The Last Flight

by Julie Clark

  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.”

  Eva took a few moments to think about that before saying, “Do you think it’s possible for someone to disappear? Vanish without a trace?”

  Claire didn’t answer. The two of them sat in silence, watching people make their way toward their gates or toward baggage claim. Hurried travelers, giving each other wide berth as they avoided eye contact with everyone around them, too absorbed in where they were headed to notice two women sitting side by side at the bar.

  In the distance, a child’s wail grew louder as a frustrated mother passed them, pulling her sobbing daughter behind her, saying, “I’m not letting you watch Parent Trap for the hundredth time when you haven’t done your reading for Mrs. Hutchins.”

  Eva watched Claire’s eyes track them up the concourse until they were gone. Then she said, “Nice to know a new generation is still appreciating the work of Lindsay Lohan.” She took a sip of her drink. “What was that other one she made? Where the mother and daughter trade bodies and live a day as each other. Do you know it?”

  “Freaky Friday. My sister loved that movie,” Claire said, staring down into her drink.

  Eva counted to ten inside her head. She’d reached the very edge of where she needed this conversation to go. Then she said, “Who would you trade with? Who would you want to be?”

  Claire’s head turned slowly toward Eva and their eyes locked, but Claire didn’t answer.

  “Freaky Friday would sure help me right now,” Eva continued, her voice growing distant. “Slipping into someone else’s skin, being able to inhabit a totally different life. I’d still be me, but no one would know it.”

  Next to her, Claire lifted her glass to drink, and Eva noticed the slight tremor. “I’m supposed to go to Puerto Rico,” she said.

  Eva felt the alcohol finally hit her bloodstream, warm and low in her belly, easing the knot that had been steadily growing for the past forty-eight hours. “Nice time of year for it.”

  Claire shook her head. “I’d do anything to not be on that plane,” she said.

  Eva let the words hang in the air, waiting to see if Claire would offer more details. Because what Eva had in mind was risky, and she needed to be sure Claire was desperate enough. She swirled the ice in her glass, vodka and tonic melting into a clear liquid, the lime crushed and wilted around the edges. “Sounds like we both need a Freaky Friday.”

  Eva knew two things. First, Claire needed to believe this was her idea. And second, Eva didn’t want to be a person who lied and deceived anymore. This was the last time.

  Claire lifted Eva’s boarding pass off the bar top and studied it. “What’s Oakland like?” she asked.

  Eva shrugged. “Nothing special,” she said. “I live in Berkeley, though. People there are kind of nuts. If you rode down Telegraph Avenue on a unicycle blowing a trumpet, no one would look twice at you. It’s just that kind of place. Easy to blend in because everybody’s a little weirder than you are.”

  Just then, the bartender approached and said, “Can I get you ladies anything else?”

  For the first time, Claire smiled. “I think we’re good, thanks.” To Eva she said, “Follow me.”

  * * *

  They left the bar and walked shoulder to shoulder, forcing people to move around them, falling into a line of weary travelers in the women’s room without saying more. Several stalls opened up, and Claire let people behind them go ahead, until the handicapped stall was available. She pulled Eva in after her and locked the door behind them.

  Claire kept her voice low. “What you said back there, about whether I thought it was possible to disappear. I think there’s a way to do it.”

  Toilets flushed, water ran, flights were announced over the loudspeaker, as Claire dug around in her purse and fished out her phone, pulling up her e-ticket and handing it to Eva. “If we trade tickets, flight records will show each of us boarding our respective airplanes,” Claire said. “But in Puerto Rico, there will be no trace of me. And in Oakland, there will be no trace of you.”

  Eva tried to look skeptical. It wouldn’t work if she agreed too quickly. “Are you crazy? Why would you want to do something like that for me?”

  “You’d be doing it for me,” Claire said. “I can’t go home. And I’m a fool if I think I have the skills to disappear in Puerto Rico.”

  Eva’s eyes shot up to Claire’s face. “What do you mean?”

  Claire said, “You don’t need to worry.”

  Eva shook her head. “If I’m going to do this, the least you can do is tell me what I’m stepping into.”

  Claire looked toward the stall door and said, “I had a plan to leave my husband. It fell apart, and he found out about it. I have to disappear before…”

  “Before what? Is he dangerous?”

  “Only to me.”

  Eva studied the e-ticket on Claire’s phone, as if she were thinking. “How can we trade tickets if we don’t even look alike?”

  “It won’t matter. We’re already through security. You’ll have my phone, with my boarding pass. No one will question you.” She stared at Eva, her eyes bright and desperate. “Please,” she whispered. “This is my only chance.”

  Eva knew what it was like to almost have something within her grasp, only to have it yanked away again. It made you desperate, a hunger so fierce it blinded you to all the ways it might go wrong.

