Page 40 of The Deepest Lake
“For being workshopped?” Rose asks.
“No, today’s critiques are already scheduled.” Diane pantomimes sticking her finger down her throat. “I got an email this morning, telling me I’m up first. I meant sign-ups for the other stuff, like private feedback meetings and massages.”
Rose is confused. “So, to ask for a personal response from Eva, we have to schedule our own meeting?”
If it’s up to them, Rose missed her chance to sign up early. But still, she’ll get a one-on-one at some point, won’t she?
“We were discussing it at breakfast—including the fact that we have to pay extra,” Isobel says, lowering her chin to give Rose a meaningful look.
Diane glances at them both, then snaps her head back. “It’s only another hundred dollars.”
“But we already paid nearly six thousand dollars to come here,” Rose says. “I thought getting personal feedback from Eva was the point.”
“The extra goes to charity,” Diane says, pushing her sunglasses higher up her nose.
“It’s . . .” Rachel says, “a little—”
“Unexpected?” Rose fills in, trying to help.
“Strange,” Rachel says, finishing her own sentence. In this smaller group, she speaks more smoothly, as long as they don’t rush her. “I’ve taken workshops before. You talk . . . in a group. Maybe you also get a private hour with the teacher. It’s usually included.”
“I don’t think a hundred dollars is worth complaining about,” Diane says.
Isobel says, “True.”
Rose looks to Isobel, who is gazing off into the distance, frowning, like she has more to say but doesn’t want to—which isn’t like Isobel at all. It makes Rose wonder.
Isobel seems financially comfortable. She wouldn’t worry about a hundred dollars. But maybe she’s thinking of Scarlett. As they all heard at the opening night party, the young cyclist had to do a crowdfunding campaign just to come here. Last week, Scarlett was still a thousand dollars short. Before she could board a plane, she had to sell her bike.
Rose asks quietly, “Did Scarlett manage to pay the extra fee?”
Isobel murmurs, “I helped her.”
“Oh good.” Rose gently taps the back of Isobel’s hand—a private, wordless gesture of appreciation.
Rose doesn’t really resent Scarlett’s youth, of course. It was just a feeling. The bigger feeling is that she wants Scarlett to have a good experience given how much she’s sacrificed to come here.
“I don’t even know why you’re talking about it,” Diane says loudly, wanting the last word. “It’s absolutely worth more money to get Eva’s expertise.”
The tuk-tuk motors along, crunching the gravel and spewing dust. No one speaking.
To break the tension, Rose turns to Rachel, “So, you’ve taken workshops before?”
“Aspen, Bread Loaf,” Rachel says, blinking and jerking each time she speaks. “And in my MFA program, we workshopped every semester.”
The tuk-tuk takes a sharp curve. Rose clings to the metal pole on her left, feels the weight of the two other women sliding into her.
When they straighten out again, she asks, “Diane, you loved Eva’s last memoir. What’d you think of the ending?”
“I cry every time. I can’t listen to the end when I’m driving.”
Rose tries to prioritize the questions in her head—the sorts of things she would carefully ask Jules, not wanting to offend.
Don’t you think Eva should have called an ambulance and let someone try CPR on that baby, just maybe?
Isobel seems eager to make peace with Diane. “I love Eva’s novels, and even with the ending, which was a little hard to read, I thought her memoir was exceptional.”
Up ahead, they can see Eva’s gate with its bright yellow door. The tuk-tuk brakes.