The Last Flight(41)

In the three weeks since Eva had been on hiatus, she had been enjoying her very first vacation. Working extra shifts at DuPree’s and spending a lot of time with Liz, she felt the way she imagined a bookkeeper or an accountant might feel on a long-overdue holiday, how they might forget the spreadsheets and financial records after a few weeks on the beach somewhere, the heat of the sun leaching the stress from their body.

But the threat of Castro was never very far from her mind. She found herself playing to an audience of one, walking slower, laughing louder, lingering longer. She made it a game. Every time Liz invited her to do something, she had to say yes. A tour of the UC Botanical Gardens. A movie and shopping on Solano Avenue, pizza at Zachary’s afterward. Every invitation, an opportunity to show whoever was watching that she was no one special.

They talked about philosophy, politics, history. Even chemistry. Eva had shared the bare bones of her own past, what it was like growing up at St. Joe’s, sticking to the truth whenever she could, to better keep track of her lies. She’d made up a story about why she’d never finished college—the money had dried up because of a problem with her financial aid. But this allowed Eva to talk freely about her time as a student at Berkeley, and the two of them bonded over what campus life was like. The various quirks of the community, the ferocious rivalry with Stanford, traditions that wouldn’t make sense to anyone who hadn’t lived inside of it.

“Do you have a family back home?” Eva had asked one evening.

“My daughter, Ellie,” Liz said, staring into the flickering flame of a candle. “I raised her on my own—her father left when she was seven.” Liz had sighed and looked down into her wineglass. “It was hard on both of us, but now, looking back, I think we’re better for it.” Liz described her ex-husband’s exacting nature, the precise way he’d demand his steak to be cooked, or the unrealistic expectations he placed on his young daughter. “I’m glad she didn’t have to grow up with that kind of relentless pressure.”

“Where is she now?” Eva had asked, curious about the woman who was lucky enough to be Liz’s daughter.

“She works for a nonprofit. Long hours, rarely a day off. She sublet her apartment in the city to housesit for me while I’m in California, but I’m worried she’ll isolate herself out there in New Jersey, away from her friends,” she’d said, giving Eva a sheepish smile. “A mother’s heart is always worried.”

Eva had stared at her, wishing it were true.

Other times, Eva would ask Liz questions about the classes she was teaching and then sit back and let her talk. Liz was a gifted teacher, able to make complex concepts seem simple, and it was like being back in college. Maybe better. Dex, who had been a daily presence in her life, had all but disappeared, replaced by this talkative, diminutive, brilliant woman from Princeton.

So when Liz stood before her on this bright September Saturday, two baseball tickets in her hand, Eva was ready to say yes again. Maybe even happy to.

“Sure,” she said. “I just need a minute.”

She left Liz in the living room while she raced upstairs to change. As she slid her feet into tennis shoes, she glanced at her phone and saw a text from Dex.

It’s fixed. F wants you back to work immediately. Plan to meet at Tilden Monday with full supply.

She stared at the message until the Whispr app made it fade and disappear.

Eva sat down hard on her bed, surprised that the first feeling she had wasn’t relief but sadness. This was what she’d been waiting for. All her time with Liz had been to get this exact outcome—Castro gone, and Eva back to work. But it felt like an empty victory, one she no longer wanted, now that she had it. Her gaze flicked toward the doorway, where Liz waited downstairs, unaware that she was no longer necessary.

But Eva would go to the game and play the part a little longer. She tossed her phone onto the dresser, harder than necessary, surprised by the sharp sound it made as it slid across the polished wood and hit the wall.

*

They took the BART across the bay, walking with crowds of people toward the stadium. As they waited in line, Liz nudged her toward a photo station, where people could pose next to cutouts of players Eva didn’t recognize. “Come on,” she said. “It’ll be fun. My treat.”

Eva hesitated. She wasn’t the kind of person who had her picture taken, aside from school photos that no one ever bought. She couldn’t remember a time anyone had pointed a camera at her and said Smile. But Eva went along with it, a small part of her glad to have a souvenir.

Inside, they found their seats, Liz’s colleagues from the political science department greeting her warmly. There was Liz’s closest friend, Emily, and her partner, Bess, plus their department head, Vera. Eva took the seat on the end and let their conversation flow around her—gossip about who was getting grants and who wasn’t, who was getting published and who wasn’t. Complaining about who always burned popcorn in the office microwave.

To Eva, it was like getting a glimpse into the life she’d once dreamed she’d have herself. There had been a time, before everything went wrong, that she’d imagined herself a professor at Berkeley. Delivering lectures in Gilman Hall. Supervising graduate students. Striding across campus, smiling a greeting as students said Hey, Dr. James.

Eva felt a sharp stab of regret, surprising her after so many years of believing she’d made her peace with how things turned out. That was the funny thing about regret. It lived inside of you, shrinking down until you could almost believe it had vanished, only to have it spring up, fully formed, called forward by people who meant you no harm.