  * * *

  The plan turned out to be simple. They quickly transferred the contents of their bags, Claire pulling an NYU cap from hers and tucking her hair underneath. Then she took off her sweater and handed it to Eva. “My husband is going to leave no lead unfollowed. Every minute of this day will be unpacked and studied. Including airport security footage. We’ll need to trade more than just tickets.”

  Eva slipped off her coat and handed it to Claire, hesitating for a moment. It was her favorite, an army-green hooded one with all the zippers and inner pockets that had served her well for many years.

  Claire put it on, still talking. “When you land, use my credit card to pull out cash, or buy a ticket somewhere else. Whatever you want. Just leave a trail my husband can follow.” Claire tucked a computer case into Eva’s duffel, now resting at Claire’s feet. Then she opened her toiletry bag and pulled out a plastic travel toothbrush, slipping it into one of the pockets of Eva’s old coat, which
Eva found odd. Oral hygiene seemed a strange thing to be prioritizing right now. From her wallet, Claire took a wad of cash and shoved it into another pocket, then dropped the wallet back into her own purse and held it out to Eva. “Do it fast, though, before he cuts everything off,” she said. “My PIN is 3710.”

  Eva took it, though she didn’t need Claire’s money. Then she handed Claire her own purse, not even bothering to look through it, happy to be rid of all of it. The only cash she needed right now was tucked in a pouch against her skin, the rest of it far away, waiting for her.

  Eva slid her arms into the pink cashmere sweater, feeling her escape drawing nearer, hoping Claire wouldn’t lose her nerve. In ninety minutes she’d be in the air, on her way to Puerto Rico. Once on the ground, Eva knew a hundred ways she could disappear. Alter her appearance, then get off the island as fast as possible. Charter a boat. Charter a plane. She had enough money to do whatever she needed. She didn’t care what Claire ended up doing.

  A conversation she’d had with Dex a week ago floated back to her, spoken offhand at a basketball game. The only way to get a fake ID is to find someone who’s willing to give you theirs. Eva nearly laughed aloud, Dex’s words manifesting before her eyes in the handicapped stall at JFK’s Terminal 4.

  Claire fiddled with one of the zippers on the coat she now wore, and Eva thought about who might be waiting for her on the ground in Oakland. They might pause for a moment when they saw Claire exit the airport wearing Eva’s familiar coat. But that’s where the similarities ended.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” Eva said, pressing her prepaid phone to her chest, “but this has all my pictures. A few saved voicemails from my husband…” She couldn’t risk Claire discovering that it had no contacts, no photos, and only one number in her call history. She held up Claire’s. “But I’ll need you to disable your password so I can scan the e-ticket. Unless you want to print a ticket and keep your phone?”

  “And let him track me that way? No thanks,” Claire said, swiping through her settings and disabling her password. “But I do need to grab a number first.”

  Eva watched as Claire took a pen from her purse and scribbled something on the back of an old receipt.

  Just then, the flight to Oakland was announced. Boarding had begun. They looked at each other, fear and excitement mingling on their faces.

  “I guess this is it,” Claire said.

  Eva imagined Claire boarding the flight to California and getting off at the other end. Walking out into the bright sunshine without a clue of what she might find there, and she tried not to feel guilty. But Claire seemed scrappy. Smart. She’d figure something out. “Thank you for helping me start over,” Eva said.

  Claire pulled her into a hug and whispered, “You saved me. And I won’t forget it.”

  And then she was gone. Out of the stall, disappeared back into the busy airport, security cameras recording a woman in a green coat and NYU baseball cap pulled low over her eyes, walking toward a different life.

  Eva locked the door again, leaning against the cool tile wall, and let all of the adrenaline from the morning leak out of her, leaving her limbs weak and her head fuzzy. She wasn’t free yet, but she was closer than she’d ever been.

  * * *

  Eva waited inside the locked stall as long as she could, imagining Claire flying west, racing the sun toward freedom.

  “Boarding for Flight 477 with service to Puerto Rico has begun,” a voice announced overhead, and she stepped out and strode past the long line of women waiting. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched her reflection in the mirror and marveled at how calm she appeared, when inside she felt like dancing. She pushed up the sleeves of Claire’s pink cashmere sweater, washed her hands quickly, and hitched her new purse over her shoulder before exiting back onto the concourse.

  At the gate, she waited on the periphery, her eyes scanning the crowd out of habit, and wondered if she’d ever learn how to be in a space without having to assess it for risks and danger. But everyone around her seemed to be absorbed in their own thoughts, anxious to escape the frigid New York temperatures for a warmer climate.

  A harried gate attendant pulled a speaker close to her mouth and said, “Our flight this morning isn’t full, so any travelers wishing to fly standby should check in at the counter.”

  People in vacation clothes jockeyed for spots in line, wanting to be first in their boarding group, but with only one gate attendant on duty, things were chaotic and slow to begin. Eva made sure to position herself on the edge of a loud family of six. Inside her purse, Claire’s phone buzzed. Curious, she pulled it out.

