertowardaninevitableoutcome.Nofuckingwaycouldshedothis.
Sheimaginedherselfdrivingnorth—passingtheoff-ramptoBerkeley,pastSacramento,Portland,andSeattle.Shelookedinherrearviewmirrorandstudiedthepeopleinthecarsbehindher.WhichoneswereCastro’s?Whoeverwaskeepinganeyeonherwouldneverlethergetthatfar.
***
Athome,shepackedquickly,onlytakingtheessentials,leavingthehouseasitwas.Ifanyonecamelookingforher,shewantedittoappearasifshe’djuststeppedout.Thatshe’dbebackanyminute.Shethoughtofherlabdownstairs,thetoolsandingredients,theevidenceshe’dgatheredforCastro,anddecidedtoleaveit.Eventually,he’dshowuplookingforher,andhewaswelcometoallofit.Shewasnolongergoingtoplaybyanyoneelse’srules.
Eva’splanwastoparknearO’Brien’s.AppeartobeonherwaytomeetDex,andthenslipdownintotheBARTstationandcatchthefirsttrainthatcame.TomakeherwaybackintoSanFrancisco,paycashforabustickettoSacramento,andthenfigureouthowtokeepgoing.North,andthenfurthernorthstill,untilshereachedtheborder.
ButthesightofLiz’sglassbluebirdornamentonherdressercausedhertopullupshort.Shepickeditup,runningherfingerovertheswirlsofblue,thedelicatebeak,theedgesofthewings.Theonlythingthatwasevergiventoheroutoflove.Fromtheonlypersonwhoevertrulycaredabouther.
EvathoughtaboutWade,whohadpromisedtotaketheblame.Dex,whopretendedtobesomeonehewasn’tsohecouldbettermanipulateher.AndCastro,whoexpectedhertodotheimpossible,butgivinghernothingsheneededinreturn.Menwhomadepromisestheyneverintendedtokeep.PeoplelikeEvawerealwaysgoingtobecollateraldamage.
AndthentherewasLiz,whosawtheverybestversionofherself.ShefelttheoutlineofLiz’sletterstillinherpocket.Whenyoushareyourproblemswithsomeoneelse,yourloadgetslighter.Likearatinamaze,Eva’spathwasnarrowing,leadinghertowardtheonlypersonshecouldtrust.
Evagrabbedheremergencycash—fivethousanddollars—andpackedhercomputer,leavinghercompromisedcellphoneonthecounter.Thensheslippedoutofthehouse,stillgrippingtheglassbluebirdinherfist.
***
Thefirsttrainthatarrivedwascrowded.Shewaiteduntilthedoorswereclosingbeforejumpingon,lookingtowardtheplatformforanysignsomeonewasfollowingher.SheimaginedCastro’sagentsaboveher,movingoutinanever-wideningcirclewithhercaratthecenter,parkedatameteronShattuck,wonderingwhereshewent.Whathappenedtoher.
Evascannedthefacesofthepeoplearoundher,silentlydiscardingamansleepinginacornerandacouplehuddledoveraniPad,deepinconversation.ButtherewasawomandirectlyacrossfromherthatEvacaughtglancingatherasthetrainhurledsouth,towardOakland.Shehadamagazineopen,butasEvastudiedtheadsabovethewoman’shead,waitingforhertoturnthepageofhermagazine,thewomanremainedmotionless.
Atthenextstop,Evawaiteduntilthelastsecondtoslipoffthetrain,andwatchedthewoman,stillreading,slidepastherandintothedarktunnel.Shehuddledinacornerofthestation,herbagslungoverhershoulder,watchingcommutersboardandexittrainsbeforepickinganotherone,thistimeheadingtowardSanFrancisco.Forthenexthour,shetransferredandbacktrackeduntilshewascertainshewasalone.
Attheairport,shepaidcashforared-eyetickettoNewark.
“One-wayorround-trip?”theticketagentasked.
Evahesitated.HadCastroputheronsomekindoflist?Againhiswords—midleveltarget—flashedinhermind.“One-way,”sheanswered.Thefinalityofitsentashudderthroughher.Ifshewaswrong,aone-wayticketwouldsoundthealarm.
***
Shedidn’trelaxuntilwellaftertakeoff.Asthepassengersaroundhersleptorread,Evastaredoutthewindow,thinkingofaneveningjustafterHalloween,whenshe’dfoundLizsittingonthebacksteps,lookingoutattheiryardinthedeepeningtwilight.“Whatareyoudoingbackhere?”she’dasked.
Lizhadlookedupfromwhereshesatandsmiled.“Ilovethesmelloftheevening,whenthesunhasdisappearedandeverythingstartstocooldown.Nomatterhowmuchlifechanges,thisneverdoes.”Sheclosedhereyes.“Myex-husbandandIusedtodothis,whenwewerefirstmarried.Sitoutsideandwatchtheskychangefromdaytonight.”
Evasatonherownstep,lookingatLizthroughtheironbarsoftherailing.“Whereishenow?”
Lizshruggedandbrushedherfingersalongtheedgeoftheconcretestep.“LastIheard,hemovedtoNashville.Butthatwastwentyyearsago.Ihavenoideaifhe’sstillthere.”
Evawonderedhowshecouldbesocalmaboutthemanwho’dabandonedherwithayoungchildandneverlookedback.“DoesEllieeverhearfromhim?”
“Idon’tknow—wedon’treallytalkabouthim.ButIdon’tthinkso.Hesentcardsforherbirthdayforafewyears,butthosestoppedwhenshewasstillyoung.”Lizlookedacrosstheyard,tothebackfenceandthetreesbeyond.Inaquietvoice,shesaid,“Forawhile,Ellieblamedmeforthat.AsifIcouldmakethatmancareabouther.Butnowthatshe’sgrown,shecanseehimforwhohereallyis,andunderstandherchildhoodwasprobablybetterwithouthiminit.”
Evamarveledathercalmtone.“Howcanyounothatehim?”
Lizgaveasoftchuckle.“Hatecaneatyouupinside.Icoulddevotehoursadaytodespisinghim.Butitwouldn’tmatter.He’soutthere,somewhere,livinghislife,andifhethinksaboutusatall,it’sprobablyonlyinpassing.Idecidedalongtimeagotoforgivehim,whichisaloteasierthanhatinghim.”
Evathoughtaboutthestrengththatmusthavetaken,toraiseherdaughteronherownwhilestillfollowingherowndreams.Tosetthebetrayalasideandchoosetobehappy.
“Haveyoualwaysbeenthisway?Abletoseebeyondtheworstinpeople?”
Lizlaughed.“Ittakesalongtimetolearnhowtoseetheworldasaplacewherepeoplearen’tdoingthingstoyou.Myhusbanddidn’tsetouttobreakmyheart,orEllie’s.Hewasjustactingonhisowndesires,livinghisownstory.IhopeI’vebecomesomeonewhodoesn’tgetangrywhenothersarejusttryingtogetby.IhopeIcanbethekindofpersonwholookstowardforgivenessfirst.”
Evastaredacrosstheyardtowardthebushesbythebackgate,theirshadowsquicklydisappearinginthefadinglight.“I’mnotverygoodatforgiveness.”
Liznodded.“Notmanypeopleare.ButwhatI’velearnedinlifeisthatinorderfortrueforgivenesstooccur,somethinghastodiefirst.Yourexpectations,oryourcircumstances.Maybeyourheart.Andthatcanbepainful.Butit’salsoincrediblyliberating.”
“IsthisyourroundaboutwayoftellingmeIneedtoforgivemybirthfamily?”
Lizhadlookedather,surprised.“Ithinkyouneedtofigureouthowtoforgiveyourself.Forwhateveritisthatstillchasesafteryou.”
AsEvafleweast,thewindownexttoherablacksquare,shewonderedifthiswasthedeathLizwastalkingabout.Herentirelife,abandonedinBerkeley,justahollowshellthatnolongerfitthepersonshewasbecoming.Itdidn’tmakesense,eventoher,whysheneededtoseeLizonemoretime.Butsomehowsheunderstoodthatthiswashowshe’dforgiveherself.
Claire
Monday,February28
WhileIwaitforareplyfromKateLane,IflipthroughthenotesItookfromEva’slab,sinkingagainintothestoryofachemistryprodigy,anoutcast,andadrugdealer.WhenI’mdone,Istareatthecurtainedwindow,thesoundofdistanttrafficjustbeyondthedoor,andpictureheroutthere,movingsilentlythroughcrowdsofstudents,shouldershunched,handsshovedintothepocketsofhergreencoat,headtuckedintoherchest.Invisible.Hersolitarylifealwaysholdingherapart.Neversafe,neverknown.
AndIknowwhyshedecidedtodowhatshedid.
Idrinktherestofmycoldcoffeeandeatthelastcinnamonbun,wishingIcouldchecktheDoc.IimagineRory,packingabagandassemblingasmallteam.CoordinatingwithBruce.AshorttriptoCaliforniaforpersonalbusiness,Daniellequietandwatchful,takingnotes.Waitingforanotheropeningtotellmewhatsheknows.
Justthen,myemailpingswitharesponsefromKateLane’sproductionassistant
Ms.Laneisdefinitelyinterestedinthisstory.Wewillneedtoverifyyourclaimbeforemovingforward.Pleasesendanumberwherewecanreachyousowecanconfirmyouarewhoyousayyouare.
ItoggleovertothesettingsonEva’sphone,findhernumber,thentypeitdirectlyintomyemailreply.Tenminuteslater,thecellphoneringsandIleapforit.“Hello?”
“Mrs.Cook,it’sKateLane.”
Thesoundofmyownnamesoundsoddtomyear,makingmefeelexposed.“Thankyoufortalkingwithme,”Isay.
“Well,youtellaninterestingstory.ButIfirstneedyoutoexplainhowitisyouaren’tdead,whentheNTSBsaysyougotonthatplane.”
Theyearsofsilencepileupinme,thesecretsI’veguardedforsolong,thebeliefthatnoonewouldwanttoknowthetruth.Istartslowly,describingRory’sabuseandhowdesperateIwastoleavehim,howmyplanstodisappearinDetroitfellapart,andhowRoryhaddiscoveredthem.“AndthenImetawomanatJFK.HernamewasEvaJames,andsheagreedtotradeflightswithme,”Isay.“WhenIlanded,IfoundoutthePuertoRicoflighthadcrashed.I’vebeenstuckhere,withnomoneyandnowaytodisappear,soItookajobwithacateringcompany.”ItellherabouttheTMZvideoandhowRorywasnowonhiswaytoCaliforniabecauseofit.
“SoEvaJamesdiedinthecrashinstead?”
Iclosemyeyes,knowingIneedtobecareful.ThebestwayIcanprotectEvaistoletthepeoplewhoareafterherbelieveshe’sdead.“Shedid.”
“Jesus,”Katebreathesout.Thensheseemstoregroup.“Iguesswe’dbettermoveontoMaggieMoretti.”
“Ihavearecordingofmyhusbandandhisassistant,BruceCorcoran.Init,they’rediscussingawomannamedCharlottePrice,whohasdirectknowledgeofmyhusband’sinvolvementinMaggieMoretti’sdeath.”
There’sapauseasKateLaneabsorbsthisinformation.“Whenwasthisrecordingmade?”
“I’mnotsure,”Iadmit.“Inthelastfewdays.Myassistantmadeitandsentittomesometimelastnight.She’swillingtoverifyitslegitimacy.”
Kateseemstothinkaboutthis.“Beforewedoanything,I’llneedtolistentoit.Canyoutextittomyproducer?”Sherattlesoffanumber,andIsenditoff.
