Page 10 of The Last Flight

Claire.Her name, a single syllable, seemed to echo in Eva’s mind. Eva shuffled closer, pretending to be absorbed in her phone, the prepaid one she’d bought less than twenty-four hours earlier in a different airport, and took in the details of the woman. The expensive Birkin bag. Trendy sneakers paired with tailored slacks and a bright pink cashmere sweater draped elegantly over her narrow frame. Dark hair neatly brushing her shoulders.

“I think my chances of disappearing are better in Puerto Rico,” Claire said. Eva leaned closer, so as not to miss anything. “So much is still off the grid. People will be more receptive to cash and won’t ask a lot of questions.”

Eva felt her pulse quicken at the phraseoff the grid, because that’s exactly what Eva needed. Puerto Rico was the answer, and Claire would be how she got there.

When they reached the front of the line, a TSA agent directed Eva to an X-ray machine on the left, while pointing Claire several rows over to the right. Eva tried to follow, but the TSA agent blocked her from hopping lines. She kept her eye on Claire, tracking the bright pink sweater as she passed through the X-ray machine, gathered her things on the other side, and disappeared into the crowd.

Eva fought the urge to push her way through. She hadn’t waited all morning just to lose Claire now. But she was stuck behind an old man who needed several passes through the scanner. Each time the red light flashed, Eva felt pressure building inside of her, anxious to get to the other side.

Finally, the man removed a handful of change from his pocket, counting it carefully before dropping it into a tray, and successfully passed through.

Eva shoved her coat and shoes into a tray and tossed her bag onto the conveyor belt, holding her breath as she took her turn. On the other side, she scurried to put everything back together again and grabbed her phone and duffel bag, searching the concourse for the pink sweater. But Claire had vanished.

Eva felt the loss like a swift kick. Anything else she might try—buy another plane ticket, a bus ticket, a rental car—could be traced. It would lead the people tracking her straight to wherever she went.

Eva scanned the crowds, slowing down in front of every restaurant, looking into every corner of every newsstand. Up ahead was a bank of monitors. She’d find the departing flight to San Juan and locate Claire at her gate. She couldn’t have gone far.

But as Eva passed a bar, she saw the pink sweater, sharp against the gray window behind her. Claire, seated alone, nursing a drink, her eyes scanning the crowded terminal, alert, the way an animal scans the horizon for predators.

Eva let her eyes slide past and kept walking. Claire wasn’t going to open up to a stranger asking if she could help. Eva planned to come at this sideways. She wandered into a bookstore and grabbed a magazine, flipping through it until Claire had time to settle.

Across the way, she saw Claire lift the drink to her lips.

Eva replaced the magazine, exited the shop, and walked toward the large plate glass windows overlooking the tarmac before veering left and heading toward Claire. When she was close enough, she lifted her silent phone to her ear and infused her voice with a touch of panic and fear, making sure to let her duffel bump against Claire’s stool as she sat.

“Why do they want to talk to me?” Eva asked, lowering herself next to Claire, who shifted sideways, irritation rolling off her in waves.

“But I only did what he asked me to,” Eva continued. “As soon as we learned it was terminal, we discussed it.” Eva covered her eyes with her hand and allowed the last six months to come crashing back. How much she’d risked. How much she’d lost. She needed all of that emotion now, to craft her story and pass it off as the truth. “He was my husband and I loved him,” she said, grabbing a napkin across the bar and pressing it against her eyes before Claire could notice there were no tears. “He was suffering, and I did what anyone would have done.” Eva paused, as if someone on the other end was talking, before finally saying, “Tell them I have nothing to say.” She yanked the phone away from her ear and stabbed at it, disconnecting her fake call and taking a deep, shuddering breath.

Eva signaled the bartender and said, “Vodka tonic.” Then, more to herself than to Claire, she said, “I knew this would catch up to me. I just had no idea how quickly.” She took a sip of the drink the bartender deposited in front of her, while next to her, Claire shifted on her stool, away from Eva, the rigid set of her shoulders enough to silence most people. But Eva pinched her eyes closed and worked her hysteria a notch higher, letting her breath grow ragged and uneven. She tried to grab another napkin from a stack just beyond her reach, bumping her shoulder into Claire again, forcing Claire to hand her one.

“Thanks,” Eva said. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess, bursting into your quiet corner. It’s just…” She trailed off, as if gathering courage to say the words. “My husband recently passed away. Cancer.”

Claire hesitated, still not looking at Eva, before finally saying, “I’m sorry.”

“We were together eighteen years. Since high school.” Eva blew her nose and stared into her drink. “His name was David.” She took another sip, letting a piece of ice slip into her mouth and pressing it against the inside of her cheek, willing her heart rate to slow, for the story she was spinning to slow. Too fast and it would sound hollow and false. Lies needed to be doled out carefully. Planted and tended before the next one could be given. “He was wasting away to almost nothing, in excruciating pain. I couldn’t watch it anymore.” She let the image of a dying man shimmer in Claire’s imagination before continuing. “And so, I told the nurse to go home, that I’d take the night shift. I wasn’t very smart about it, but it’s impossible to think clearly when the man you spent your whole life loving is suffering.” Eva looked blankly across the terminal. “Now it seems they have questions. There might be consequences.”

What Eva needed was a compelling reason why she, too, might want to disappear and never go home. Something other than the truth.

She felt the shift in Claire’s body language, a slight turning toward her, no more than an inch, but it was enough. “Who is ‘they’?” Claire asked.

Eva shrugged. “The coroner. The police.” She gestured toward her phone. “That was my husband’s oncologist. He told me they’re asking everyone to go downtown in a week to answer questions.” She looked out the windows toward the tarmac. “Nothing good ever happens downtown.”

“Are you from New York?”

Eva looked back at her and shook her head. “California.”Pause. Breathe.“He’s only been gone twenty-one days, and every day I wake up and relive it. I thought a trip to New York would help. A change of scenery, the opposite of home.”

“Did it?”

“Yes. No.” She looked at Claire with a wry smile. “Can both be true?”

“I suppose.”

“I’ve already lost everything that mattered to me. My husband is gone. I quit my job to take care of him. It was just the two of us—neither of us had any family.” Eva took a deep breath and said the truest thing she’d said so far. “I’m alone in the world, and I don’t want to go back. My flight leaves in an hour, and I don’t want to be on it.”

Eva dug around in her purse and pulled out her boarding pass to Oakland, laying it on the bar in front of them. A prop. A temptation. A silent suggestion. “Maybe I’ll go somewhere else. I have savings. I’ll buy a new ticket to some place I’ve never been and start over.” Eva sat up straighter on her stool, as if the decision she’d just made had released something heavy inside of her. “Where do you think I should go?”

Claire’s voice was quiet next to her. “It won’t take them long to find you. You’d be traceable no matter where you went.”

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