Page 48 of The Deepest Lake
Wrists turn; hands grab for phones. Voices clamor, longing to model cooperation: “Nine-oh-four!” “Nine-oh-five!” “Three minutes after nine!”
“Okay, okay,” Eva says, clearly annoyed by the multiple answers. “That’s our first craft talk. Now we’ll discuss Diane’s piece. You ready, Diane?”
Rose can see Diane’s profile, her caramel-colored highlights, slightly upturned nose and expensive Jackie O sunglasses. But even the oversized shades can’t hide the thin worry wrinkles crisscrossing her forehead.
“Is there any possibility of getting my piece printed out somewhere, first?” Diane asks. “I don’t have a copy. I thought there’d be a printer.”
Eva takes a deep breath. “We can only do printing for you in our shared office in town. But don’t worry. We’re not going to be talking so much about the words you typed. We’re going to be talking about story. We’re going to be talking about you.”
Everyone else is nodding, inspired by these bigger concepts—story, yes. The Holy Grail.
But Rose’s hearing is getting fuzzy with white noise. There’s an office in town? Eva told police that Jules worked from town, and Rose thought that meant running around to make arrangements at restaurants or checking on guests in their lodgings. But that couldn’t keep an assistant fully occupied. It’s part of why Rose kept imagining that Jules must have spent time at Casa Eva at least sometimes.
But if there’s an entire office . . .
Rose remembers how Jules complained about the Wi-Fi. Sometimes Rose wondered if it was only her daughter’s excuse for fewer texts and emails, but now that she’s here on the shore of Lake Atitlán, she remembers what it’s like to be traveling in a less-developed country. From Casa Eva, a working person can’t get everything done.
Maybe Jules did spend all of her time in the village of San Felipe. Maybe Jules had hoped to audit a workshop or at least soak up some of the literary atmosphere, and never got to.
Maybe that explains everything about Jules’s texts lamenting her inadequacy, her reason for giving up her favorite paperback to Luka. Maybe Jules felt too embarrassed to tell her mom that the entire Girl Friday job was a big fat disappointment from day one. That would make Eva a not-very-nice boss. But it would also make Eva completely honest. She always said that Jules worked in town, and Rose just couldn’t get out of her mental rut, imagining something different.
At the front of the classroom, Eva says, “Okay. We’re ready to start. Diane, you stay quiet. I know it’s hard. Just relax and let me guide us into this . . .”
Rose can’t focus yet. She keeps hearing Matt’s voice telling her she is wasting her time. She keeps hearing her therapist’s reminders about grief and sleep deprivation. They both questioned Rose’s judgment. They both warned her she wasn’t ready to make this trip. She needs to get a break, but she doesn’t want to walk out just when Diane and Eva are embroiled in a tense dialogue.
“In fact,” Eva says to Diane, “your husband has battered you. And last night, you told me that you feared him.”
The statement snaps Rose back to attention.
“Yes, that’s true.” Diane sounds grateful, not badgered. But she also sounds like she’s in a hurry, wanting this preamble behind her, in order to get deeper into the writing itself, which never mentioned Diane’s husband in the first place.
“I’m not here to tell anyone she should leave her husband,” Eva says, leaning back against her stool. “But Diane, honey, and ladies, help me out here, please. Right?”
Pippa, who is Diane’s roommate, pipes up first. “Yes, she has to leave him!”
Another half dozen women join the clamor.
“Oh yes, dear. Please.”
“Take care of yourself first.”
“Find a safe place.”
Diane nods, trying to smile, one hand worrying the bangles at her wrist. “Is it okay if I talk now? I have a few more minutes, I think. If each session is an hour.” She holds up her phone so Eva can see the numbers. “I’d like to ask about what I actually wrote. I know it wasn’t good. But . . . what exactly could I do better? I mean, only if we have a little more time.”
Eva walks toward the open side of the classroom, as if she’s taking sustenance from the view. They all wait until she turns back.
“Diane has an amazing story,” Eva says, finally. “By day, she manages hundreds of people. She has testified in front of Congress. She has attended parties with famous tech people. She has attended orgies with famous tech people. Sex, drugs, detoxifying smoothies—and a whole lot more.”
Rose finds herself wondering, Did Diane give Eva permission to share this with everyone? These parts weren’t in the manuscript pages any of them were given to read.
Eva continues, “As Diane told me last night, it’s practically common knowledge: the decadence, the long weekends at retreats. Is that where you met your husband?”
“No,” Diane says quietly. “He would have felt threatened in that atmosphere. As I said, I met my husband after.”
“Don’t get caught up in chronology,” Eva corrects her. “Does anyone have the time now?”
“It’s been one hour, exactly,” Noelani says.