Page 67 of The Deepest Lake

“May,” Eva calls out, smiling with slitted eyes through an expelled cloud. Her hair is damp from a post-workshop swim. “Did you ask Zahara about doing a duet with me at staff night tomorrow?”

I did ask. Zahara was absolutely clear.

“She wants to stay out of the limelight while she’s here.”

“Ask again. And have you thought about the other thing we discussed?”

I hoped Eva was ready to drop it. Part of me even fantasized she’d apologize for pressuring me too hard. But now I can see that she’s expecting contrition from my side.

“No. When you offered me that . . . opportunity . . . I felt pretty sure right away.” Long pause. My underarms prickle with nervous sweat.

“I’m going to interpret that as indecision. You are an indecisive girl, May.”

“Actually, I’m not.”

Eva says, “We’ll talk about this again after the workshops are over.”

When the workshops are over. Mauricio warned me. The workshops are stressful. She can’t see past them. I have to stop treating Eva as if she’s guided by logic.

“Okay. But have you seen Barbara? I just need to ask her something quick.”

“She went to San Felipe for a couple of hours. Is it about the staff party? Because you’ll have to get Gaby’s help checking all the extension cords and the speakers. One has a buzz. Zahara can play my guitar.”

“I’m really sure that Zahara doesn’t want to.”

“But we don’t have enough content without her. The videos you’ve posted weren’t very good. You promised you’d be a fast learner, doing our socials.”

“I’m sorry—”

“I mean, it isn’t hard, is it? Telling a story? Here.” She drops the cigarette on the stubby grass, grinding it with the toe of her sandal. “We need more content. Take out your phone.”

“Another video, now?”

“The lighting is beautiful right now. This whole goddamn place is just beautiful,” she flicks her chin toward the volcanoes across the water. “Toss me a question. You know I’m quick.”

It’s as if her good mood and the sunset and the serenity make her hungry rather than satisfied—for more attention, for a way to make this aesthetically perfect moment permanent and shareable.

“Fine,” I say, holding my phone up to record. I can do this. I can perform. And then by tomorrow or the next day at the latest, all of this will be over. “In a Delicate State. Was it written here at the lake?”

“Oh no.” She smiles for the camera. “I came down here after I finished the first draft. Atitlán feels like home to me now, but I was just getting to know it back then.”

“So, you spent your final trimester where, exactly?”

Something happens to Eva’s face. Her smile, which was a little lopsided but natural, becomes a stiff, unmoving line. She doesn’t blink. I don’t want to keep asking questions, because I’ll have to edit them out of the video. It’s better if she just keeps talking. But she isn’t talking. She’s frozen.

“Never mind,” she says, finally. “Delete that one. It’s probably too dark anyway.”

“No, these phones are amazing. I could see you just fine.”

She holds out a splayed hand, in front of her face.

“Delete. Delete delete delete.”

I press stop with an exaggerated gesture and slide my phone into my back pocket. “Sorry. You’re right. It was too dark.”

Nod. Smile. Pretend that wasn’t a weird moment.

But: Why doesn’t she want anyone to know where she spent her third trimester?