Soon,Ihearitplayingacrossthephoneline.Theknocking,Danielle’svoice,thenRoryandBruce’s.Whenit’sdone,Kateletsoutasigh,hervoicegentle.“Mrs.Cook,I’msorry.ButIdon’tthinkwecanputthatontheair.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”Thiswasmylastshot.I’dlaideverythingonthetable—revealedwhereIwasandwhatI’ddone—andtheoutcomeisstillthesame.“Heallbutadmitshewasresponsible.”
“It’snotenough,”Katesays.“Hisassistantoutlinestheaccusation,andwhileyourhusbanddoesn’tdenyit,it’snotanadmission.”
“He’sonhiswaytoCalifornia,”Itellher.“HeknowswhatI’vedone.Thisistheonlythingthatmightstophim.”
“Iwanttohelpyou,”shesays.“Whatyou’vetoldmeishugeinitsownright.Anabusedwife,amanabouttorunforSenate,twowomenmeetinginanairportandswitchingtickets.Letmeputyouontheairtotellthatstory.”
Iswipeahandacrossmyeyesandsay,“Andlikealltheotherwomenwhohavecomeoutagainstpowerfulmen,I’llbetheoneostracized,whilehesailsontoCongress.”
“Yourconcernisvalid,”shesays.“Butthismightbuyyoutime.Whileyoutellyourstory,otherscanbeworkingonthelinkbetweenyourhusbandandMaggieMoretti.HaveyourassistantsendtherecordingtotheNewYorkdistrictattorney.We’lllookforCharlottePriceandseeifshewantstogoontherecord.Ifthere’sanythingthere,we’llfindit.”Ihearhershufflingmorepapersinthebackground,andthesoundofsomeone’smuffledvoice.“Let’sgetyouovertoourSanFranciscostudiowhileweworkthephonesonthisend.Tellmewhereyouare,andI’llhaveacarsentover.”
Itellherthenameofthemotel,feelingunsettledandagitated.ComingforwardtotalkaboutwhatRorydidtomewasexactlywhatIwantedtoavoid.
“I’llbeintouchifanythingcomesup,”Katesays.“Thecarshouldbethereinaboutanhour.Beready.”
“Iwill.Thankyou.”
Ibeginpackingmythings,shovingthemintomybaghaphazardly.Bythistimetomorrow,I’llbeClaireCookagain,shoulderingallthebaggagethatcomesalongwithit,facingthecircusmyaccusationswillcreate.IthinkaboutEva,outtheresomewhere,andhopethatatleastthismightsetherfree.
Aknockonthedoorstartlesme,andIworrythatRorymighthavebumpedhistripup,slippedoutofNewYorkwithoutDanielleknowing,andsomehowlocatedmehere.ThatbythetimetheCNNcararrives,therewillbenothingbutanemptyroom.
Ipeekthroughthecurtainsandseeaman,hisarmsfoldedacrosshischest,revealingabriefglimpseofagunholsterunderhiscoat.
Icallthroughthedoor.“CanIhelpyou?”
Hesmilesandflashesabadge.“MynameisAgentCastro,”hesays.“AndI’dliketotalktoyouaboutEvaJames.”
Eva
NewJersey
February
OneDaybeforetheCrash
Theplanebumpeddownattwoo’clockinNewark,afterflyingallnightandaninterminablelayoverinChicago.Aftertaxiingtothegate,EvahurrieduptheJetway,stoppingonlytobuyanewprepaidphoneatakiosk,tossingthepackaginginthetrash,anddialingthenumberLizhadwrittenatthebottomofherletter.“It’sEva,”shesaid,relievedtofindLizathome.“I’mactuallyinNewJersey.IsitpossibleIcanstopby?”
“You’rehere?How?Why?”Liz’ssurprisedvoicefloatedthroughtheline.
“It’salongstory,”Evasaid,passingthroughbaggageclaimandoutintothefrigidFebruaryair.“CanItellyouinperson?”
***
JustalittleoverfiftymilesfromManhattan,Liz’sNewJerseystreetlookedlikeitbelongedintheMidwest,withsmall,well-cared-forhouses,amixofbrickandpaintedstucco.WhenLizopenedherdoor,shepulledEvaintoatighthug.“Thisissuchasurprise,”shesaid.“Comein.”
ShefollowedLizthroughthehousetoalargeroomoffthekitchenthatoverlookedasnowybackyard.AnafternoontalkshowwasontheTVinthecorner,andLizswitcheditoff,gesturingforEvatositonthecouch.Lizperchednexttoherandsaid,“I’vemissedyou.Tellmeeverything.”
Evafroze.Thewholeflight,she’drehearsedinthedarkwhilepeoplesleptaroundher.Triedtofindtherightplacetobeginunravelingitall.ButnowthatshewaslookingintoLiz’squestioningeyes,waitingforEvatosaysomething,shecouldn’tmakehermouthworkatall.
Hergazetraveledaroundtheroom,tothebookshelvescrammedwithbooks,amessydeskcoveredinpapers,andacouplehalf-emptiedpackingboxesinthecorner.
ShetookadeepbreathandgaveLizawobblysmile.“Idon’tknowwheretostart,”shetoldher.
LiztookEva’shands,warmanddryagainstEva’ssweatyones,andshefeltalittlecalmer,Liz’senergypassingthroughher,makingherheartrateslow.“Justpickaplaceandbegin.”
“I’mintrouble,”Evasaid,hervoicelowandtentative.Andthenshebegan.ShetoldLizaboutWade.Howhemadeherfeelspecial.Evalookedintoherlapandshrugged.“Itwasthefirsttimeanyonehadmademefeelthatway.Interesting.Attractive.Likeanormalpersonlivinganormallife.”
Shedescribedthemeetinginthedean’soffice,hownooneshowedupforher,andhowshe’dfeltshehadtoaccepttheirterms.“Theyhadallthepower.Alltheleverage.Iwasjustakid.Itwaseasyforthemtokickmeoutandpretendnoneofithappened.”
“Didn’ttheuniversityappointanadvocateforyou?”
Evahadneverevenconsideredsuchathing.Sheshookherhead,andLizlookeddisgusted.“Youcouldhaveappealed.Thereareproceduresthatshouldhavebeenfollowed.”ButthenLizseemedtocatchherself,becauseshesaid,“Youcouldn’thaveknown,andthatdoesn’thelpyounow.Goon.”
Evathoughtaboutwhatcamenext,adecisionsosignificant,herentirelifecleavedintwo.Sheletoutaslowbreath,draggingoutthemoment,knowingshe’dhavetostepforwardandtelltherest,butnotwantingto.TerrifiedLizwouldn’tunderstand.Thatwhatshe’dsaidinherletter,aboutacceptingEvaasshewas,wouldn’tapplytowhatshewasabouttoconfess.
Evawastemptedtoendthestorythere.TellLizshewasonherwaytoEurope,hadalayover,andwantedtostopbyandsayhi.ButsheknewLizwouldn’tbuyit.Andeventually,CastrowouldshowupatLiz’sdoorandtellherthetruth.EvaneededtobetheonetotellLiz.TomakesureLizunderstoodwhyshe’ddonewhatshedid.SheprayedsomeofLiz’sforgivenesswouldcomeherway.
“ThatguyyousawmearguingwithisnamedDex.Oratleast,that’sthenameIknowhimby.Apparently,hehasothers.”EvatoldheraboutDex’soffer,abouthowshehadnomoney.Nowheretogo,andhowitseemedlikealifelineatthetime.
Asshespoke,Liz’seyesgrewwider,herexpressionmoreandmoreshocked.EvaknewwhatLizexpectedtohear.Typicalproblemssuchasalostjob.Anunwantedpregnancy.Maybestolenmoneyorproperty.ButEvacouldtellLizdidn’texpectthis.Shecouldn’tbeartheweightofLiz’seyes,andsheleanedforward,restingherheadinherhands,coveringherface,elbowsonherknees.
Nexttoher,shefeltLizrisefromthecouchandmoveawayfromher.Evaheldherbreath,waitingforthesoundofLizopeningherfrontdoor,aquietvoiceaskingEvatoleave.Orthesoundofherpickingupthephonetocallthepolice.ButinsteadsheheardLizmoveintothekitchenandopentherefrigerator,thesoundofice,andshereturnedwithabottleofvodkaandtwoglasses.Shepouredgenerouslyandtookadrink.“Continue,”shesaid.
Evasippedhervodkaandtoldhertherest.Brittany.AgentCastro.Theevidenceshe’dassembled,Castro’snewsthatshedidn’tqualifyforwitnessprotection.Andfinally,thatDexwasFish.“I’msureheknowsbynowthatsomethingisup.Iwassupposedtomeethimyesterday,butInevershowed.”
“Youhavetocooperate,”LizsaidwhenEvahadfinishedtellinghereverything.“It’stheonlythingyoucando.”Shefinishedhervodkaandpouredanotherglass,toppingoffEva’saswell.“MyGod,Eva.”
“Ican’t.”
“Youhaveto,”Lizinsisted.“Thisishowyougetyourlifeback.”
Evatriednottolosehertemper.“Itdoesn’tworklikeitdoesonTV.EvenifDexgoestojail,I’mstillatrisk.NomatterwhereIgo,hispeoplewillfindme.ItriedtomakeAgentCastrounderstandthis,buthesaidhishandsweretied.”Evabegantocry,greathiccuppingsobs,andLizwrappedherarmsaroundher,holdinghertight.
“Youhavetostoprunning,”shesaidintothetopofEva’shead.“Stopcoveringuplieswithmorelies.”
“It’snotthatsimple,”Evasaid,pullingbackandwipinghereyes.“CastrothinksIcantestifyandthensomehowgobacktomyregularlife.AsifDexwouldeverletmegetthatfar.TheonlythingIcandoisleave.DisappearandletCastrofigureitoutwithoutme.”
ShewaitedforLiztoarguewithher,tothreatentoturnherin.ButLizjustsaid,“Okay.Let’sfollowthislineofthinking.Wherewillyougo?”
Evashrugged.“I’llstayinNewYorkforawhile.Findawaytogetafakepassport.Ihavemoney.”
Liznodded.“Afakepassport.Andthenyou’llleavethecountry?”
EvaknewwhatLizwasdoing.She’dhadaprofessoratBerkeleyusethiskindofSocraticmethodtohelpstudentsreasonoutanargument.Butshewentalongwithit.“Yes.”
Lizrolledherglassbetweenherhands,theicesettlingtowardthebottom.“You’llbesomeonenew.Someonewithoutapast.Whatwillyoudowithyourtime?Willyouwork?Buysomeproperty?Rent?Howwillyouexplainyourselftoothers?”
“I’llfigureitout.Makesomethingup.”
“Andconstantlybeafraid,lookingoveryourshoulder,waitingforsomeonetodiscoverthetruth.”Liz’squietvoicelandedhardinEva’sears.“Youneedtomakeadeal,andyouneedtodoitnow.”LizsetherglassdownandputherfingerunderEva’schin,forcingEvatolookather.“Whathappenedtoyouwasshittyandunfair.Butyouhavetogobackandownyourpartofit.EitherDexisgoingtojailforalongtime,oryouare.Who’sitgoingtobe?”
“AndwhatifDex’speoplegettomefirst?Hehastoknowbynow.”PanicbegantoswirlaroundinsideofEva,andshestartedtocryagain.
Lizhandedheratissueandsaid,“YouhavetoflybackbeforeCastroknowsyou’veleft.Callhimtheminuteyouland,andwaitforhimattheairport.Donotleaveuntilhecomesintogetyou.Understand?”
“Whycan’tIjustdisappear?”Evawhispered.“PretendI’veneverbeenhere?”
