Page 52 of The Deepest Lake

The receptionist comes around to take my hands. “And then for you, Barbara, we are so happy to see you today! Miss Eva tells us we have a special celebration.”

“I’m . . . not Barbara,” I say. “But great!”

When we’re alone again, waiting as the receptionist hurries other customers out of Eva’s preferred spa room, Eva explains, “I can’t stop them from rolling out the red carpet. If I protest, they just start making speeches, ‘Everything you do for the orphanage, everything you do for the school.’ It’s easier if we just go along.”

Behind us, the front door opens again and the girl enters, a carton of tropical juice in one hand. Precariously tucked under the other arm is a dusty bottle of white wine.

“Look at you! So strong!” Eva says, eyes twinkling. She whispers to Jules, “Bellinis on the house. Wine costs a lot in San Felipe and the locals don’t drink much of it, so this is extra special. They insist.” Under her breath she adds, “Beya’s magic tea is much more valuable, but since they can make it from scratch, they don’t think it’s enough.”

The grand gestures make me feel strange—both worried about the expense, and proud to be in the presence of someone so publicly adored.

As we wait to be shown into our special spa room, I whisper to Eva, “They were expecting Barbara?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” Eva waves her hand.

“But . . . a special celebration?”

“Her five-year anniversary, working for me. She thinks the spa is a waste of time and money, but I thought if she could just sit still long enough, she’d learn to like it.”

I get a sinking feeling. “But then you asked me at the last minute, instead?”

“Honey! Don’t worry about it. The house was crazy busy when we left. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ll make a special appointment for Barbara another time. Pedicure, facial, the works.”

I’m trying to wipe the worried look off my face. Even when I try to forcefully smooth out my brow, I can still feel the tension above my eyes.

“Did Barbara know she was supposed to celebrate with you, today?”

I’m hoping Eva will tell me it was a surprise—that Barbara never knew the plan, so she never had to know that Eva broke the plan. But Eva isn’t answering. She’s just staring at me with an impish grin. “Please, May. Let’s make this special. Do it as a favor. For me.”

“Friends’ day out?” a different spa lady asks as Eva and I settle into a small stuffy room that smells of vanilla. Opposite our reclining white leather chairs, the wall is papered with a blown-up panoramic photo of the three lakeside volcanoes: Atitlán and Tolimán close together, with San Pedro further off to one side.

“We’re family, actually,” Eva says.

“Ahhh,” the woman said, plunging a thin wooden stick into the volcanic mud mixture. “Sisters?”

Eva gives me a sideways glance, winking. “Do we look like sisters?”

The woman hesitates. I try to spare her the need to answer. “Almost!”

“May, take a quick video, okay?”

I take a second to process the request, still getting used to my new name. “Oh. Got it.”

Having just settled into my chair, I pop up again and grab my phone from across the room, capturing Eva’s face as it’s spackled with volcanic mud. In two hours, I’ll be posting this online with some bouncy graphics that emphasize the posh, rejuvenating extras available to Casa Eva participants. Tell your story, reclaim your soul.

“And take some candid stills, too,” Eva says, eyes closed.

“Already did. You look great!”

“Doesn’t it feel divine?”

“I’m sure it will.” I scoot back into my seat and prepare to accept spackling from a second spa lady.

“Shut your eyes,” the spa lady says.

“Sorry!”

Maybe I’ve just had too much coffee at breakfast, but my brain feels the need to stay on alert. A moment ago, entering the sweet-smelling room, I felt only bubbly excitement. But Eva manages to turn everything into a test. When I feel the woman’s hand cup my chin, my eyes flash open again.