Page 64 of The Deepest Lake

I dig into my pocket and unfold the paper with all of the donation figures. I’d told myself I didn’t care about this. It’s a mess and it’s none of my business. But it is Mauricio’s business.

“This is money flowing into Eva’s accounts, I say, running a finger along the figures. Some of it seems earmarked for the orphanage. But it’s a lot more than seems to actually be going to the orphanage.”

When Mauricio doesn’t reply, I play back my own words. Did my Spanish verb conjugations get muddled there? Is there a simpler way to say it? But his eyes don’t reflect confusion—only exhaustion.

“Did you even hear me?”

“Baby, he says, everybody takes a cut here.”

“Ten percent is a cut. This is not a cut.” I lean back into the booth. “That’s it? You’re mad about the shoes and the clothes but you’re not mad about this?”

“It’s just the way things are.”

“So, are you going to talk to Eva about it?”

“Me?” he scoffs. “Shit. No way.”

“But you care about the orphanage, Mauricio.”

“I do.”

I’m trying not to share every thought that flits into my head. But I’m also disappointed.

“Can’t you stand up to her? You have a close relationship. She treats you like a member of the family.”

His head-shaking intensifies. “You don’t get it. That makes it worse. She’s sensitive about betrayal. Listen, it’s not just about what I’d say. It’s about the timing, too. With all the guests here, Eva gets really stressed.”

“You sound like Barbara!”

“Barbara’s right. When Eva’s dealing with the workshops or when she’s had a fight with Adarsha, she gets a little weird. When both are happening at the same time, I know to stay clear.”

“Until?”

“Until she’s normal again.”

“Which takes . . . ?”

He’s turned away, jaw stiff, eyes fixed on the tourists passing by the pizzeria. Maybe there’s a pretty American out there, fresh off the water taxi, a girl who won’t keep bothering him about accounting issues and ethics, one who will actually listen when Mauricio says, Trust me, you don’t want to work for Eva.

“It takes what it takes. Last time it happened, Eva had to be alone in one of her meditation huts down the road for close to a week. She didn’t eat.”

His look of concern irritates me. “It’s called a cleanse, Mauricio. It’s what rich white ladies do. It doesn’t mean she was having a nervous breakdown.”

But then I stop myself. Maybe she was. And worse, maybe it wasn’t just one breakdown. Maybe Eva’s life is a series of breakdowns springing from some larger untreated disorder. It’s good that Wi-Fi is so spotty everywhere or I’d probably start googling: personality disorders, narcissism, psychosis. I’m not trying to label or judge. I’m just trying to understand.

Mauricio expels a frustrated breath, back to tying more knots in a straw. Still not looking at me. “She was in a really bad place. When everything goes her way and she gets what she wants, she’s happy. When she loses control, it’s something else. You don’t understand Eva.”

“You’re right. I don’t. But it’s not my job to make her happy. I’m leaving soon.”

And then I remember, again. No, I can’t leave yet. Not without my passport.

19

ROSE

——————————

———————