Liz’seyessoftened.“Youknowthey’llcomehereeventuallyandaskmequestions.Ican’tlieforyou.”
MaybethiswaswhyEvacame.Tobeforcedtodotherightthing.Tobeheldaccountablebysomeonewholovedherenoughtonotlethermakeanymoremistakes.ForLiztobethemothershe’dneverhad.
Reliefmeltedthroughher,tobeabletoseteverythingdownandletsomeoneelse—someonewhocaredabouther—tellherwhattodo.“Okay,”shesaid.
Theysattogether,withonlythefainttickingofaclocksomewheredeepinsidethehouse,thesilencebetweenthemheavywithallthatEvastillwantedtosay.
Allherlife,she’dcravedconnection.Family.Friendship.ThenLizcamealongandgaveittoher,withoutaskingforanythinginreturn.EvawantedtoaskWhyme?Butshewouldn’t,becausetherecouldneverbeenoughwordstofilltheholeEvahadinsideofher,thedeepestpartoftheheart,wherethemostpreciousloveandthetruestfriendshipsarestored.
SheknewthatwalkingoutthedoortomorrowwouldrequireanactofcourageEvawasn’tsureshepossessed.Toturnherbackandleavethislife,withallitssharpedgesandhardknots,andtrustthattherewouldbesomethingontheothersideforher.
“Doyourememberthedaywemet?”Liz’svoicewasthesamelowtenorEvarememberedfromtheirfirstmeeting,anditpassedthroughherlikewarmhoney.“Iwascrumpledinaheapontheground,andyouwalkedoverandliftedmeup.”Evastartedtospeak,butLizsilencedherwithanupheldhand.“Donoteverforgetwhoyouareandwhatyoumeantome.Inaworldcrowdedwithnoiseandselfishness,youareabrilliantflashofkindness.”LizturnedEvasoshewasfacingherandheldherbytheshoulders.“Nomatterwhereyougo,nomatterwhathappens,knowIwillbeouthere,lovingyou.”
Evalethertearsfall,thelastofherwallscrumblingbeneathLiz’swords.Everyregret,everydisappointment,everyheartachethatEvahadeverenduredseepedoutofher,aslowleakofsadness,untilshewasempty.
***
Aftershe’dbookedherflightbacktoOakland,theysattogetheronthecouch,EvatryingtosoakupeverylastmomentwithLiz,knowingitwouldneverbeenough.Fromthefrontofthehousecamethesoundofakeyinthelock,thenthedooropeningandclosing.“Mom?”avoicecalled.“Areyouhome?”
“Backhere,honey.”
Ayoungwomancamethroughthekitchen,tossingherkeysonthecounteranddroppingherheavybagonthefloor.ShestoppedsuddenlywhenshesawEvaandLizonthecouch.“Sorry,”shesaid.“Ididn’tknowyouhadcompany.”
“Eva,thisismydaughter,Ellie.”
EllierolledhereyesandsteppedforwardtoshakeEva’shand.“IgobyDaniellenow.It’snicetofinallymeetyou.”
Claire
Monday,February28
IstareatAgentCastro,feelingasifthecarefulstitchesholdingmysecretstogetherhavebeenpulledapart.“Idon’tknowwhothatis.”
Heflipshissunglassesontopofhisheadandsays,“Ithinkyoudo.Youjustfinishedacallonherphone.”MyeyesdarttowardEva’scellphone,sittingonthedresser,wonderinghowhe’dknowthat.Hecontinues.“Solet’strythisadifferentway.Goodafternoon,Mrs.Cook.It’swonderfultoseeyoulookingsowell.MynameisAgentCastro,andI’mafederalDEAofficer.IhavesomequestionsI’dliketoaskyou.”Beyondhimintheparkinglotisananonymoussedanwithgovernmentplates.“Maybeweshouldgoinsideandchat,”hesuggests.Histoneisfriendlybutfirm,andInod,openingthedoorwidertolethimenter.
Wesitatthesmalltablebythewindow,twochairsfacingeachother.Hepullsthecurtainsopen,floodingthetinyroomwithlight.“I’dlikeyoutotellmehowyouknowEvaJames.”
“Idon’t,really.”
“Andyet,upuntilyesterday,youwerestayinginherhouse.”HegesturestowardEva’sgreencoat,tossedoverachair.“Andwearingherclothes.”Thenheholdsuphisownphone.“Mrs.Cook,we’vehadMs.Jamesundersurveillanceforseveralmonths.Thatincludeshavingherphonecloned.”
“Cloned?”Iask.“Whatdoesthatmean?”
Heleansbackandstudiesme,theweightofhisgazemakingmeuncomfortable.Finally,hesays,“Itmeansthatanythingyoudowiththatphone,weknowaboutit.Wegetcopiesofalltextsandemails.Whenthatphonerings,weknowit.Whateverissaidonit,wehearit.”
MymindjumpsbacktotheconversationIjusthadwithKateLane.ToDanielle’smessagesandthevoicerecording.AndIknownowwhyEvaleftthephonebehind.“Didsheknow?”
Heshakeshishead.“Shewasworkingwithusonanactiveinvestigation,andwecouldn’triskherchangingherpatternswiththepeoplesheworkedwith.ButwebegantoworrywhenEvafailedtoshowupataprearrangedmeetinglastweek.Andthenyouarrived.”
Ilookdownatmyhands,restinginmylap.IthinkaboutthecarKateLaneissendingforme,andwhetherAgentCastrowillletmegetinit,orwhetherI’mgoingtobestuckhere,answeringhisquestionsuntilthemomentRoryarrives.
“Whydon’twestartwithhowyoumetEva,”herepeats.
“Ifyou’vebeenlisteninginonmyphoneconversations,thenyoualreadyknow.”
“Fairenough.Thentellmemoreaboutwhathappenedattheairport.Whoseideawasittoswitchplaces?”
I’munsurehowtodescribemyrole.AmIavictim?Aco-conspirator?Iwasneither,justawomandesperateforasolution.Anysolution.“Evaapproachedme,”Ifinallysay.
Castronods.“Howdidsheseemtoyou?”
“That’sanimpossiblequestiontoanswer,sincenothingshetoldmewastrue.”Ithinkofthewayshestaredintoherdrink,asiftheweightoftheworldrestedonhershoulders,andknowthatbeneathherlies,thefearwasreal.“Shewasscared,”Ifinallysay.
“Shehadagoodreasontobe.Didanyonecometothehouselookingforher?”
Itellhimaboutthemanwhoshowedupontheporch,aboutwhathesaidandwhathedidn’tsay.
“Describehim,”AgentCastrosays.
“Aboutmyage.Maybealittlebitolder.Darkhair.Oliveskin.Longcoat,andthesecrazygrayeyes.Notquiteblue.”
“WhileyouwerestayingatEva’shouse,didyouseeanydrugs?”
“No.”Ithinkaboutthatbasementlab.OfthehoursEvamusthavespentworkingunderground,andwhatithadcostherupabove.AndIthinkaboutthenotarizedletterandrecordings,carefullygatheredanddocumented,andweighthebenefitsofhandingthemovernow.IfIdo,Castrowillhavewhatheneeds,orasmuchasEvaisabletogivehim,whichmightbeenoughtofulfillwhateverpromisesshemade.
Iretrievetheenvelopeandvoicerecorderandslidethemacrossthetabletohim.“IfoundtheseyesterdaywhenIdiscoveredherbasement.”
HesetstherecorderasideandflipsthroughthepagesofEva’sstatement,thenjotsthenotaryinformationintoasmallnotebook.
“Ihadnoideawhatshewasrunningfrom.Shetoldmeshehadjustlostherhusbandtocancer.Thatshe’dhelpedhimdieandthatshemightbeintroublebecauseofit.”AsIrecountthestory,itsoundsevencrazierthanitdidatthetime.“Youhavetounderstand,Iwasdesperateenoughtowanttobelieveprettymuchanything.AndIthinksheknewthat.”
“Evahashadyearsofpracticedeceivingpeople.She’sverygoodatwhatshedoes.Shehadtobe,tohavedoneitforsolong.”Heleansforward,restinghiselbowsonthetable.“Ineedyoutounderstandthatmyjobistoinvestigatedrugcrimes,”hesays.“Notfraud.Notidentitytheft.Andyouarenotunderinvestigationbyme.”Hisvoicesoftens,nowthathisquestionshavebeenansweredandIgetapeekatthemanbeneaththesurface,someonewhogenuinelywantstohelpme.“Iunderstandyou’rehidingfromyourhusband?”
“Iam.”
“I’mnotheretogetyouintotrouble,Mrs.Cook.ButEvawashelpingme,andIneedtoknowwhathappenedtoher.Whatshetoldyou.”
“Nothingtrue,”Isay.“Noneofitwasreal.”
Helooksoutthewindowasablacktowncarglidesintothespotnexttohissedan.“Ithinkyourrideishere.”
WestandandIopenthedoor.
“ClaireCook?”thedriverasks.He’slarge,inhismidtwenties,squeezedintoadarksuitwithsleevesthatjustbarelycoveratattoocirclinguphisrightwrist.Inhisearsarethosegiantcircles,stretchingenormousholesinhisearlobes.
Berkeley.Whereeveryoneisjustalittlebitweirderthanyouare.
Asheloadsmybagintothetrunk,InoticehisgazelandonAgentCastro’sgunbeneathhiscoat.Helooksawayandslamsthetrunkclosed,steppingawayfromtherestofourconversation.
AgentCastroturnstome.“Goodluck,”hesays,shakingmyhand.“Ifpossible,I’dliketotouchbaseagainbeforeyouleavetown.AssumingyougobacktoNewYork.”
“Sure,”Isay,lookingtowardthebusystreet,carsandbusesblowingpastthemotel.“Thoughwhathappensnextdependsonthenextfewhours.HowmuchtroubleI’llbeinforwhatIdid,andwhetheranyonewillbelievewhatIhavetosay.”
“IfyourhusbandwasinvolvedinwhathappenedtoMaggieMoretti,itwon’tmatteriftheybelieveyouornot.Theevidencewillbackyouup.”
Itearmyeyesawayfromthestreetandlookathim.“Youdon’tknowtheCookfamilyverywellifyouthinktheywon’tfight.Therulesaredifferentforpeoplelikethem.”
IwaitforAgentCastrototellmeI’mwrong,buthedoesn’t.Evenheknowsthatthepowerofmoneycanmakeallkindsofproblemsdisappear.
Finally,hesays,“Alittleadvice?Getontheairassoonaspossible.Yourhusbandcan’ttouchyouifthewholeworldknowsyou’realive.”
***
Trafficintothecityishorrible.WeprogressslowlythroughthetollboothandupontotheBayBridge,walledinonallsidesbycars.Aloneinthebackseat,Istareoutthewindow,mygazetravelingacrossthewaterandlandingonAlcatraz,smallandsquatinthemiddleofthebay,theslate-graywatersurroundingit.
Thedriveradjuststherearviewmirrorsohecanseemebetter,hissleeveridingupevenhigher,andIcatchanotherglimpseofhistattooedarm.“OkayifIturnontheradio?”heasks.
“Sure,”Itellhim.
Heflipsarounduntilhelandsonsomequietjazz.IpullEva’sphoneoutofmypursetocheckthetime,andseethatIhaveamissedtextfromDanielle.
