Page 75 of The Deepest Lake

Eva attacks them all where they are weakest. Sometimes about the writing. Sometimes about the serious life mistakes they’ve made. But a woman as young and vibrant as Scarlett hasn’t had time to make many mistakes.

Like Jules.

Even when Rose tries to care about someone else, even for a moment, it always comes back to her daughter. She can’t help it.

“Can I ask you something?” Rose asks Scarlett. “It’s just that I saw you looking at your Instagram.”

“Oh,” says Scarlett, snapping the app shut. “Bad habit. One I almost kicked before coming here. When my anxiety flares I go right back to it.”

“I didn’t mean you shouldn’t be on Instagram. I was just wondering. I have this cousin about your age. She used to post lots of travel photos, and recently she’s stopped. It made me worry. Like, she might be going through a rough patch I don’t know about.”

Scarlett, who until now was addressing Rose over her shoulder, turns around with a concerned look on her face. “Not necessarily.”

“But if someone your age goes off social media, doesn’t it . . . ?”

“Mean they took a mental health break? Maybe they realized that social media is a ploy to make us compare ourselves to each other and feel bad?”

Rose laughs. “I guess it could mean that.”

“I’ll be honest. I posted a ton of photos at the beginning of my cross-country bike trip. I loved the comments. You’re so adventurous. So brave. You can do it! And then, a month into my trip: OMG you’ve lost a ton. What??? You’re f-ing gorgeous now!”

“I can imagine,” Rose says, smiling. But Scarlett doesn’t smile back.

“I’d take a shot of my strong calves or do a selfie with a bicep curl. Nope, not, You’re a beast! Just: You’re so pretty now! You’re skinny! Now we see what was hiding under there. By the time I got halfway across the country, I refused to post anything with my body in it. It was all barns, bridges, and water towers. Even my best friends kept saying, Show us what you look like now! Jelz! Scarlett pauses to explain. “That means jealous.”

“I guessed.”

The bathroom door opens. Isobel steps out, wincing. “Sorry ladies. I should have let you go first. I think I was trying to avoid the final prompt.”

“Understandable,” Rose says with a conspiratorial wink.

But Scarlett doesn’t hurry into the bathroom just yet. Her eyebrows knit together. She might even be tearing up. “Sometimes when you stop posting, it just means you finally got a fucking grip on what matters in life.”

Rose hesitates, wanting to put her arms around Scarlett. She doesn’t. “Thank you. That makes a lot of sense.”

“But really,” Scarlett says with her hand on the bathroom doorknob. “You could just ask your cousin directly. That’s always the best thing.”

Walking alone, back to the open-air classroom, Rose feels heavy. Poor Scarlett. Smart Scarlett. But still, poor Scarlett. To ride thousands of miles only to realize your friends are idiots and the only thing people are excited about is your weight loss.

And poor Jules. When she stopped posting lots of photos, why didn’t Rose simply ask?

For the same reason she doesn’t like memoirs. She reflexively turns away from things that are sad or uncomfortable. She doesn’t like digging into the past, or focusing on the negative, or unleashing barely tamed inner demons.

You don’t have to pretend to get along with Ulyana, Mom.

You shut out the bad stuff.

You’d know a lot more about yourself if you tried. Maybe keep a diary.

Three months ago, Rose might have replied to Jules’s sassy criticisms by saying, Look at your Instagram. You’re a private person, too! Hiding your face all the time!

Maybe Jules hadn’t been hiding at all. Maybe she was hiding back in college, when she posted hundreds of falsely cheerful photos, even when things weren’t going well. Maybe over the last year, Jules had decided to stop playing that game. Maybe, in the final months of her life, she was on the way to becoming her best, most authentic self.

And then again: Jules lied about the grad school applications.

No, Rose thinks, refusing to let the doubt infect her all over again. No.

Jules tried to tell her. A degree doesn’t make you a writer. Rose was the one who wouldn’t listen. Jules would have told her when the time was right.