Page 80 of The Deepest Lake

Barbara’s hand flies up to rake her thinning brown hair. It takes so little to hurt her. Threatening to remain anywhere near Eva’s domain is enough.

I keep walking, glad for the fresh air. But I feel wrong. Jumpy and off-kilter. I shouldn’t have said so much to Barbara. I shouldn’t have taunted her.

I’m on kitchen duty until nine-fifteen, and I stay out of view, because I don’t have energy for dealing with workshoppers this morning. Luckily, after Zahara’s group workshop, they all head down to the beach to catch a water taxi. They’ll spend the entire day shopping for woven handicrafts at a bigger village across the lake, giving the staff a huge break.

“Yo,” says Zahara, at my shoulder when I wander out to the patio for a cup of coffee.

“So, you really didn’t want to go on the field trip.”

“I didn’t go.”

“You’re very special, if Eva is letting you hang here all day.”

“Very special,” Zahara repeats.

“You all right?” She’s dreamy, a complete change from the high-bouncing, fast-talking person I saw yesterday.

“Private meeting with Eva was weird. We only talked about my music. In the group workshop, on the other hand, we finally did talk about my writing, which was sort of . . . worse? I don’t know . . .”

She trails off, face darkening.

“No offense, but did you take something? I wouldn’t judge. It’s stressful.”

“Taking something. Good idea.” She lifts the lid of a large cooler under the table. It’s empty. No ice, even.

“No, I’m asking in the past tense. Did you take something?”

She tries a cardboard box next to the cooler. “Bingo.”

She lifts a tequila bottle and holds it next to her face, pressing it into her cheek. The amber liquid winks in the sun. Her kohl-rimmed hazel eyes, a shade darker than the tequila, look mostly normal, the pupils only slightly enlarged.

“That’s for the party. We’ll have margaritas tonight, I promise.”

“Margaritas are for kids.”

“They really aren’t.”

“Play hooky with me.”

“We don’t have to play hooky. We’re not at school.” I was asked to help tidy up the garden paths. But I’ve also been asked to keep an eye on Zahara. Direct order, from Eva.

“I’ve got my bathing suit on,” Zahara says. “Do you?”

“Under my clothes.”

“Good. And I need something to take the edge off.”

“I think the edge is already off.”

She finds this hilarious. “Never mind.” She pats her hoody pocket.

Whatever is in that pocket isn’t our friend. If she continues to go the pill route, there’s no way I’ll be able to monitor her. I already nixed tequila, for now. The goal is to reduce risk. Eliminating it entirely is impossible.

“I’ve got something perfect. Stay right here and I promise to bring you a present.” I dash into the kitchen and come out with a bottle of sparkling white wine, a carton of orange juice and two plastic cups.

“Jules, I love you!”

“And you’ll still love me in the morning, let’s hope.”