IjustfoundoutthatMr.Cook’salreadygotaguyonthegroundinBerkeleylookingforyou.Alocal,someonewhocanbetterblendinwiththepeoplethere.ButI’mtoldhe’sbig,withatattoosleeveonhisrightarm.Becareful.Eva
NewJersey
February
OneDaybeforetheCrash
Ellie—orrather,Danielle—didnotlookasEvahadexpectedLiz’sdaughtertolook.Insteadoftheeclecticwomanshe’dimagined,awomanwhoworelongflowingskirtsandworkedforahardscrabblenonprofit,Daniellehadherdarkhairpulledbackintoaconservativebunatthebaseofherneck.Sheworepearlsandatailoredsuitwithlowheels.Buttheresemblancebetweenmotheranddaughterwasimmediate.Daniellehadthesmallstatureofhermother,theplanesofherfaceanalmostmirrorimageofthefriendEvahadgrowntolove.ButwhereLizwascalmandcentered,Danielleseemedagitated.
Lizstoodtogiveherdaughterakiss.“Areyoujustgettinghomefromwork?It’slate.”
Ignoringhermother’squestion,DaniellesaidtoEva,“Ididn’tknowyouwerecomingtotown.”
ThewayDaniellesaidit,likeanaccusation,rumbledlowinsideofEva,warninghertobecareful.“Alast-minutetrip,”shesaid.“Inandout.”
“Because?”Danielle’sgazeheldEva’s.
“Becauseshewantedto,”Lizinterjected,throwingawarningglareatherdaughter.
“Aquickvisittoseesomefriends,”Evasaid,hopingtodefusesomeofthetension.“Ihavetoheadbacktomorrow.”
Daniellewaitedamoment,asiftoseeifEvawouldoffermoredetails.Whenshedidn’t,Daniellesaid,“Mom,canIseeyouintheotherroom?”
Apologetic,LizturnedtoEva.“Makeyourselfcomfortable.I’llbebackinaminute.”
Thetwowomenhuddledinthelivingroom,thesoundoftheirwhisperedconversationfloatingbacktoEvainsnatches.Sherosefromthecouchandwanderedintothekitchenunderthepretenseoflookingatthepicturesontherefrigerator.
“Whatisthematterwithyou?”Lizhissed.
“I’msorry.I’mexhaustedandstressed,andI’vestillgottopackforatriptoDetroittomorrow,”Daniellesaid.“Iwasn’texpectingahouseguest.”
“What’shappeninginDetroit?”
“Thefoundationhasaneventtheretomorrow.IwassupposedtoaccompanyMrs.Cook,butIjustfoundoutMr.CookissendinghertoPuertoRicoinstead.HewantstodotheDetroittriphimself.”Daniellesighed.“I’msorrytobesosnappywithyou.Butthislast-minuteitinerarychangeismakingmeedgy.Somethingfeelsoff.”
“Inwhatway?”
“Mrs.Cookhasbeensingularlyfocusedonthistripformonths,inawaythat’sunusualforher.”
“Ithinkyou’reworkingtoohard.Worryingaboutthingsthataren’tthere.”Liz’svoicesoundedsoothing,andEvaimaginedhertakingDanielle’shandandsqueezingit.
“Idon’tthinkso,Mom.There’sbeenotherweirdstuff.Herdrivertoldmelastmonthshetookthecar—alone—toLongIsland.TheGPStrackedherallthewaytotheeasterntip.Shedoesn’tknowanyonewholivesoutthere.AndI’vehadtocoverforherafewtimeswithfinancialdiscrepancies.Withdrawals.Receiptsthatdon’tmatch.”EvacouldheartheworryinDanielle’svoice,thetensionofwatchingandwaitingforsomethingtohappen.“Ithinkshe’sgoingtoleavehim.”
“Good.Finally.”
“Yeah,butIdon’tthinkthePuertoRicotripisapartofthat.AndI’mworriedtheDetroittripwas.”
“DoyouthinkMr.Cookknows?”
“No,butifthismessesherupsomehow…”Shetrailedoff.“Idon’tliketheideaofhertravelingalone,orwithpeopleonlyloyaltotheincredibleRoryCook.AndnowI’vegottogotoDetroitandactasifI’moneofthemwhenIcanbarelystandtolookattheman,knowinghowheterrorizesher.”
“Ifshe’ssmart,she’llgotoPuertoRicoandnevercomeback.”
Evahadstoppedpretendingtolookatthepicturesandwasnowentirelyfocusedonlisteningtothisstoryunfold,piecingtogetherthebarebonesofanidea.
Intwosteps,shewasacrossthekitchenandovertothecouch,grabbingherlaptopandsettingituponthecountersoshecouldstilllistenin.Asthetwowomencontinuedtotalk,EvaGoogledRoryCook,wife,andstudiedtheimagethatappeared.Abeautifulwoman,herdarkhairframingherface,wearinghigh-end,trendyclothes,walkingdownaNewYorksidewalk.ThecaptionreadRoryCook’swife,Claire,visitsthenewrestaurant,Entourage,locatedontheUpperWestSide
Inthenextroom,Daniellesaid,“SomehowIdon’tthinkstayinginPuertoRicoisanoptionforher.Ifeelterriblethatshehastogo,thatshe’sgoingtowakeupandBruceisgoingtobetheonetotellherofthechange,thathe’llbetheonetotakehertoJFK.”Withanimpatientsigh,shecontinued.“Anyways,I’msorryIwasrudetoEva.I’msureshe’slovely.What’stherealstory?Whyisshereallyintown?”
Evaheldherbreath,staringatthedetailsofClaireCook’sface,butnotseeingthemanymore.Instead,shewaitedtohearwhetherLizwouldkeephersecretsorrevealthemall,dishingthemuptoherdaughterlikealate-nightsnack.
“Eva’shitaroughpatch,”Lizsaid.“Butshe’sgoingtobefine.She’sasurvivor.”
Evaletoutaquietsighofrelief.
“Look,”Daniellewassaying.“Ineedtopacksincewe’releavingatthecrackofdawn.Doyouknowwheremyblackwoolcoatis?”
“Upstairsinthesparebedroomcloset,Ithink.LetmeseeifIcanfindit.”
“Thanks,Mom.”
Suchasimplesentence,probablyutteredhundredsofthousandsoftimes.Andyet,thepowerofitnearlybroughtEvatotears.Whatitmustbeliketohavesomeonealwaysinyourcorner.Shethoughtshe’dhadthatwithLiz,butseeinghertogetherwithherdaughter,thewaytheytrustedandconfidedineachother,EvaknewwhatsheandLizsharedwasnothingmorethanaclosefriendship.Andshefeltstupidforeverthinkingitwasmore.WhatwouldLizadviseherdaughtertodoifshefoundherselfinEva’sposition?WouldshealsoencourageDanielletoturnherselfintotheauthorities?Orwouldshehelpherdaughterescape?
Onthescreeninfrontofher,sheimaginedwhatClaireCookwouldthinktomorrowwhenshewoketodiscoverherhusbandhadchangedheritinerary.Thatshe’dbeflyingoutofJFKtoatropicalparadiseinsteadofintothefreezingDetroittemperatures.Perhapsshewouldn’tcare.PerhapsDanielle’sinstinctsabouttheimportanceofthistripwerewrong.Butiftheywereright,ifClairewasplanningtorun,she’dfindherselfdesperateforasolution.Anotherwayout.
AndEvamighthavejustthesolutioninmind.
“Whatareyoudoing?”
EvawhippedaroundtofindDanielleinthedoorway,holdingthebagshe’ddroppedthereearlier.Evaclosedthelidofthecomputer,hopingDaniellehadn’tseentoomuch,andgaveherablanksmile.“Nothing.”
SheheldDanielle’sgazeuntilDaniellefinallyturnedaway,upthestairstopackforhertrip.
EvaopenedthelaptopagainandtoggledawayfromthephotographofClaireCook,andovertotheairlinewebsite.SheclickedonChangemyreservation,andinthedrop-downmenu,sheswitchedoutNewarkforJFK,Liz’swordsechoinginhermind.She’sasurvivor.
Evawasdeterminedtomakethattrue.
Claire
Monday,February28
Ipressmybackintotheseat,mygazeleapingfromDanielle’stexttothedriver’srighthand,restingcasuallyonthesteeringwheel.Atattoosleeveonhisrightarm.
Mymindfliesbacktothemotellot,andIrealizehehadn’tsaidanythingaboutCNN.He’dsaidClaireCook,andlikeanidiot,Igotinthecar.
Vehiclespressinonus,allthewaytotheedgeofthebridge.Steelcablesriseintotheskyaboveasmallstripofsidewalk,andthenatwo-hundred-footdroptothecoldwaterbelow.
Castro’sadvice,togettothestudioassoonaspossible,tauntsmenow.Thismanwilltakemesomewhereelse—adesertedbeachperhaps,ornorthtosomewhereevenmoreremote,andfinishthis.
AgreenJettaslidesupnexttous,withawomanbehindthewheel,herlipsmovinginsilentconversationwithsomeoneIcan’tsee.I’mnomorethanthreefeetawayfromher,socloseIcanseeherpinknailpolishandthedelicatesilverhoopsinherears.Ifightbacktears,tryingtothink.IfIscreamed,wouldshehearme?
Ourcarmovesseveralfeetforwardbeforestoppingagain,andnowI’mlookingatawhitepanelvanwithnowindows.Myeyestracethetinyopeningsbetweenthecars,anever-shiftingmazeasvehiclesinchforward.I’mgoingtohavetojumpoutandrun.
Thelanenexttousbeginstomove,andagainI’mlookingatthewomaninthegreenJetta.Shethrowsherheadbackandlaughs,unawarethatI’mwatchingherfrombehindtintedglass.
Aboutthirtyyardsahead,adarktunnelloomswithsignsforTreasureIsland.Thedriver’seyesfindmineagainintherearviewmirror.“Trafficwillclearuponcewegetthroughthetunnel,”hesays.
IfI’mgoingtogetout,adarktunnelmightbeagoodplacetodoit.
Irestmyarmonthewindowsill,mypalmssweatyandslickagainstthedoor,andcarefullyliftthelock,watchinghiminthemirror,makingsurehiseyesremainontheroad.
I’monlygoingtogetonechance.
Jazzmusicswirlsaroundthebackseat,therhythmfastanderratic,matchingmypulse,andIhugmypurseclose,makingsureit’ssecureovermyshoulder.Ihaveonehandrestingonthelatchofmyseatbeltandmyotherhandloweringtothedoorhandle,readytoyankitopenandleapout.IfIscreamforhelp,surelysomeonewillstepup.
Iregulatemybreathing,countingdownthefeetuntilthecarisplungedintothedarknessofthetunnel.
Twentyfeet.
Ten.
Five.
Thedriverlooksatmeagaininthemirror.“Youokay?”heasks.“Youlookalittlepale.Ihavesomewateruphereifyouneedit.TheCNNstudioisjustafewblocksoncewegetoffthebridge.Notmuchfarthernow.”
Ifeeltheairrushoutofmeandcollapseagainsttheseat,claspingmyshakinghandsinmylap.CNN.NotRory.Dizzyrelieffloodsthroughme,andIsqueezemyeyesshut,tryingnottofallapart.
Thisisthepriceofabuse.IthastwistedmythinkingintosuchatangleIcan’ttellwhat’srealandwhat’snot.Logically,Icanseehowimpossibleitwouldhavebeenforthemtofindmesoeasily.Andyet,yearsofbeingunderRory’sinfluencehasmadeitsothatI’vegivenhimnearlysuperhumanpower.ToseewhereI’mhiding,toknowmyeverythoughtandfear,andtothenexploitthem
Finally,thecarpicksupspeed,andweenterthetunnel.Thedarknessisabriefblink,andthenwe’reouttheotherside.Asifbymagic,theentirecityrisesupbeforeus,brightwhitebuildingsshiningintheearlyafternoonsun.
“Mrs.Cook?”heasksagain,holdingupasmallbottleofwater.
