Page 16 of The Last Flight

He shrugged and took a drag on his cigarette. “I know you don’t like this part. Thought I’d swing by and check on you.”

A lie? The truth? With Dex it was hard to tell, but Eva had learned over the years that Dex didn’t get out of bed this early unless their boss, Fish, told him to.

“I’m fine,” she said.

Together they ambled up the hill toward the stadium, passing another coffee shop, its white awning covering a patio of empty tables and chairs still stacked in a corner. The interior was crowded with professors and university employees getting their morning coffee before heading to work. Outside, a panhandler sat in a wheelchair playing a harmonica. Eva tossed him a five-dollar bill.

“Bless you,” the man said.

Dex rolled his eyes. “Bleeding heart.”

“Karma,” Eva corrected.

They stopped at the top of the hill, outside the International House, and Dex looked past her toward the bay, as if admiring the view, and she followed his gaze. The two men had emerged from the walkway and were moving west toward Telegraph Avenue. There was no sign of Brett, whom they’d probably left in a bloody heap. The gallery owner would come across him in a couple hours and call the police. Or perhaps Brett would somehow manage to get up and stumble back to his dorm. No classes for him today.

When the men disappeared from view, Dex turned back to her, handing her a small piece of paper. “New client,” he said.

Brittany. 4:30 p.m. Tilden.

Eva rolled her eyes. “Nothing says ‘child of the nineties’ like the name Brittany. How did you find her?”

“Referral from a guy I know in LA. Her husband just got transferred up here.”

Eva pulled up short. “She’s not a student?”

“No. But you don’t need to worry,” he assured her. “She’s legit.” He dropped his cigarette on the ground and crushed it beneath his shoe. “See you this afternoon at three.”

He headed back down the hill, not waiting for confirmation from her. None was needed. In the twelve years she’d worked with Dex, she’d never once missed a meeting. She watched him until he was past the walkway, still no sign of Brett, and then she turned north toward home.

As she crossed through the center of campus, memories flitted along the edges of her periphery. The end of summer in Berkeley. Eva’s own rhythms, so deeply tied to the ebb and flow of the university, now felt off kilter, pulled to the side by Dex, as she wondered what his true purpose was in joining her that morning.

From behind her, Eva heard someone say, “Excuse me.”

She ignored it and crossed over a small bridge covering a stream that wound its way through the center of campus.

“Excuse me,” the voice said again, louder.

A young girl, a freshman by the look of her—skinny jeans, boots, and what appeared to be a new backpack—stepped in front of Eva, panting. “Can you tell me where Campbell Hall is? I’m late and it’s the first day and I overslept…” She trailed off as Eva stared at the girl, so bright-eyed, with everything still ahead for her.

Another Brett, not yet happened. How many months would it take before the pressure of Berkeley began to crack this girl in half? How long until her first failed test, or her first C on a paper? Eva pictured someone sliding a scrap of paper with Dex’s name and number across a wooden study carrel in the library. How long until Eva was meeting her outside of Campbell Hall?

“Do you know where it is?” the girl asked again.

Eva was so fucking tired of it all. “No hablo inglés,” Eva said, pretending she didn’t speak English, wanting only to be rid of this girl and her questions.

The girl stepped back, surprised, and Eva slipped past her and up the path. Let someone else help her. Eva wasn’t ready to take her turn yet.

* * *

The unexpected appearance of Dex that morning was still bothering her several hours later, as she stood at the kitchen sink, washing dishes. As she rotated a glass under the hot water, it slipped from her fingers and shattered, sending shards flying into the porcelain basin.

“Shit,” she said, turning off the faucet and drying her hands on a dishtowel before carefully picking up the larger pieces and dropping them in the trash. She could feel things rearranging and shifting, the way animals could sense an earthquake, tiny tremors deep beneath the earth’s crust, warning her to pay attention. Seek safety.

She grabbed some paper towels and swept up the rest before checking the timer she’d brought up from the basement. Five minutes left.

She tossed her empty Diet Coke can into the recycling and stared out the kitchen window overlooking the backyard. The green shrubbery and roses were overgrown and in need of pruning. In the far corner, she spotted a cat, crouched and motionless, beneath a low-hanging bush, eyes locked on a small bird splashing in a shady puddle left from the morning sprinklers. Eva held her breath and watched, silently urging the bird to look around, to leave the danger of the yard behind.

Suddenly, the cat lunged. In a silent flurry of wings and feathers, it grabbed the bird, pummeling it to the ground and stunning it with a few swift blows. Eva watched as the cat slunk off carrying the bird in its mouth and felt as if the universe was sending her some kind of message. The only problem was, she didn’t know whether she was the cat or the bird.

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