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.”
“Jesus,” Kate breathes out. Then she seems to regroup. “I guess we’d better move on to Maggie Moretti.”
“I have a recording of my husband and his assistant, Bruce Corcoran. In it, they’re discussing a woman named Charlotte Price, who has direct knowledge of my husband’s involvement in Maggie Moretti’s death.”
There’s a pause as Kate Lane absorbs this information. “When was this recording made?”
“I’m not sure,” I admit. “In the last few days. My assistant made it and sent it to me sometime last night. She’s willing to verify its legitimacy.”
Kate seems to think about this. “Before we do anything, I’ll need to listen to it. Can you text it to my producer?” She rattles off a number, and I send it off.
Soon, I hear it playing across the phone line. The knocking, Danielle’s voice, then Rory and Bruce’s. When it’s done, Kate lets out a sigh, her voice gentle. “Mrs. Cook, I’m sorry. But