Liz’s couch, Eva saw the government sedan glide down the street and slow to a stop at the curb. The same man who’d been talking to Brittany at the gas station got out and walked up their front path.
Her mind began connecting dots she hadn’t even known were there, passing over the question of how he’d found her house to its inevitable answer—there must have been someone else following her. Someone she hadn’t seen.
Eva stood suddenly and moved toward Liz. Away from the window. “Are you sure you don’t need to see a doctor?”
Liz put the ice back on her ankle and said, “I’ll tell you what I need. I need you to dump out this crappy tap water and fill my glass with vodka. Get one for yourself too. It’s in the freezer.” The faint sound of knocking from next door caught Liz’s attention. “I think someone’s knocking on your door,” she said.
Eva peeked through the blinds and saw the man slide something into her mail slot. Every nerve in her body tingled with fear, urging her to run. She glanced through the doorway and into Liz’s kitchen, imagining herself tearing out the back door, through the back gate and down the alley, sprinting all the way to Dex’s, demanding answers.
But she took a deep breath, reminding herself that all she’d done was talk to a woman in the park. She hadn’t sold her anything, or even showed her anything. Play through. Advice Dex used to give her in the early days when she’d get scared. Only guilty people run. That’s exactly what they’re waiting for you to do. So don’t do it.
“I’ve seen this guy before,” Eva lied. “He’s selling subscriptions to an alarm company. You have to pretend like you’re not home, otherwise he’ll talk your ear off.”
“I hate door-to-door salesmen,” Liz said. If she thought it odd he didn’t come to her door next, she didn’t mention it.
Eva stood and said, “I think I’ll go get those drinks for us.” A drink was the very least she deserved.
Claire
Wednesday, February 23
I leave Eva’s office strewn with paper and move across the hall, determined to know for certain what I’m beginning to suspect—that nothing Eva told me about herself, or what she was running from, was true. I throw open the door to her closet, pawing through the hangers, looking for evidence of the husband she adored. At the very least, there should be big, empty spaces where his clothes used to be. But all I find are a few nice tops, a couple dresses, boots, and flats. All of it Eva’s. I yank open dresser drawers, finding shirts, jeans, underwear, and socks, flashes of my unfamiliar new profile startling me in the mirror, so similar to Eva’s I can almost believe for a moment she’s returned. That she’s here and I’m the one who died. Freaky fucking Friday.
I sink down on Eva’s bed. Everything I believed—about Eva, about her life, about why she didn’t want to be here, lay in pieces at my feet. If there was no husband, there will be no investigation of his death. And if there’s no investigation, there has to be another reason why Eva was so willing to trade places and disappear.
I begin to laugh—the hysterical spiral of an exhausted woman teetering on the edge of sanity—and think of all the lies she told, straight-faced and sincere. And then I hear her voice in my head, and imagine her telling me to calm down and get the fuck out of her house, and I smirk at how sharp it is, how perfectly I can still recall it.
Neither of us could have guessed this was what would happen. We were only trading tickets. I wasn’t supposed to drive to her house, unlock her door, and step into her life. Whatever I’ve walked into, I’m here because I chose to be.
* * *
Back in Eva’s office, with the Doc open on the screen in front of me, I take a closer look at one of Eva’s bank statements, scanning her monthly expenses. Food, gas, coffee shops. Automatic payments every month for everything, including cable and trash service, with a balance of two thousand dollars. There are two direct deposits from a place called DuPree’s Steakhouse, each for nine hundred dollars. Not nearly enough income to warrant an all-cash purchase of her home.
And as I expected, no medical bills, no copays. No pharmacies. I feel a sliver of admiration at the outrageous fabrication rendered