The Last Flight(77)
Eva sat on her own step, looking at Liz through the iron bars of the railing. “Where is he now?”
Liz shrugged and brushed her fingers along the edge of the concrete step. “Last I heard, he moved to Nashville. But that was twenty years ago. I have no idea if he’s still there.”
Eva wondered how she could be so calm about the man who’d abandoned her with a young child and never looked back. “Does Ellie ever hear from him?”
“I don’t know—we don’t really talk about him. But I don’t think so. He sent cards for her birthday for a few years, but those stopped when she was still young.” Liz looked across the yard, to the back fence and the trees beyond. In a quiet voice, she said, “For a while, Ellie blamed me for that. As if I could make that man care about her. But now that she’s grown, she can see him for who he really is, and understand her childhood was probably better without him in it.”
Eva marveled at her calm tone. “How can you not hate him?”
Liz gave a soft chuckle. “Hate can eat you up inside. I could devote hours a day to despising him. But it wouldn’t matter. He’s out there, somewhere, living his life, and if he thinks about us at all, it’s probably only in passing. I decided a long time ago to forgive him, which is a lot easier than hating him.”
Eva thought about the strength that must have taken, to raise her daughter on her own while still following her own dreams. To set the betrayal aside and choose to be happy.
“Have you always been this way? Able to see beyond the worst in people?”
Liz laughed. “It takes a long time to learn how to see the world as a place where people aren’t doing things to you. My husband didn’t set out to break my heart, or Ellie’s. He was just acting on his own desires, living his own story. I hope I’ve become someone who doesn’t get angry when others are just trying to get by. I hope I can be the kind of person who looks toward forgiveness first.”
Eva stared across the yard toward the bushes by the back gate, their shadows quickly disappearing in the fading light. “I’m not very good at forgiveness.”
Liz nodded. “Not many people are. But what I’ve learned in life is that in order for true forgiveness to occur, something has to die first. Your expectations, or your circumstances. Maybe your heart. And that can be painful. But it’s also incredibly liberating.”
“Is this your roundabout way of telling me I need to forgive my birth family?”
Liz had looked at her, surprised. “I think you need to figure out how to forgive yourself. For whatever it is that still chases after you.”
As Eva flew east, the window next to her a black square, she wondered if this was the death Liz was talking about. Her entire life, abandoned in Berkeley, just a hollow shell that no longer fit the person she was becoming. It didn’t make sense, even to her, why she needed to see Liz one more time. But somehow she understood that this was how she’d forgive herself.
Claire
Monday, February 28
While I wait for a reply from Kate Lane, I flip through the notes I took from Eva’s lab, sinking again into the story of a chemistry prodigy, an outcast, and a drug dealer. When I’m done, I stare at the curtained window, the sound of distant traffic just beyond the door, and picture her out there, moving silently through crowds of students, shoulders hunched, hands shoved into the pockets of her green coat, head tucked into her chest. Invisible. Her solitary life always holding her apart. Never safe, never known.
And I know why she decided to do what she did.
I drink the rest of my cold coffee and eat the last cinnamon bun, wishing I could check the Doc. I imagine Rory, packing a bag and assembling a small team. Coordinating with Bruce. A short trip to California for personal business, Danielle quiet and watchful, taking notes. Waiting for another opening to tell me what she knows.
Just then, my email pings with a response from Kate Lane’s production assistant.
Ms. Lane is definitely interested in this story. We will need to verify your claim before moving forward. Please send a number where we can reach you so we can confirm you are who you say you are.
I toggle over to the settings on Eva’s phone, find her number, then type it directly into my email reply. Ten minutes later, the cell phone rings and I leap for it. “Hello?”
“Mrs. Cook, it’s Kate Lane.”
The sound of my own name sounds odd to my ear, making me feel exposed. “Thank you for talking with me,” I say.
“Well, you tell an interesting story. But I first need you to explain how it is you aren’t dead, when the NTSB says you got on that plane.”
The years of silence pile up in me, the secrets I’ve guarded for so long, the belief that no one would want to know the truth. I start slowly, describing Rory’s abuse and how desperate I was to leave him, how my plans to disappear in Detroit fell apart, and how Rory had discovered them. “And then I met a woman at JFK. Her name was Eva James, and she agreed to trade flights with me,” I say. “When I landed, I found out the Puerto Rico flight had crashed. I’ve been stuck here, with no money and no way to disappear, so I took a job with a catering company.” I tell her about the TMZ video and how Rory was now on his way to California because of it.
“So Eva James died in the crash instead?”
I close my eyes, knowing I need to be careful. The best way I can protect Eva is to let the people who are after her believe she’s dead. “She did.”