“I’mokay,”Itellhim,asmuchformyselfasforhim.
***
Breakingnews:WeinterruptourregularlyscheduledprogramtobringyouKateLane,livefromWashington,DC,withastorythatisjustemergingfromCalifornia.Kate?
Thevoicestalkinmyear,thoughIsitaloneonastoolplacedinfrontofagreenscreen.Severalproducersandassistantsareclusteredaroundthesinglecamera,zoomedinonme,buttheredlightindicatingthatI’mon-airremainsdark.Nexttoit,atelevisionscreenshowsKateLaneinherDCstudio,thefeedpipeddirectlyintomyearpiece.Myheadisstillfuzzyfromtheadrenaline,butthefreezingtemperatureofthestudioclearsitalittle.Onthefarwallofthestudioisalargedigitalclockwithabright-bluebackgroundthatreads1:22,andIwatchthesecondstickdown,tryingtoalignmyheartratewiththem.
ShortlyafterI’darrivedattheCNNstudio,weakandshaking,aproducerhadhandedmeaniPadwithKateLanecallingviavideochat.They’dbeenabletotalkwithDanielle,whohadagreedtosendtherecordingtotheNewYorkStateAttorneyGeneral.Kate’ssourcesinsidethedepartmenttoldhertheyshouldhavesomenewsaboutnextstepsverysoon.CharlottePricehadalsobeenlocatedandwaswillingtogoontherecordassoonasherattorneycouldfiletovoidtheNDAshe’dsignedsolongago.
“Sonowit’suptoyoutotellyourstory,”Katehadsaid.“Paintapictureofyourmarriageforus.Telluswhatyourhusbandwaslike,andwhatyouwererunningfrom.”Herexpressionsoftened.“Ihavetoprepareyouforwhatwilllikelyhappenonceyoucomeforward.Peoplearegoingtodigintoyourlife.Yourpast.Sayhatefulthingsaboutyouandtoyou,inaverypublicway.Itwon’tmatterwhosesidepeopleareon—yoursoryourhusband’s—yourlifewillbeputunderamicroscoperegardless.Everychoiceyouevermade.Everypersonyouevertalkedto.Yourfamily.Yourfriends.Ihaveanobligationtomakesureyou’reclear,beforeweproceed.”
HearingKatespelloutexactlywhatI’dfearedforsomanyyearsmademehesitate,andIconsideredsteppingback.LettingDanielleandCharlie’sevidencedoallthework.NooneneededtohearthedetailsofmyabuseinordertolayMaggieMoretti’sdeathatRory’sfeet.
Andyet,IknewthatifIdidn’t,I’dbedestinedtoliveandrelivemomentsliketheoneonthebridge.IwouldneverbetrulyfreeifIscurriedawaytohideunderanotherrock.I’dbecomplicitinRory’sabuseaslongasIcontinuedtoprotecthim.Theworlddidn’tneedtohearmystory,butIneededtotellit.“Iunderstand,”Itoldher.
“Liveinfiveseconds,”someonesays.
“Goodevening.”Kate’svoicefillsmyearpiece,asifshe’ssittingrightnexttome.“Inthelasthour,attorneysforRoryCook,headoftheCookFamilyFoundationandsonofthelateSenatorMarjorieCook,havebeenfieldingrequestsforquestioningrelatedtothedeathofMaggieMoretti,whodiedtwenty-sevenyearsagoonaCookfamilyproperty.ButevenmoreextraordinaryisthefactthatauthoritiesreceivedthisinformationviaMr.Cook’swife,previouslybelievedtohaveperishedonFlight477.CNNhasdiscoveredthatsheisaliveandlivinginCalifornia.Wehaveherherenow,viasatellite,todiscusstheaccusationsagainstherhusbandandwhyshefeltshehadtohide.Mrs.Cook,sogoodtoseeyou.”
Thelightonthecamerainfrontofmeilluminates,andthedirectorpointsatme.Ifighttheurgetoreachupandtouchmyhair,awareofhowdifferentIlook.“Thankyou,Kate.It’sgoodtobehere.”Myvoicesoundslonelyintheemptyspace,andItrytostayfocusedonthetelevisionmonitorthatshowsabackgroundoftheSanFranciscoskylinebehindme.
“Mrs.Cook,telluswhathappenedandhowyoucametobeheretoday.”
NowthatI’mhere,Icanseethatitwasalwaysgoingtocometothis.Fortoolong,Ibelievedmyvoicealonewouldn’tbeenough.Thatnobodywouldwanttohearthetruthandstepintohelp.ButwhenIneededitmost,threewomenshowedup.FirstEva,thenDanielle,andfinally,Charlie.Ifwedon’ttellourownstories,we’llnevertakecontrolofthenarrative.
Isquaremyshouldersandlookdirectlyintothecamera,feelingtheterrorofthelasthour,thestressofthepastweek,andthefearofthepasttenyearsslippingoffme,nownothingmorethanthefaintwhisperofashadow.
“Asyouknow,myhusbandcomesfromaverypowerfulfamily,withunlimitedresources.Butwhatyoudon’tknowisthatourmarriagewasadifficultone.Forthecameras,hewascharminganddynamic,butbehindcloseddoors,hebecameviolent,triggeredwithoutwarning.Theworldsawusasahappyandcommittedteam,butbeneaththeveneer,Iwasincrisis.Guardingmysecrets.Tryingtodobetter,tobebetter.Desperatetoliveuptotheimpossiblestandardsmyhusbandsetforme,terrifiedwhenIcouldn’t.
“Likemanywomeninthissituation,Iwasstuckinacycleofabuseforyears.Afraidtoangerhim,afraidtospeakup,afraidthatifIdid,noonewouldbelieveme.Livinglikethatbreaksapersondown,onetinypieceatatime,untilyoucan’tseethetruthinanythingoranyone.He’disolatedmefromanyoneImighthavegonetoforhelp.I’dtriedbeforetoleavehim.Totellthetruthofmymarriage.Butpowerfulmenmakepowerfulenemies,andnoonewantedRoryCookasanenemy.TheonlywayoutthatIcouldsee,thatdidn’tinvolvepublicscandaloraprolongedcourtbattle,wastosimplydisappear.”
“Butaplanecrash?”
“Thatwasatragiccoincidence.Iwasn’tsupposedtobeonthatplanetoPuertoRico.IplannedtodisappearinCanada.Alast-minuteschedulingchangederailedeverything.ButthenImetawomanattheairportwillingtotradeticketswithme.”IthinkaboutthepeoplestilllookingforEvaanddelivermyline.“Unfortunately,sheperishedinsteadofme,andIwillforeverbegratefultoher,forgivingmethechancetoescape.”
“Telluswhatyouwereescapingfrom.”
IimagineRorysomewhere,calledtothetelevisiontowatchtheresurrectionofhisdeadwife,ragepoundingthroughhimashestands,helpless,whileIsnatchhispreciousreputationandtearittoshreds.“Almostfromthebeginning,”Isay,“hewouldberatemeforlaughingtooloud,foreatingtoomuch,ortoolittle.Formissinghiscalls.Forspendingtoolongtalkingtoonepersonatanevent,ornotenoughtimetalkingtoanother.IfIwaslucky,that’sallitwouldbe.Yellingandinsults,followedbydaysofsilenceandicyglares.Butabouttwoyearsintothemarriage,theyellingprogressedtoshoving.Andshortlyafterthat,tohitting.”
Aphotographfillsthescreenbehindme,animageofRoryandmewalkingonthebeachintheHamptons.IthadfirstappearedinPeoplemagazine,thenquicklybecameoneofseveralstockimagesnewsoutletsusedwhenreportingonRory’sprivatelife.“Thispicturewastakenlastsummer.Youcanonlyseewhat’sintheframe—acouplewalkingonthebeach,holdinghands.Whatyoucan’tseeiseverythingbeneathit.Howangrymyhusbandwaswithme,howtightlyhegrippedmyhand,sohardmyringcuttheinsideofthefingernexttoit.Mylongsleeveshidebruisesfromthenightbefore,afterI’dforgottenthefirstnameofanoldfriendofRory’s.Youcan’tseethelumponthebackofmyheadfromwhereitslammedintothewall,orthepoundingheadacheIhad.Youcan’tseehowlostIfelt.Howalone.”
Ilookdownatmyhands,thefearanddesperationIfeltinthatonecapturedmomentcascadingovermeonceagain.AndhowmuchIdidn’twanttodothis,tohavetorecounteveryblow,everyindignity,asawaytojustifymyself.
Kate’svoiceisquietinmyear.“Whycomeforwardnow?You’dgottenaway.YouweresetupinCalifornia.Youwerefree.”
“Iwasneverfree.Firstofall,Ihadnoidentity,andnowayofgettingone.Ihadnomoney.Nojob.Iwasabletogettemporaryworkwithacateringcompany,whichledtomyimagebeingpostedonTMZ,forcingmetocomeforward.”
Ilookintothecamera,keepingmygazesteady,andimagineI’mspeakingdirectlytoEva.Forashorttime,weinhabitedthesameskin.Thesamelife.Iknowthingsabouthernooneelsewillknow,andthatbindsyoutoaperson,agossamer-thinthreadcrossingtimeandspace.WhereverIam,shewillbetoo.Andwhereversheis…Ihopeit’sfarfromhere.
“ButIalsofeltthatIneededtohonorthewomanwhodiedinmystead,”Isay.“Therearepeopleouttherewholovedher.Whomightwanttoknowwhathappenedtoher.Theydeservetohaveclosureaswell.”Ipauseforamoment,thinkingaboutthescrapofpaperIfoundatEva’s,stillshovedinmypocket.“I’mreadytostepbeyondthefear,”ItellKate.“Iwantmylifeback.Mine.Theonethatbelongstome.Myhusbandhasstolenalotfromme.He’sstolenmyconfidence.He’sstolenmyself-worth.AndIdon’tthinkhedeservestostealanymore.Fromanyone.”
Acrossthestudio,thedigitalclockflipsfrom1:59to2:00.
Zerohoursleft.
I’mfree.
Claire
NewYorkCity
OneMonthaftertheCrash
I’veneverbeeninthetownhouseonFifthAvenuewhenitwasthisempty.Therewasalwayssomeonehere,cookingorcleaning,schedulingappointments,standingguardoutsideRory’soffice.ButinthewakeofmyCNNinterviewandthesubsequentgrandjuryinvestigationintoRory’sinvolvementinMaggie’sdeath,everyonehasbeendismissed.Theroomsaresilent,andIfeellikeaghost,walkingthesamerouteIusedtotakeinmymiddle-of-the-nightwanderings.PerhapsIamone,returningtohauntthelifeIleftbehind,andfindingeverythingchanged.
Atfirstthestorywasslowtotakeshape,whileRory’sattorneysbattledtoupholdthenondisclosureagreement.Butoncehelost,acrashofinformationfloodedthemedia,withsomethingnewreleasedalmosteveryday—thefightRoryandMaggiehadthenightshedied,howithadendedwithherunconsciousatthebottomofthestairsandRoryscramblingtosavehimselffromwhathebelievedhe’ddone.HowRoryhaddrivenstraighttoCharlie’sapartment,onlyafewblocksawayfromhisontheWestSide.Atthetime,she’dtriedtohelphim.Shebelievedthestoryhe’dtold,adeerintheroadonhiswaybacktothecity,thecaronthevergeofgoingintoaditch,aclosecallthathadhimseverelyrattled.UntilnewsofMaggie’sdeathstartedtoemerge.Charlie,whowasyoungandinlovewithRory,andhadoncehopedRorywouldleaveMaggieforher,begantogrowalarmed.Whenshestartedaskingquestions,Rory’sfatherpaidhertokeepquietandthenslammedherwithanondisclosureagreementsosteepitguaranteedshe’dstaythatway.
