Page 54 of The Last Flight

From across the room, Kelly’s watching me and mouths the wordsAre you okay?I nod and force myself to keep moving. I slide between guests until I’m out of the center of the room, keeping my tray elevated near my chin, high enough to partially obscure my face, or to tip it forward onto someone else if I have to.

Our hostess enters, arm in arm with a woman I don’t recognize. The two of them talk, their heads bent toward one another, when someone else from across the room calls, “Claire, over here. Paula wants to tell you about our trip to Belize.”

And I realize our hostess’s name is Claire. My hands begin to tremble—shake, really—my arms and legs suddenly turned to jelly, unable to support me. I make my way over to Kelly and hand her my tray. “I need to use the restroom,” I whisper.

“You look like shit,” she says. “What happened?”

I shake my head, brushing off her concern. “I’m okay. I didn’t eat enough before work, and I’m a little woozy. I just need a minute.”

“Hurry,” she says, though I can tell she doesn’t believe me.

In a small downstairs powder room, I splash cold water on my face and stare at myself in the mirror. I can change my appearance. Use someone else’s name. Go to another city. But the truth will always follow me. No matter how careful I am, how guarded, I will always be one mistake away from discovery.

I dry my hands and slip back to the party, picking up a new tray on my way. I give Kelly a nod and plaster a smile on my face. Around me, conversation swirls, and I’m back to being invisible again. But my ears catch on the name Claire several times over the evening, and even though I know they’re not talking to me, I still flinch. By the end of the evening, I’m battered and jittery, ready to leap into Eva’s car and go.

* * *

On the ride back to Eva’s, I give in to the exhaustion, the flush of adrenaline still seeping out of me. The wad of bills Tom gave me pokes a sharp corner through my pocket. Two hundred dollars, which brings my savings up to nearly eight hundred dollars. With the help of Eva’s car and her debit card, that can carry me a long way from here.

“You ready to go?” Kelly says, breaking the silence. We’re only a few blocks from Eva’s, one light and a couple stop signs between now and goodbye.

“Yeah,” I say.

She passes me a scrap of paper. “My number. Call me if you need anything. If you’re comfortable doing so, let me know where you land.”

“I will,” I say as she pulls up to the house and stops.

She gives me a sad smile. “You won’t. But that’s okay.”

I hesitate before reaching across to give her a tight hug. “Thank you for being my friend. For helping me.”

She looks into my eyes and holds my gaze, her brown ones steady on mine. “You’re welcome.”

* * *

Inside, I go upstairs, needing a shower to wake me up for the long drive ahead. I let the steam fill me up, remembering the last time I prepared to leave a place, gearing myself up for a very different kind of departure. I emerge and dress quickly, tidying up the bedroom as best I can, making sure whatever or whoever Eva was running from won’t find a trace of me when they finally show up. I hesitate in front of Eva’s dresser, the note I’d found still tucked into the mirror.Everything you ever wanted is on the other side of fear.I have no way of knowing what this meant to Eva, or why she might have thrown it away. But I feel the need to take something of her with me. Not the legal paperwork that outlines the space she filled in the world, not the clothes she wore, but something from her heart. I slip it out of the mirror and tuck it into my pocket.

I enter her office, picking up the stack of papers I’d collected and sliding them into my purse. I check the Doc, the time stamp at the top showing no activity since that morning’s exchange. What a waste of time this has been, a useless distraction. Rory and Bruce are almost never apart. Anything they have to say to each other can be whispered across a quiet room. Whatever Charlie Flanagan knows about the weekend Maggie died…it doesn’t have anything to do with me.

I want to let go. Disconnect. But a tiny voice inside my head warns me that this isn’t over. That with the video out there and the search and recovery still active, I need to use every resource available until I’m certain the danger has passed.

“And when will that be?” I say into the empty room. I wait, as if I might get an answer. With a sigh, I close my computer and slide it into my bag, then click the light off, plunging the room into darkness, trying not to think about how flimsy my plan feels. Paper-thin and already ripping along the edges.

Downstairs, I set my bag by the couch and go into the kitchen to put away the last of the dishes I’d washed that afternoon. Inside the refrigerator, a lone can of Diet Coke sits on the top shelf, and I grab it, popping it open, eager to get as much caffeine into me as I can.

The window over the sink is a black square, reflecting the room back at me, so I tug the curtains closed and take a long swallow, the bubbles reigniting my energy. Behind me, Eva’s phone buzzes with a call.

I pick it up, the screen flashingPrivate Number. That woman again. Still worried. Still hoping Eva will call her. I wonder how many more times she’ll try before she gives up and assumes Eva doesn’t want to talk, that the friendship must not have been what she thought it was. I feel sorry for her, whoever she is. Tossing her worry into the void, never knowing that it’s landing in the wrong place.

After a few seconds, the screen lights up with a new message. I’m tempted to ignore it, to delete it without listening, but curiosity pushes me forward. A part of me wants to hear her voice again, to pretend the worry she feels is for me. That there’s someone out there hoping I’m safe. Happy. I press Play.

But it’s not the woman looking for Eva. It’s a voice I recognize, one I’ve heard hundreds of times, speaking directly into my ear.

Mrs. Cook. It’s Danielle. I know you didn’t get on that flight. You need to call me.

A loud rushing fills my head, my heart slamming against my chest in a rhythm that seems to sayThey know. They know. They know.The Diet Coke can slips from my fingers and crashes to the floor.

I stare at the phone, unable to breathe. How many messages have I listened to that began exactly like this? It shoots me straight back in time, tension and fear twisting me into a hard knot.

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