Page 84 of The Deepest Lake
“No. We come here before dinner, just to write,” a second woman says, gesturing to her laptop bag. “It’s an alumni perk.”
They’ve already stepped past her and are fanning out, with two heading toward the edge of the bluff, one to the open-air classroom and one to an Adirondack chair at the far side of the lawn.
That moment with Mauricio, unnerving as it was, has fired her up. She doesn’t expect he’ll have all the answers. But she realizes how many people might be out there, still holding back something they’d share, if they could only be approached the right way. Desperate not to lose her chance, Rose calls out, “Anyone here last May?”
Only the woman in red glasses turns back, curious.
Rose splutters, “I’m thinking of coming again next spring, but I want to know if the weather’s good enough.”
“Oh, it’s always good,” the woman says unhelpfully, before turning away again.
Diane, who has been watching Rose’s pathetic failed attempt to chat with the alums, strides over. “Nice try. They’re a bit cliquey, aren’t they?”
“A little.” Rose is still rattled, worried about whether Mauricio will return, and equally frustrated that she hasn’t managed to extract any useful info from the regulars. “They seem to avoid the first-timers.”
“I made a few inroads,” Diane says with a self-satisfied smile. “They’re more welcoming when they find out you’re not a ‘one-and-done’ kind of person. So, how about you? D’you think you’ll come back?”
“Why not?” Rose improvises. “I mean, if that’s what it takes to finish.”
Diane nods with approval. “Some of us understand what it takes.”
She looks out over the lake, her face blissful again, adding, “I can imagine having my own cabana here. I suggested to Eva that she should build some guest structures so we don’t have to stay at those dark little cabins in town. She owns a separate piece of land down the road. I’m thinking of little adobe casitas . . .”
Rose nods, unable to concentrate, her mind wandering the moment the information isn’t essential.
“I’m sorry,” Rose says, interrupting Diane in the middle of a tedious explanation of straw-bale architecture. “I wonder if any of the alums have their own organization, even an unofficial one.”
Diane raises her palms to her cheeks. “That’s brilliant! Think of the fundraising possibilities. I mean, I pledged five thousand before I came, and I just told Eva I’d gladly give another five.”
“That’s so generous,” Rose says, swallowing her surprise. Ten thousand dollars?
Hadn’t Jules told her that most of these visiting writers were incredibly well-off? For some of them, the workshop fees are nothing.
“Do you wire it to the orphanage?” Rose asks. “I hope they don’t make it complicated.”
“Not complicated at all. You just send it to Eva—the same way we sent our trip payments. PayPal. Two minutes.”
“Oh good,” Rose says, hoping her smile looks genuine. “And you know, that’s really kind of you, Diane. I’m sure Eva will be grateful.”
“Some women give more.” Diane narrows her eyes in the direction of the alumni clique.
Rose follows her gaze and mirrors her expression. “Well then, I’m thinking of donating twenty. Thousand, I mean. The orphanage is such a deserving cause.”
Diane’s self-satisfied smile fades, like she’s not happy being outbid. Maybe Rose should have pretended she was donating fifty thousand, just for fun.
“Shame, though,” Rose adds. “It would be so fun to tell Astrid and Eva right away. But even if the PayPal part is easy, my financial advisor will have a fit if I don’t do a little research first. Have you checked out the orphanage’s nonprofit profile on Charity Navigator or any of the other charity sites?”
“Oh, no,” Diane says with enthusiasm. “It’s completely different with a small foreign charity. They’re not on any of those websites. They’re probably not even an official nonprofit.”
How convenient, Rose thinks.
“Then Eva should form one for them! They’d get much bigger donations that way. You and I know how this works. Never mind bothering Eva first—she’s too busy. Let’s set up a little meeting with Astrid.”
This is the most creative Rose has felt all trip, and her inspiration isn’t yet spent. “And you know who else we need at that meeting? A few other alums who have donated in the past. Any ideas?”
Diane gestures to a bench on the edge of the bluff, where a white-haired woman is sitting with a walking stick across her knees. “Wendy tells me she gives a few thousand dollars every quarter to the orphanage. I was just talking to her.”
The older woman has been taking part in the workshops, but always silently, from the farthest back seats. Rose never guessed she was an alum.