  What the fuck have you done?

  It wasn’t the words that stopped her, but the vitriol behind them, poisonous and familiar. Then the phone rang, jolting her nerves and making her nearly drop it. She let it go to voicemail. It rang again. And then again after that. She peered toward the Jetway, counting the people ahead of her, urging the line to move faster. To board and get into the air, to be on her way.

  “What’s the holdup?” a woman behind her asked.

  “I heard the hatch wasn’t opening right.”

  “Great,” the woman said.

  When it was Eva’s turn, she handed the phone to the flight attendant, who scanned her e-ticket without even glancing at the name. She handed it back to Eva, who promptly turned it off and dropped it back into Claire’s purse. The line crept forward, Eva on the threshold of the Jetway, buried in a long line of impatient travelers. Someone’s bag bumped her from behind, knocking her purse to the ground and sending Claire’s things skittering in different directions.

  As she bent down to gather everything, she glanced back toward the concourse. Above her, the line had closed around her, blocking her from the gate agent’s view, and she realized how easy it would be to slip away. The flight wasn’t full. They might not notice her empty seat. She was scanned onto the flight, and Claire was already on her way to Oakland.

  Eva had only a split second to make the decision. She could see how she’d do it. Step to the side and lean against the wall and fake another phone call. She’d be just another traveler, consumed with her own life, on her way somewhere new. She could leave the airport, head into Brooklyn and find a hair salon willing to take a walk-in wanting to dye her hair brown. Then pay cash for a later flight using Claire’s ID. There could easily be two Claire Cooks, traveling to two completely different destinations. And once she landed and disappeared, the data would become irrelevant.

  And so would she.

  Claire

  Tuesday, February 22

  It isn’t until an hour into the flight that my heart stops pounding, that I take the first deep breath I’ve had in years. I glance at my watch. The plane I’m expected to be on is somewhere over the Atlantic right now, thousands of miles away. I picture it landing in Puerto Rico, taxiing into the terminal and discharging vacationers, Eva slipping by everyone, invisible. Rory will have discovered what was in the FedEx package by now, and when he starts to look for me, he’ll be searching for Claire Cook or Amanda Burns. He doesn’t have a clue who Eva James is. It was almost too easy.

  A memory arrives, of a night when I was thirteen, sitting on the porch with my mother. I’d been the target of a group of popular girls for several weeks. They followed me, whispering cruel things, waiting until I was alone in the hallway or the bathroom to deliver their cutting remarks. My mother had wanted to intervene, but I wouldn’t let her, believing that would only make it worse. “I wish I could just disappear,” I’d whispered. Together we watched a three-year-old Violet run around the small yard, the roses swaying in the slight evening breeze.

  “If you pay attention, Claire, solutions always appear. But you have to be brave enough to see them,” she’d said, plucking my hand out of my lap and squeezing it in hers.

  Her words had confused me then. But I realize now she’d been giving me advice to
hang on to, for later. I’d been trapped between two terrifying choices—Rory’s anger or the kind of people Nico might have sent to help me—and then Eva came along and pulled me out.

  I think about Eva, of what she’s lost, and I hope that wherever she ends up, she can find a way to be at peace with herself. I picture her escaping to a remote village somewhere, finding a small house by the ocean, her blond hair contrasting with skin darkened by a sun that cascades like forgiveness across her shoulders. Far away from everything. A fresh start, like the one I’m hoping to create for myself.

  How extraordinary that we found each other.

  A bubble of joy tumbles around inside of me, and I laugh out loud, startling the man sitting next to me. “Sorry,” I say, and turn toward the window, watching the land below us transform from city into large stretches of farmland, the miles between me and Rory growing with every second.

  * * *

  Six hours later, the plane bumps down in Oakland. We circled over San Francisco, and though the pilot pointed out landmarks such as the Bay Bridge and the Transamerica building, they’d barely registered amidst my excitement. I wait my turn to deplane, the crowd of people pressing in on me, and close my eyes, thinking of a game Violet and I used to play called Would You Rather. We’d spend hours creating impossible, hilarious choices: Would you rather eat ten cockroaches or have liver for dinner every night for a year? I smile to myself, wondering what Violet and I might come up with now. Would you rather be married to an abusive but rich man or start over somewhere new, with no money and no identity? The decision seems easy to me.

  Finally, the door opens and people start to file off the plane. I take my place among them, pulling my cap low over my eyes, at least until I’m out of the airport and away from security cameras. The first thing I need to do is call Petra and tell her I’m in Oakland. And then find a cheap motel that won’t ask a lot of questions. With only four hundred dollars in my wallet, I have to be smart.

  When we deplane, I slip around everyone and go in search of a pay phone. But when I get beyond the gates, I realize something’s different. Several clumps of people are gathered around television monitors in the various bars and restaurants, hushed.