Page 124 of The Deepest Lake

“Not forever. It was just a way to make accounts balance for the time being.”

“And Eva knew.”

“She didn’t want to know.” Barbara sighs. “But I did that for her, always. I helped her keep her mind clear and focused, for the important things.”

“And she relied on you for that.”

Somehow that was the wrong thing to say. Barbara’s words become garbled, lost between choking sobs. “She used to. We were a team. Without me, she couldn’t write her next books.”

“But Eva hasn’t published new books since In a Delicate State.”

Not the point, Barbara’s frantic headshaking seems to say. Or it is the point, but it’s not Barbara’s fault. Or something has happened since that book came out that can’t be talked about, and for some reason, it’s hardly about Eva at all. It’s about Barbara. She’s the victim, supposedly.

“I’ve been betrayed so many times,” Barbara says. “But this time—this . . . this . . .” She can’t get the words out, and now tears are flowing down her cheeks and dripping off her chin. “I don’t have the energy anymore.”

Barbara lowers herself to her knees, one hand reaching out to anchor herself on the ground, the other still holding the rope, crying through her incomprehensible mutterings until she has to stop talking altogether.

Everything has turned upside down. Meanwhile, even the landward side of the dock has been consumed by the ever-advancing smoke.

Still clutching the Bible with Jules’s journal pages inside, Rose decides.

“I’m not leaving you here.”

“Eva . . .” Barbara tries to say before she is wracked with silent sobs that turn into coughs.

“Eva is in the house?”

Barbara shakes her head.

“Then don’t worry. Eva’s fine. I’m sure she’s with everyone else, in San Felipe.”

Barbara shakes her head again. Rose doesn’t understand and she doesn’t have time to keep yanking the words out of Barbara.

“You’re a survivor, Barbara. Right?”

That word seems to have unlocked something within Barbara, because she eases herself into the rowboat, moving like a zombie.

“Good, so am I,” says Rose, clambering in behind her. “We’re going to get through this.” Their only hope is to get out into the middle of the lake, away from the fires and the smoke. “I’m not very good at rowing, but I’ll try.”

They are several hundred feet offshore when Rose feels the wind turning their boat around. She keeps trying to angle toward San Felipe, but they’re making little progress. But at least, for the moment, the steady gust is pushing the smoke away, creating a pocket of fresher air.

Barbara makes a sound like a half grunt, half laugh. “It’s harder, rowing against the Xocomil.” It sounds like ‘sho-komeel.’ “That’s the wind that starts up late morning, ‘the wind that blows the sin away.’”

Rose will tolerate Barbara’s sudden nervous breakdown, but she won’t tolerate yet another lie.

“Nothing blows sin away.”

38

ROSE

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Rose has been rowing inexpertly for what feels like half an hour when Barbara dips a hand into the lake, cupping water that she splashes onto her red face. “We’re not getting anywhere. Let me take a turn.”

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