Foryears,she’dtriedtoleaveitbehindher,untiltherumorsofRory’srunforSenatesurfaced.Charliewasnolongerascaredtwenty-year-old.Likemany,she’dgrowntiredofwatchingpowerfulmenneverbeingheldaccountable,boyswillbeboysevolvingintoanimpenetrablearmor,shieldingthemfromblame.
Themediahadafieldday.RevisitingthesummerMaggieMorettidied,reprintingoldarticleswithupdatedinformation,interviewingherfriendsagain,thistimeaddinginCharlieandherrelationshipwithRory,whichoverlappedtheonehehadwithMaggiebyseveralmonths.Everyonewantingtoknowmoreaboutthelovetriangle,tolookintoeverycornerandseesomethingnew.TobetheoutletthatgotthenewestmorseltodishoutviaTwitter.
I’vetriedtostayoutofthespotlight,butKateLanewasright.Myfirstweekback,I’dmadethecoverofPeople,myfaceturnedinthree-quarterprofile,myhairreturnedtoitsoriginalshade,andtheheadline“Resurrected.”
Whilemostpeopleweresympathetic,havingharboreddoubtsaboutRory’sinvolvementinMaggie’sdeathforyears,therewereotherswhoattackedmeviciously,questioningmycharacter,callingmeagolddigger,avindictivewifebentondestroyingalltheCookfamilyhadbuilt.BlamingmeforthefactthattheCookFamilyFoundationwasnowunderinvestigationbytheNewYorkAttorneyGeneralforallegationsofmisuseofcharitableassetsandimproperself-dealing.
ThroughtheLLCdocuments,myattorneyshavebeenabletoshieldmefromlegaljeopardy,andI’mfreetoleavethestate.NewYorkisn’thomeanymore.Ican’twaittogetbacktoCaliforniaandawayfromthiscircus.
Ientermyoffice,wherestacksofboxeslinethewalls.Armedwithaveryspecificlistandalimitedwindowoftimefiercelynegotiatedbymyattorneys,I’mheretogetwhatbelongstome.Myclothes.Myjewelry.Mypersonalitems.MygazefallsonthephotographofmymotherandVioletonthewall,andthistimeIliftitoffitshookandplaceitwiththeotherthingsI’mtakingwithme.Iletmyeyeslingeronmysister’ssmile,thewaythedimplecreasesherleftcheek,thewaythesunshinesthroughherhairasitblowsinthewind,makingitlooklikespungold.Thememoriesfeelsweetwhentheycome,insteadofthesharpacheI’vebeenrunningfromforsomanyyears.
Ipickupasmallstatue,sixinchestall,anoriginalRodinthatRoryboughtlastyear,andthinkofhowmuchmoneyIcouldgetifIsoldit.Butit’snotonmylist.Asidefrommyownthings,allourjointassetsarelockeddown,thoughreallythere’sverylittleIwantorneedinmynewlifeinBerkeley.
Kellyhadhelpedmefindanapartment.I’dcalledherafewdaysaftermyCNNinterview,afterI’dmetwithmyattorneysandbegunthelongprocessofunravelingeverythingI’ddone.
Bythattime,Iwasleadingthenewsoneverynetworkandcablenewsshow.“Holyshit,Eva,”she’dsaid,andthencaughtherself.“Sorry.IguessIshouldcallyouClaire.”
Ismiledandsatdownonthebedinthehotelroommyattorneyswerepayingfor,exhaustedfromhoursofdepositions.Wewereonlygoingtobethereforafewmoredays,andthenI’dhavetoreturntoNewYorktofinishup.Iimaginedheroncampussomewhere,herbackpackheavywithbooks,pausingononeoftheshadypathsthatcrisscrossedcampustotakemycall.“I’msorryImisledyou.”
“No,I’msorrythejobIgotyoustartedthismess.”
“Itwouldhavehappenedeventually,onewayoranother.ThelifeIwastryingtolivewouldhavebeenunsustainable.”Iclearedmythroat.“Listen,youmentionedyoucouldhelpmefindaplacetolive?Afterallofthisisfinished,I’dreallyliketostayinBerkeley.”
“Letmemakeafewphonecallsandgetbacktoyou,”shesaid.
Theapartmentwaslocatedonanarrowstreetthatwoundupthehillbehindthefootballstadium,thetopfloorofanarrowwoodenstructurenestledinbetweenthetoweringtreesofStrawberryCanyon.Thelandlady,Mrs.Crespi,wasafriendofKelly’smotherandwasmorethanhappytorentittome.Shewarnedusthatparkingcouldbetroublesomeongamedaysandthatthesoundofthecannontheyfiredaftertouchdownscouldbestartlingatfirst.Ithadaboutfortywoodenstairs,andwhenwereachedthetop,Mrs.CrespiopenedthedoorandsteppedasidesoIcouldenterfirst.Noteveneighthundredsquarefeet,itwaslikeatreehouse.Kellyhuffednexttomeandsaid,“Youmightwanttothinkaboutgrocerydelivery.Ican’timaginecarryinganythingheavierthanapurseallthewayuphere.”
“Ihavethreetenants,professionalwomenlikeyourself,”Mrs.Crespisaid.“Ichargefifteenhundreddollarsamonth,butthatincludesallutilities.Ifyoudecidetotakeit,I’llneedfirstandlastforsecuritydeposit.Andthefurniturecanstaysinceit’sdifficulttomovethingsinandoutofhere.Icanhaveitprofessionallycleanedifyoulike.”
Myattorneyshadnegotiatedamonthlystipend,althoughitwasn’tmuch.I’dhavetosellallmyjewelryandfindajob,butIwaslookingforwardtothechancetobeonmyown.Toearnmyownway.“Thatshouldwork,”Isaid,steppingintothelivingroomandkitchenspace.
EventhoughIknewitwasgoingtobesmall,thefactthatnearlytheentirewestsideoftheroomwasglassmadetheapartmentseembigger.Asage-greencouchfacedthewindow,withasmallTVmountedonastandnexttothefrontdoor.Behindus,atinykitchenwithapatchofcounterspaceforfoodprep,astove,andarefrigeratortookupthebackoftheroom.Beyondthatwasashorthallwayleadingtowardabathroomandtinybedroom.
Iwalkedtothewindow.Ablanketofgreentreetopsswoopeddownthehill,withtheuniversitybuildingstuckedinbetweenthem,glowinglikehalf-buriedtreasuresinthelateafternoonlight.Beyondthat,SanFranciscoBayshimmered,thesuncastingthecityskylineandbridgeinthedistanceasasilhouette.“Iloveit,”Isaid,turningtofaceKellyandMrs.Crespi.
AsmileilluminatedMrs.Crespi’swrinkledface.“I’msoglad.”Sheopenedthefileshewasholdingandhandedmealeaseagreement.“Youcanmoveinwheneveryou’reready.”
Itookthepaperworkfromherandgrinned.“I’mreadynow,”Isaid,andturnedbacktotheviewagain.
***
“Doyouwantmetopackupeverythinginthebathroom,ordoyouwanttogothroughthedrawersyourself?”Petrastandsinthedoorwaytomyoffice,andIturnfromtheboxI’vebeensortingthroughtofaceher.WhenI’dreturnedtoNewYork,shehadbeentheonetopickmeupfromtheairport.She’dwaiteduntilweweresafelyinthebackofthetowncarshe’dhiredbeforefallingapart.
“Thisfeelslikeadream,”shesaidthroughhertears.“WhenIsawthattheplanehadcrashed…”Shetrailedoffandpressedherfingerstohereyes,takingadeepbreath.“AndthenyoushowuponCNNandevisceratethatmotherfucker.”
Itturnedout,Ihadn’tcopiedherphonenumberdownwrong.“Ihaditdisconnected,”PetrahadexplainedwhenI’daskedwhyitdidn’twork.“AfterItalkedtoyouattheairport,IworriedRorymightdosomekindofreversedirectoryassistanceandfigureoutwhoitbelongedto.SoIgotanewone.Butthenthenews…”She’dshrugged,unabletocontinue,tearstumblingdownhercheeksagain.
Iclosethelidononeboxandslideanotheronetowardme.“Packitall,”Itellhernow.“Thelotionsandmakeupareexpensive.It’dbestupidtothrowthemaway.”
“Istillthinkyoushouldstayhere,”Petrasays.“Thisisyourhomeandyou’reentitledtoit.Maybenotallthecontents.”SheglancesattheRodinstatue.“Butyoushouldfightforwhat’syours.”
“Idon’twantit,”Isay,turningbacktotheboxandsealingitclosed.“Idon’tneedallthisspace.”
“It’snotaboutthespace,”Petraargues.“It’saboutwhatbelongstoyou.”
“Thenwe’llsellitandI’llgethalf.”
“IwantyoutostayinNewYork.”
Iwalktowardherandgiveherahug.“Iknow,”Isay,pullingback.“ButyouknowwhyIcan’t.Ineedtostartoversomewherenew.YoushouldcometoCalifornia.Thelight,theair…they’redifferentthere.You’dloveit.”
Petralooksskeptical.“I’dbetterfinishthatbathroom.We’realmostoutoftime.”
SheleavesandIopenthelastbox,sortingthroughitquickly,discardingmostofit.ThemoneyfrommyjewelrywillallowmetimetoexploremyoptionsinCalifornia.MaybeI’llkeepworkingeventswithKelly.OrI’llgobacktoschool.IimaginemyselftakingtheBARTintoSanFrancisco,perhapsworkingatthemuseumthere,goingouttodinnerwiththefriendsIhopetofinallymake.
AfterI’dfinishedtheCNNinterview,AgentCastrohadtakenmebacktoEva’shousetowalkhimthroughmytimethere.Iwasn’tsurewhatmoreIcouldtellhimthathedidn’talreadyknow.They’dsubmittedEva’sDNAtotheNTSBandwerewaitingtoseeifitmatchedanyoftheremainsthey’drecoveredsofar.
“It’spossiblewe’llneverknow,”hesays.“Theytellmethereareanynumberofreasonswhyshemightnothavebeeninyourseat.Maybeshetradedwithsomeone,orperhapstheimpactofthecrashcausedhertogetthrownfromthewreckageandcarriedawaywiththecurrent.Ifthat’sthecase,wemayneverrecoverherbody.”Heshruggedandlookedoutthewindow,asiftheanswertowhathappenedtoEvamightbeouttheresomewhere,visibleonlytohim.
“Whataboutthedrugdealer?”
“Dex,”AgentCastrosaid.“AlsoknownasFelixArgyros,orFish.WehavealeadonhimupinSacramento.”
Anagentpassedthroughthelivingroom,carryingEva’scampingstovebaggedinaclearplasticevidencebag.“Shemusthavebeensodesperate,tohavechosenalifelikethis.”
“IthinkEvawouldarguethatthislifechoseher.”AgentCastrosighed.“Shewasahardpersontoknow.I’mnotreallysureIeverhadagoodhandleonher.Buteventhoughsheran,shestilltriedtodotherightthing.WhatsheleftbehindwillbecriticalinindictingFish.”
“Shesoundscomplicated,”Isaid.
“Shewas.ButIlikedher.IwishIcouldhavedonemoreforher.”
Ididn’tsaywhatIwasthinking,thatEvadidn’tneedanyone.She’ddonejustfineonherown.
***
Ipickupapileofclothesandcarryitintothelivingroom,settingitalongsidetherestofthethingsI’llbetakingwithme.Icheckthetime.Weonlyhaveaboutthirtymoreminutes.IhearPetraclosingdrawersinthebathroomupstairs,mutteringsomethingtoherself,andIsmile.
