it back on the counter and stare at it, waiting for another text, but it remains silent, and I hope whoever D is, they’re done asking questions for the night.
I step toward the sink and look through the small window overlooking a tiny backyard. It’s surrounded by shrubs and bisected by a brick walkway leading to a gate in the back fence. I imagine Eva standing here, watching twilight fall as it is now, coloring the shadows in deep purples and blues as the sky darkens, while her husband lay dying.
The phone buzzes again, the sound reverberating around the empty kitchen, and a sense of foreboding descends. The empty house offers itself up to me, yet reveals nothing.
Eva
Berkeley, California
August
Six Months before the Crash
Eva waited for him outside his dorm. It wasn’t the same one she’d lived in, so many years ago, but a newer one, with softer edges and dark wood trim, as if they wanted students to feel like they were living in an Italian villa instead of student housing. Her gaze traveled upward, over windows that were open to catch the cool morning air, posters of bands she’d never heard of, taped picture-side out. From the center of campus, the Campanile chimed the hour, and students with early-morning classes passed by her as she stood on the sidewalk, leaning against a car that didn’t belong to her. No one looked at Eva. They never did.
Finally, he exited, his backpack slung across one shoulder, his nose buried in his phone. He didn’t notice Eva until she fell into step beside him.
“Hi, Brett,” she said.
He looked up, startled, and a flash of worry crossed his face when he saw who it was. But then he plastered on a smile and said, “Eva. Hey.”
Across the street, two men eased out of a parked car and started walking in their same direction, slow and silent. Trailing them.
Eva began. “I’m sure you know why I’m here.”
They crossed the street, past coffee shops and bookstores, and skirted the southern edge of campus. She stepped in front of Brett to stop him when they’d reached the opening of a narrow brick walkway that led to the entrance of a small art gallery that wouldn’t open until eleven o’clock. The men behind them stopped too, waiting.
“Look, Eva,” Brett said. “I’m really sorry, but I don’t have your money yet.” As he spoke, he searched the faces of the few people on the street this early, looking for a friend. Someone to step in and help him. But Eva wasn’t worried. To anyone who might be watching, Brett was just a student, chatting with a woman on the sidewalk.
“That’s what you said the last time,” Eva said. “And the time before that.”
“It’s my parents,” Brett explained. “They’re getting a divorce. They cut my allowance by half. I can barely afford beer.”
Eva tilted her head sympathetically, as if she could relate to a problem like that. As if she hadn’t been forced to live on a minuscule per diem in her three short years at Berkeley, pocketing extra food from the dining hall to tide her over long weekends. No one gave her an allowance. Paying for beer had never been on Eva’s long list of worries.
She pressed on. “That’s a sad story. Unfortunately, it’s not my problem. You owe me six hundred dollars, and I’m tired of waiting.”
Brett hitched his backpack higher on his shoulder and watched a bus rumble down the street, his gaze trailing after it. “I’ll get it. I swear. Just…it’s going to take some time.”
Eva reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of gum, unwrapping it carefully, and stuck it in her mouth, chewing slowly, as if she were considering what he’d said. The men who were trailing saw Eva’s signal and began making their way toward them.
It took Brett almost no time to notice them. To see the purpose in their stride, to see that he and Eva were their final destination. He took a step backward, as if to run, but the men closed the distance quickly, boxing him in.
“Oh my god,” he whispered, his eyes wild with fear and panic. “Eva. Please. I swear I’ll pay you. I swear.” He began to back away, but Saul, the bigger of the two men, placed a hand on Brett’s shoulder to stop him. Eva could see his large fingers squeezing, and Brett began to cry.
She eased back toward the street, her part finished. But Brett’s eyes stopped her, silently pleading