Page 69 of The Deepest Lake

Chief Molina is her friend. She gives him gifts.

Mentioning the financial stuff was a mistake. I’d just wanted some sort of validation—proof that she knows that I know.

“Terrible,” she whispers. “I hate thinking about how we badgered innocent people. It isn’t easy running a business in a foreign country. The cultural differences, alone.” She reaches forward to push a strand of hair out of my eyes, and the tender touch surprises me. It also reminds me—of how much I wanted her to like me not so long ago. Even love me.

Eva says, “That’s why I get so attached when I have someone here I can trust.”

She laughs, like she’s just so glad we got all of this out in the open.

I’m ready to forget the paper in my pocket. Forget everything but making my travel arrangements and getting my passport and leaving this place, still in Eva’s good graces—and Hans’s—and Chief Molina’s.

“I wish,” she says dreamily, “that I didn’t have to waste so much energy worrying about people. Who’s got your back. Who’s going to betray you. It’s exhausting.”

I dip a toe. “Maybe you just need some . . . time off? Mauricio says you’ve been stressed lately.”

Eva screws up her face, trying to smile. “Aw! What a sweetheart he is.”

I hear the waver in her voice. She looks away just as tears fill her green eyes, making them look even bigger and brighter. She doesn’t want me to see, which must be a sign her emotion is genuine. The Mauricio comment really touched her.

There’s a part of me that wants to start over, even now. A part of me that thinks of the author I idolized, Eva Marshall, and remembers the first time she used the word “mentor,” and recognizes how much she really does try to inspire women and help them tell their stories.

Maybe my destiny here wasn’t to get writing feedback, craft tips or an agent connection from Eva. Maybe my destiny here was simply to learn that people are complicated. Not all good or all bad. Not purely altruistic or purely self-serving. Eva is doing her best, walking across a cultural and political minefield, still grieving the baby she lost, still absorbing the fact that her fertile years are well behind her, trying to run a luxury retreat in a developing country, employing locals and depressives and ex-cons whenever she can, and it all leads to this: confusion, paranoia, boundary issues and some very bad accounting.

Eva wipes her face in her sleeve, then she nods, with an “I’m all better” smile.

“But back to the party tomorrow, and you and Zahara.”

“Sure thing,” I say, glad we’re returning to practical matters.

“You’re the best two in this batch. She’s got a more compelling story and a big following, but you’re a better writer.”

There it is, the validation I always craved. I can’t pretend it doesn’t pluck at my heartstrings.

Eva’s bitterness is leaching out, her mood lightening. You both could stay as long as you like, give Barbara and the others some vacation time.”

“That’s really kind of you, Eva. But I can’t stay. I need to get home.”

Eva folds her arms and looks over her shoulder, back toward the house. This time, she doesn’t bother to hide her face. This time, she just starts crying. She lowers herself to the ground as she sobs.

“Are you okay?”

She reaches for my hand and tugs me down to the grass. I keep expecting her to say something more, but she clamps her mouth with one hand, as if intent on stuffing the tears and the feelings all back inside.

Is this really all because I said “no” and she finally heard?

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” I say.

She can barely talk over her raggedy wailing. “Oh, May.”

I say more loudly than intended: “Jules.”

“If you knew the truth, the whole damn mess of it. If you knew.”

I don’t think it’s about the accounting anymore, but I have no idea what she’s talking about.

She shakes her head and drags a tear-soaked sleeve across her runny nose. “I tell everyone they should put their stories out into the world. ‘Your story, your truth.’ But I can’t tell, Jules. I can’t let people find out. I’d lose everything. This, my houses, my career. If they knew. Richard and Jonah and Barbara all know. But not the others. Certainly not my fans. If they only knew.”

Every new outburst makes me question why I keep giving Eva second and third chances. But the truth is, I still feel bad for her. This can’t be an act. She’s suffering.