Page 78 of The Deepest Lake
She responds, Not my preference, but do what you must.
Good enough.
The hike is easy; the sunrise, partially obscured by clouds and wildfire smoke, but still pretty. The backpackers ooh and aah at the volcanoes and the shimmering lake below, but the truth is, I’ve spent all week looking at similar views. I’ve started to associate the landscape less with magic, and more with illusion, even if it is a beautiful illusion.
Our hiking group splits into two: half want to walk slowly down, even if it means joining a different shuttle van for the ride back to San Felipe, and half want to move fast. I remove and distribute some heavy extras from my backpack—an unopened bottle of water to a Japanese hiker, a book I no longer feel the need to keep to a German guy who was complaining San Felipe has no bookstore. My heart feels lighter. I take off with the fast group, scrambling down the mountain.
When the shuttle van drops me back at Casa Eva, I’m groggy, but there’s little point trying to nap. On the bed in my cabin, I find a note from Eva, inviting me to swim. It’s the only message to greet me. I keep my notifications on, eager for the first burst of intermittently functioning Wi-Fi, when I might hear some birthday messages ping in.
I put on my suit under my loose Roxy cover-up and jean shorts. I bring two cups of coffee from the kitchen and take the steps from the bluff down to the rocky beach. The volcano ahead is navy blue and even darker—velvet purple—at its base. The sky is cantaloupe-colored, the rising sun hidden behind a low bank of clouds.
Even before I reach the end of the dock, I call out in the most pleasant voice I can muster that I have no intention of going into the water.
“Not my thing,” I say, trying to hand her the mug. “But here.”
“Not now.” She ignores the coffee. “You’re sure you won’t swim?”
I pull off my baggy shirt. “No, I’ll just get a little sun. Feels great.” In truth I’ve got goosebumps on my arms. I lower myself to the edge of the dock, dangling my feet over the side.
Eva laughs with exasperation. “I can’t even talk you into swimming. Juliet May, I don’t believe I’ve ever talked you into anything.”
When I don’t reply, she asks, “You really haven’t changed your mind about our important decision?”
I’m fascinated by the mess she’s made of her life, and as someone who idolized her from a distance, I feel cheated. But I don’t hate her and I don’t want her to hate me, even now.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I will never, ever tell your secret. But I can’t help you make a baby.”
I wait as she lowers herself to join me. She’s wearing only her bathing suit, and when she sits, her thighs are narrower than mine, the skin loose around her knees but the line of her hamstring defined all the same. She’s fit and strong, a woman who has constructed a life that includes most of what she wants: daily swimming, multiple beautiful homes, a swarm of adoring, loyal people catering to her whims. I wish it could have been enough for her.
“I want to clear something up,” she says. “I’d rather talk babies, but I guess we are really, truly not destined for that. You’ll have to forgive me for being so obstinate. I’m like a dog with a bone.”
“It’s fine.”
“Good. As long as that part isn’t happening, let’s just make sure your visit here hasn’t created other problems. Barbara says I’m stupid sometimes.” Eva swings her legs next to mine, playful again, like we’re just friends or sisters, passing a summer morning together. “No one else has my back the way Barbara does. Not even Jonah. So I put my trust in her to keep it all straight. But I also talked to her about the donation question. Thank you for alerting me.”
I turn toward her, surprised.
“She had a very good answer. Can you maintain confidentiality?” When I nod, she says, “Pedro, the local man who runs the orphanage, likes to skim off the top. Big donations make him greedy. We give a hundred, he takes ten. We can’t possibly wire him ten thousand dollars. He’d jump in his truck and go on vacation and never come back. See what I mean?”
“You’re trying to parcel the donations out over a long period of time.”
“I knew you were a smart girl.”
“Like all the shoes, stored in the gardening shed.” When Mauricio told me about that, I looked in the little scratched window to see for myself. All those running and basketball shoes piled up, because Eva couldn’t let her employees take the time to deliver them.
“That’s different. The minute this workshop is done, we’ll get Mauricio to drop those off. We just got busy.”
My expression must betray me, because Eva grabs one of my hands, the same way she did last night. This time, though, her fingers are dry and cold.
“You are such a sweet girl. You know that we do amazing, life-changing things here. A few things fall between the cracks. But life is not the cracks, Jules.”
“You said there was a crack in everything. Cracks let the light in. ‘Cracks and all.’ Wasn’t that supposed to be a good thing?”
“Well, that’s all true.”
“But now you’re telling me to ignore the cracks. Ignore the things your staff does that aren’t right. But only when it’s convenient for you.” It feels good to say it—not hard at all. Like I’m just warming up.
She releases my hand forcefully. “Why do you have to make things—”