Myworkmostlydone,IwalkdownthehallwaythatleadstoRory’sofficeandpeekinside.It’sbeencompletelyclearedout.Hisdesk,Bruce’s,eventhebooksontheshelvesaregone,allofitconfiscatedbytheattorneygeneral.Icrossovertotheemptybookshelves,reachingupandengagingthebutton,andthedrawerbelowopens.AsIsuspected,it’sempty.
Ihearsomeoneunlockingthefrontdoor,andIstraightenup,feelingguiltybecauseI’mnotsupposedtobeinhere.Butit’sonlyDanielle.Shestopsinthedoorwaywhensheseesme.“Lookingforghosts?”sheasks.
Ismile.“Somethinglikethat.”
DaniellehadbeenwaitingformewhenIfirstreturnedtothetownhouse.She’dledmeintothekitchenandmademeacupoftea.Whenwe’dsettledacrossfromeachotheratthecenterisland,Ifinallyaskedthequestionthathadbeennaggingatmesinceherfirstmessage.“Howdidyouknowwheretofindme?”
Shegaveasmall,sadsmile.“Evawasafriendofmymom’s.”Shetookatentativesipofherteaandtoldmeastoryofanunlikelyfriendshipbetweentwowomen—onewho’dbelievedshedidn’tdeservetobeloved,andtheotherwho’dtriedsohardtoloveheranyways.“AlthoughIonlymetherbriefly,therewassomethingfurtiveabouther.Shehadanedgethatfeltdangerous.”Daniellesethercupdownontheislandandtracedaswirlofmarblewithherfinger.“Butmymotherwasdevotedtoher.SworethatEvawasagoodpersonwhoneededtoknowsomeonebelievedinher.”Danielleshrugged.
“Butthatstilldoesn’texplainhowyouknewtocallmeonherphone.”
“Shewasatmymother’shouseinNewJerseythenightbeforetheDetroittrip.ShemusthaveeavesdroppedonaconversationIhadwithmymom,becauseafterward,IcaughtherGooglingphotosofyou.Iwasworriedshe’dtrytotargetyousomehow.”Danielleshookherhead,asthoughthethoughtembarrassedher.
“How’syourmomdoing?”
Daniellelookedtowardthelivingroom,wherethesunstreamedthroughthetallwindows,layingpatchesoflightonthehardwoodfloor.“Notwell,”shesaid.“It’sbeenhardforhertoreconcilethatEva’sreallygone.ThatifEvahadjustfollowedtheplanthey’dagreeduponandreturnedtoBerkeley,she’dstillbealive.”
Itookasipofhotchamomiletea,lettingtheflavorbloominmymouth,knowingIcouldnevertellDanielleorhermotheraboutwhatIbelievedreallyhappenedtoEva.IwouldleaveituptoEvatoreachout,ifandwhensheeverwantedto.“EvaGooglingmecouldn’thavebeenenoughforyoutoknowwheretolook.”
“Itwasthevideo,”shesaid.“Thereyouwere,inEva’shometown,withhairsimilartoEva’sand…”Shetrailedoff.“Itookachance.LookedupEva’snumberonmymom’sphoneandhopedyou’danswerwhenIcalled.”Daniellebentherheaddown,turninghercupslowlyinherhands.Whenshelookedupagain,hereyeswerewetwithtears.“Ihadtodosomething,afterallthoseyearsofstayingsilent.I’mso,sosorryIdidn’tdomoretohelpyou.”Sheletoutashudderingbreath.“Ithoughtthatbykeepingyouontask,onschedule,Icouldprotectyou.IfIworkedhardenough,maybehewouldn’thaveareasontobeangry.”
Ireachedacrosstheislandandputmyhandontopofhers.“Youhelpedmewhenitmatteredmost.MorethanIevercouldhavehopedfor.”
Shesqueezedmyhand,asilentapology.Late,butnottoolate.
***
ThefaintsoundofasirentravelsthroughthethickglassofRory’sofficewindow.Ilookaroundtheroom,tryingtopicturetheafternoonofDanielle’srecordingandwhereshemighthavedroppedherphoneinordertocatchit.“Onelastquestion,”Isay.“Howdidyouknowtorecordthatparticularconversation?Didyouknowwhatthey’dbetalkingabout?”
Daniellestepsintotheroomandrunsherfingersacrossthebackofoneofthechairs.“I’djustseenthevideoofyouattheA’sevent,andeventhoughMr.Cookneversaidanythingtomeaboutit,hissuddentriptoOaklandmademebelievehehadseenittoo.Iwashopingtorecordaconversationabouttheirplanstofindyou,togiveyouanideaofwhereandhowthey’dbelooking.IhadnoideaI’dendupwithsomethingsomuchbetter.”
“Itwasanincrediblybraveandstupidthingtodo.”
Daniellegrins.“That’sexactlywhatmymomsaid.”Shechecksherwatch.“We’dbetterfinish.Time’salmostup.”
IclosethedrawerwithaquietclickandfollowDanielleintothelivingroom,wherewepackthelastofmythings.
PetraenterstheroomjustasI’mzippingmybagclosed.“Ready?”sheasksus
Igivetheroomonelastlook.Thethickrugs,theexpensivefurniture,allofitmeaninglesstomenow,andIsmileatthemboth.“Ready,”Isay.
Epilogue
JohnF.KennedyAirport,NewYork
Tuesday,February22
TheDayoftheCrash
IhunchdownonthegroundnexttotheJetway,pickingupthescattereditemsfromClaire’spurse,myonlyviewtheshoesofthepeopleinlinearoundme,andshoveitallbackinside,savemyprepaidphone.ThatIholduptomyear.
Myplanissimple.First,I’lleasesideways,asifIneedtoleanagainstthewallforbalance.Then,I’llturnawayfromthestragglinglineoftravelers,obedientandforward-facing.Afterthat,itwillbeasimplematterofwalkingwithpurposeinanewdirection.
I’mjustabouttospeakintothesilentphone,tolaunchintoanotherfakeconversation—maybesomethingurgent,requiringalittlespace,alittleprivacy,whensomeonesays,“Ma’am,areyouokay?”
Thevoicecomesfromaboveme,behindthecrowdoftravelersthatblockmyview.Anothergateagentmaterializes,andIslowlyrisetoastand,mykneespopping.“Idroppedmypurse,”Iexplain,pullingitbackontomyshoulder,feelingtheslighttremorofaclosingdoor.Amissedopportunity.
“Sinceyou’rescannedontotheflight,I’mgoingtoneedyoutostayinline,”thegateagentsays.
Ireclaimmyspotinfrontofthewomenwhowerecomplainingaboutthewait,theslopeoftheJetwaypullingmeforward.Somewhere,Claireisalreadyintheair,flyingtowardCalifornia,andIfeelastabofguilt.NotfortheliesItold,butperhapsIshouldhaveatleastwarnedhertobecareful.
Asthelinetoboardtheplaneinchesforward,IwonderifI’dmetClaireunderdifferentcircumstanceswhetherwemighthavebeenfriends.Itfeelswrongtobethelastpersontospeaktoherbeforeshedisappears,tobetheonlypersonintheworldwhoknowswhathappenedtoherandstillnotknowanythingofsubstanceabouther.Whosheloves.Whatmatterstoher,orwhatshebelievesinwhensheneedstobelieveinsomething.Thespecificsofthecircumstancesthathavenarroweddowntothissingle,outrageousoption.
Wehaveonethingincommon.Eachofusisdesperateenoughtotaketherisk.Toturnourbacksonwhotheworlddemandswebe.Itisn’tjustwhathasbeendonetoeachofus—byDex,byClaire’shusband—it’sasystemthattellswomenweareunreliable,andthenexpendable.Thatourtruthsdon’tmatterwhensetsidebysidewithaman’s.
Itrytoclearmymind.Tofocusonwhatwillcomenextforme.LizwillworrywhenIdon’tcallaspromised,butithastobethisway.WhenCastroarrivesonherdoorstep,LizneedstobeabletosaywithconfidencethatIreturnedtodotherightthing.
Perhapsafewmonthsfromnow,Lizmightgetasmallpackageinthemail.AChristmasornament—withnocard,noreturnaddress—fromtheripevineyardsofItalyorthecrowdedstreetsofMumbai.Andshe’llknowthatI’msorry.ThatI’mhappy.ThatI’vefinallyforgivenmyself.
AssoonasIboard,I’mgoingtoasktohavemyaisleseatchangedtoawindow.Iwanttoviewtheworld—itswidevistaexpandinginagracefularcbelowme—andimaginemyselfinit.Mytrueself,thepersonLizshowedmeIcanbe.
Ihopethatwhentheplanetakesoff,we’llflystraightintothesun,thelightsobrightitwillburnawaythelastvestigesofeverythingandeveryoneI’mleavingbehind.Thatitwillcarrymeforward,higherthanI’veeverbeen,abovethefearandthelies,tearingawayapagefilledwithmistakes,thefragmentsscatteringbehindmelikeconfetti.
Andinitsplace,I’llcreateanewlifebuiltfromthescrapsofmemory—sometrue,somethewished-forimaginingsofalittlegirlwhoneverfoundherplace—constructedwithluckandwidebeamsofgratitudeholdingitalltogether.
MaybesomedayI’lldreamofmylifeinBerkeley.NottheoneIlived,withitsdarkcornersanddeceitfulshadows,buttheoneIconjuredupyearsago,inanarrowbedaboveadustychurchinSanFrancisco.I’llvisitagainthelight-dappledtrailsofStrawberryCanyon,highabovetheoldstadium,withitsviewofacityskylinethatseemstorisestraightoutofthebay.InmymindI’llwalkalongcampuspathsthatwindamongtheredwoods,smellthedampbarkandmosssoftbeneathmyfeet,listentothestreamtumbleandjumpacrosstherocks.
Aheadofme,thelinestartsmovingagain,spaceopeningupbetweenpeople,allowingmetobreatheeasier.Whateverwaswronghasbeenfixed,andIcanfeeleveryonearoundmerelax,anticipatingthevacationthatwaitsforthemontheothersideofthefour-hourflightsouth.
AsImakemywaydowntheJetway,IfeelasifI’msheddingmyoldself,piecebypiece,growinglighterthecloserIgettotheplane.Prettysoon,Imightnotweighanythingatall.Alaughbubblesup,lightandcrisp,carryingnoneofthedebrisitusuallydoes.Inthismoment,IhaveallIeverwanted.Andforthefirsttime,fortheonlytime,it’senough.IhitchClaire’spursetighterovermyshoulderandtouchtheoutsideoftheairplaneasIstepoverthethreshold,forluck,anddon’tlookback.
ReadingGroupGuide
1.WhatdoClaireandEvahaveincommon?Inwhatwaysaretheydifferent?
2.HowdoyoufeelaboutEva’sdecisiontomanipulateClaire?
3.PutyourselfinClaire’sshoes.Howwoulditfeelknowingthatyou’vetradedyourlifeforsomeoneelse’s?Wouldyoufeelguiltyorfortunate?Why?
4.DescribetheobstaclesClairefacesoncesheescapesfromRory.Werethereanydifficultiesthatsurprisedyou?
5.CompareClaire’srelationshipswithotherwomeninthebooklikeEva,Danielle,Petra,andKelly.Areanyofthesewomensimilar?Inwhatway?
6.DiscussEva’schildhood.Howdoesitaffecthowshebehavesasanadult?
7.IdentifysomeofthetriggersClairefacesasaresultofRory’sabuse.Howdoyouthinkshecanovercomethem?
