Page 74 of The Deepest Lake

“One last writing prompt for the day,” Eva announces, “then we’ll be done. I see a few of you squirming. If you need to use the ladies’ room, go now and hurry back.”

Isobel and Scarlett jump up. Rose, always eager for one more chance to peek around the house, or be anywhere but the classroom, follows.

Isobel is the first to reach the nearest bathroom, just off the kitchen. Rose stands behind Scarlett, who is staring with extreme focus at her phone, trying to avoid conversation, Rose feels certain.

Rose copies the gesture, flipping through her photos, but her real attention is riveted on a quiet discussion between Chef Hans and Barbara about thirty feet away, at the doorway to the pantry. They’re talking about how the landscaping and maintenance has gone downhill over the last few months.

“That’s Eduardo’s fault,” Barbara says. “You can’t have a gardener who needs to be supervised every minute.”

Hans mutters, “I caught him having a siesta in the maintenance shed an hour before the opening party when the rest of us were working our asses off. We had a little chat.”

Barbara scoffs. “If I catch him, we’ll do more than chat.”

“And napping isn’t the only thing,” Hans adds. “I went looking for him earlier and couldn’t find him anywhere. His truck was gone, too.”

There’s a pause before Barbara says, “Don’t worry about it.”

Rose closes her eyes to listen better, trying to understand why the mention of the truck seems to have killed Barbara’s appetite for bullying gossip.

Hans continues, oblivious. “This morning, Eva was saying she needs someone to gas up the truck. A tank usually lasts two weeks. She must know Eduardo is using the truck too often if she realizes he’s emptied the tank . . . unless they’re going somewhere together.”

Rose waits for Barbara’s reply. It doesn’t come.

Hans says, “You don’t think that’s weird?”

Rose wishes she could see their faces, to get a better sense of whether Barbara is simply ignoring Hans or actively shutting him down. Eduardo the old gardener, and Eva. It’s hard to imagine they’re having a tryst.

Barbara looks up and catches Rose staring.

Rose takes a step closer to Scarlett, pantomiming renewed interest in her eyebrow piercing.

“I just noticed. The area around your brow is swollen.”

“Oh, yeah.” Scarlett acknowledges Rose over her shoulder with a slight smile. “It gets that way.”

“Is it new?”

Mom, what do you think about my piercing?

I’ll get used to it.

“Two years. It gets infected when I travel or when it snags on something. I’ve caught my shawl on it three times this week, already.”

Rose looks right and left. Hans has stepped deeper into a pantry. Barbara has stepped out to the patio and doesn’t seem to be coming back. Conversation over.

Rose asks Scarlett, “Have you tried salt water? Quarter teaspoon to one cup warm water. It has to be non-iodized. The table salt has chemicals that will irritate the skin worse.”

“I’ll try that.”

Rose misses giving advice, even if that advice was usually ignored. She misses, too, letting her daughter know how beautiful she was—though how many young women are ready to believe it?

Scarlett is gorgeous in that same effortless way—with hourglass curves on top of it all.

Rose remembers Eva’s essay about deflated boobs, post-breastfeeding. But looking at Eva now, you’d never know it. She’s no longer flat. She’s no longer saggy. She wears close-fitting outfits. But evidently, a young woman like Scarlett shouldn’t.

Rose had to bite her tongue around Jules, too, knowing that men can be predatory. When Jules was thirteen, Rose wished she wore less mascara. By the time Jules was sixteen, Rose realized that a little less mascara wasn’t going to save her daughter from harm. Any thoughtful woman knows it, too.

It’s one thing when Eva attacks writers about their manuscripts, but watching Eva pressure Scarlett about her appearance opens up a gap in the clouds that have hovered too persistently around Rose’s head lately. Light, fresh air and common sense all come streaming in.