8.Clairemakesthedifficultdecisiontogopublicwithherstory,knowingfullwellthatshemaybemetwithcriticismanddisbelief.Whydidshemakethisdecision?Wouldyouhavehandledthesituationdifferently?
9.LizistheonlypersonEvaallowstogetclosetoher.Describetheirfriendship.WhyisitimportanttoEva?Whatdoesitmeantoher?
10.Evafacesseveralhugedifficultiesinherlife.Doyouthinkherdrugdealingisjustified,givenhercircumstances?
11.CharacterizeEva’srelationshipwithDex.Whydoesshefeelbetrayedwhenshelearnsthetruthabouthim?
12.HowdidyoufeelafterreadingEva’sfinalchapter?Doyouthinktherewasanythingdifferentshecouldhavedone?
13.WhatdoyouthinkClairewilldonextwithherlife?Willshebehappy?
AConversationwiththeAuthor
WhatinspiredyoutowriteTheLastFlight?
I’vebeenintriguedbytheideaofwhethersomeonecoulddisappearfromtheirlifeforalongtime,andhaveoftenplayedoutthevariouswaystheycoulddoitinmyimagination.Thethingsthey’dneed.Howthey’dgetthem.Wheretheymightgo,andwhatthey’ddowhentheygotthere.Whatthey’dhavetobeleavingbehind.IknewearlyonthatIwantedittobeawoman,andIwantedhertohaveaninnerstrength,evenifhercurrentsituationdidn’tallowhertouseit.Whatmightbethetinywaysshe’dfightback,fightforroomforherself?
Whichofthetwowomen—EvaorClaire—didyouenjoywritingmore?Didyoufindeitherofthemmorechallenging?
Ilovebothofmycharactersfordifferentreasons.IlovehowscrappyClaireis,howshecanlookatasituationandfigureouthowtomakeitworkforher.AndIloveEvabecauseshe’ssoflawedyetlovable.Ienjoyedwritingthemboth.IwouldsaywritingClairewasmorechallenging,becauseIwaspushingherforwardintime,havingheractandreacttothingsshedidn’tknowyet.Evafeltmorenaturaltome,livinginthepast,fillingintheblanks.WithClaire,thetensionhadtobeimmediate,thepacinghadtobetight.WithEva,Iwasallowedtosinkmoreintoemotion,tofleshoutherbackstoryandhowsheendedupwhereshedid.
We’reinanerawherewomenarefinallystartingtofeelsafesharingtheirstories.Howdoesthisbookrelatetothe#MeToomovement?
Iwantedtoacknowledgehowharditstillisforwomentocomeforwardwiththeirstories.Eveninthiseraof#MeToo,thecostremainshighbothpersonallyandprofessionally.Justbecausewehaveanameforitdoesn’tmeanit’sfixed.
CanyoutalkalittlebitaboutthesystemicforcesofoppressionthatbothClaireandEvaface?Whatmadeyouchoosetowriteaboutthesetopics?
Asaneducator,Ifeellikeit’smyobligationtoshinealightonwhatstillisn’tworkinginoursociety.Thewayawoman’struthissometimesheldtoahigherlevelofscrutinythanaman’s.Thebenefitofthedoubtthatsooftengoestheotherway.I’veknownpeoplelikeClaire,andI’veknownpeoplelikeEva,forwhomthingsdon’talwaysturnoutokay.IntheUnitedStates,weliketotalkalotaboutprogress;however,change—notjustforwomenbutforallmarginalizedgroups—isslow.Tooslow.
Whatdoesyourwritingprocesslooklike?
Iwakeupearlyinthemorningtowrite.Duringtheworkweek,I’mupat3:45andwriteuntil6:00.ThenIteachafulldayofschoolandshuttlemykidshereandthereafterschool,makingdinner,supervisinghomework.Earlymornings—withalargepotofcoffee—ismymostproductivewritingtime.Myprocessissomewhatoldschool.Ifavordraftingwithpaperandpen,especiallyifI’mhavingtrouble.Itslowsmybrain,itallowsmetoputdownwordsthat“don’tcount,”anditallowsmetogetwarmedupbeforecommittingwordstomycomputer.Idraftprettyfast—IthinkIhadafirstdraftofTheLastFlightdoneinaboutthreeorfourmonths.ThenIliketospendayearormorerevisingandrewriting.
Asagenre,suspenseishugerightnow.Howdoyouthinkthisstorysetsitselfapartfromotherbooksinthespace?
Ifeellikethisbookhasthecommercialappealofthesuspensegenre,withtheemotionoftenfoundinupmarketwomen’sfiction.ButwhatreallysetsthisbookapartfromtheothersontheshelvesisthefactthatIwantedbothofmyprotagoniststobestrong,savvywomen.There’snothingcrazyorunstableaboutClaireorEva.It’simportantthatthestorieswetellreflectthestrongwomenintheworldtoday.
Howdidyoumapoutallthetwistsandturnsthathappenthroughoutthestory?
Withlotsandlotsofnotecards!Itwasreallychallengingtobewritingadualtimelineandthenweaveitalltogether.Ithelpedtohaveaclearvisionforhowthebookwouldend,andIknewtheendingprettyearlyon.Fromthere,ImappedoutClaire’sandEva’sstoryarcs—whatIwantedeachofthemtoovercome,whatIwantedeachofthemtolearn.
Whatistheimportanceoffemalefriendshipinanarrativelikethisone?HaveyoufoundfriendshipwithwomentobejustasimportantinyourlifeasitisinEva’sandClaire’s?
Femalefriendshipisincrediblyimportantinthisstory.Wecanallthinkaboutthatonefriendwhoshoweduprightwhenweneededher,givingusexactlywhatweneededtopushusforward.Ihavebeenluckyenoughtohavesomeamazingfemalefriendships.Andasasinglemother,it’sespeciallyimportanttohavethosetouchstones.Myfriendskeepmesane.Theymakemelaugh.TheylistentowhatI’mstrugglingwithandstepintohelpininnumerableways.Humansare,bynature,socialanimals.AndwhileI’madedicatedintrovert,Irelyonmyfriendseveryday.
WhydidyoudecidetosetathrillerinBerkeley?
Aftercollege,IlandedajobintheCalAthleticDepartment.Iworkedinfundraising,soIspentalotoftimeatMemorialStadium,aswellasHarmonGym(whichwouldlaterbecomeHaasPavilion).Itwasthebestjobforajust-graduated-from-collegepersonwhowasn’tentirelysureshewasreadytohavea“realjob”yet.IlovedmyyearsinBerkeley,mademanygreatfriendsthere,andoftendreamofmovingbacksomeday.IdecidedtosetTheLastFlightinBerkeleysoIcouldrevisititinmyimagination.GoBears!
WhatareyouhopingreadersgainfromTheLastFlight?
IwantreaderstobeinspiredbythecourageofbothClaireandEva,whodidwhatfeltimpossibletoeachofthem.Nomatterthecircumstances,there’sawayout.AsClaire’smotherputit:Ifyoupayattention,solutionsalwaysappear.Butyouhavetobebraveenoughtoseethem
Acknowledgments
MydeepestgratitudefirstgoestotheentireSourcebooksfamily:publisherandchiefbookchampionDominiqueRaccah;mybrilliantandsupportiveeditor,ShanaDrehs;themarketingandpromotionsteams(includingTiffanySchultzandHeatherMoore);thetalentedartandproductiondepartments(HeatherHall,HolliRoach,AshleyHolstrom,KellyLawler,andSarahCardillo);andtheformidablesalesteam.It’sbeenajoytohavemetsomanyofyou:CristinaArreola,LizKelsch,KayBirkner,ToddStocke,MargaretCoffee,ValeriePierce,andMichaelLeali.ThankyoufortakingTheLastFlightintoyourcapablehandsandbuildingbuzzaroundthebook.Itistruethatbookschangelives,butyoudotoo.
Aheartfeltthank-youtomybelovedagent,MollieGlick,whostoodbehindmeasIwrestledthisbookintoexistence,whobelievedinit,andinme.Andathank-youtohermanyassistants(Sam,Emily,Julie,Lola…)whoalsoreadandofferedfeedbackandsupport.
Thankyoutomyforeignrightsteam,whohaveenthusiasticallyintroducedTheLastFlighttothewiderworld.Andtomyfilmagents,JiahShinandBerniBarta,thankyouforchampioningthisprojectinHollywood.Deepestappreciationalsogoestomypublicist,GretchenKossofTandemLiterary,notonlyforherbrillianceinmarketingandpromotions,butalsoforherexperthand-holding.ThereisnothingbetterthangettinganemailfromGretchenthatreads“Don’tworryaboutathing.I’vegotthis.”
TheLastFlightwouldn’tbewhatitistodaywithoutthesupportofmywritingpartners,AimeeandLiz.YoubothreadmultipleversionsofthisbookandsawrightfromthestartwhatIwastryingtoaccomplish.Iadoreyouboth.Andaspecialshout-outtothebrilliantfreelanceeditorNancyRawlinsonwhohelpedpushTheLastFlightthatfinalmiletocompletion.
Thankyoutomybetareadersandfriends:AmyMasonDoan,HelenHoang,JulieCarrickDalton,LaraLillibridge,RobinneLee,JenniferCaloyeras.Allofwhomsaid,“Youhavesomethinghere.Keepgoing.”
ThankstomylifelongfriendToddKusserowfortalkingmethroughfederaldruginvestigations,burnerphones,andexplaininghowapersonmightobtainaflawlessforgedidentificationpackage.Iloveourconversations,ourtextexchanges,andIadoreyou.ThankyoutoJohnZiegler,whohelpedmethinkthroughallthingsairportandairtravel.Thiswholebookisbasedonthepossibilitythattwopeoplecouldswapticketsatthegate,andJohnhelpedmenailthatdown.Andashout-outtoGloriaNevarez,commissioneroftheWestCoastConferenceandlongtimelaughingbuddy,forchiminginlastminutewithsomeveryimportantdetailsaboutNCAAbasketball.ItmademepainfullyawareofhowlongagoourtimetogetherinBerkeleywasthatIcouldn’trememberthesedetailsmyself.
ThankyoutothetalentedandengagingInstagrambookreviewerKateLaneforlettingmeusehernameinthebookandforhercontinuedsupportofTheLastFlight.IhopeI’veportrayedsomeoneassmartandaslovelyassheis.Makesuretofollowherat@katelynreadsbooks_becauseshehasthebestbookrecommendations.Andmyheartfeltgratitudetoalltheonlinebookchampions—theFacebookgroupsandBookstagrammersdevotedtoreadingandsupportingauthors.Youmakeourjobpromotingourbookssomucheasierandmorefun.
Thankyoutomyparents,whosesupportandscheduleshufflinghasgivenmethetimeandspacetowriteandpublishasecondbook.Andtomykids,AlexandBen,whobothcontinuetoinspireandamazeme.Iloveyou.
Andfinally,thankyoutotheUniversityofCalifornia,Berkley,aplaceIholdclosetomyheart,andthefriendsImadethere(I’mlookingatyou,JoanHerrigesandBenTurman).IlovedrevisitingmytimeatCalandportrayingwhatIlovebestaboutitonthepage.GoBears!
AbouttheAuthor
BornandraisedinSantaMonica,California,JulieClarkgrewupreadingbooksonthebeachwhileeveryoneelsesurfed.AfterattendingcollegeatUniversityofthePacific,shereturnedhometoSantaMonicatoteach.Shenowlivestherewithhertwoyoungsonsandagoldendoodlewithpoorimpulsecontrol.HerdebutnovelTheOnesWeChoosewaspublishedin2018andhasbeenoptionedfortelevisionbyLionsgate.
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