Beneath the Marigolds

by Emily C. Whitson

  I analyze the artist beside his work, searching for a sign of familiarity, but there isn’t one. He’s Reese’s type, that’s for certain: long blond hair, hooded blue eyes, olive skin. His nose is crooked, like it’s been broken a few times, but it works for him. I memorize the outline of his face, searching for answers that aren’t there.

  When I can look at the photo no longer, I put it away.

  I lift the lid of the toilet and throw up.

  29

  Ann

  After Ned’s call, I’m more certain than ever that something happened to Reese on this retreat. She didn’t run away. She couldn’t have. But I need more information to prove it. I need evidence. I need to talk to someone else who was here with Reese at the retreat.

  My eyes scan the cocktail party for Rhea, the participant with Rapunzel-length hair. Tonight, the theme for our attire is basically no attire at all, which only exacerbates my anxiety. And my lingering nausea. One woman—she goes by Princess, I swear to God—even comes out in a robe and lingerie, holding two pieces of fabric that I guess pass as gowns.

  “I didn’t know which one to wear,” she giggles as she displays the dresses in front of her. “So I thought I’d let the men decide.”

  I roll my eyes as several men and even a few women let out cheers and catcalls.

  My own gown barely covers my breasts, and as if that isn’t enough, it also dips much too far down my backside. If I am being recorded, then I will absolutely be fired by at least one of my clients.

  I remind myself that this will all be worth it if I can find Reese.

  After a few minutes, I finally spot Rhea outside. She’s on the patio, a few feet from the bartender and the infinity pool, talking to Chef Clay. They’ve been spending more and more time together; I could tell Clay was interested in her even on our date. They fit together as a couple. Both golden, glowing, and quiet. They remind me of baby deer, with their big eyes and child-like innocence. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think they popped right out of a cartoon storybook.

  “Rhea, right?” I try to approach her naturally, but she still looks startled.

  “Yes,” she says, hand to chest. She has a breathy, eloquent voice. A voice of old Hollywood. “My apologies, I didn’t see you there.”

  I don’t know how that’s possible—her eyes take up half her face.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. Would you mind if I talked to you for a minute?” I peer at Clay. “If that’s okay with you.” He shrugs.

  “Absolutely,” she says. “Where would you like to talk?”

  “How about over there?” I point to a quiet spot just outside the patio, where we’re still visible from the mansion but more difficult to overhear. She nods, and we start for the beach. It’s darker, away from the artificial lights of the patio, but the wedge of moonlight offers a soft white glow. We both take off our heels so we can walk on the sand, still warm from the sunset. Mosquitos prick at my neck, and I swat at them unsuccessfully.

  “I like your dress,” I say, gesturing toward her lavender gown with puffy sleeves and a corset. I don’t actually like it, but it’s too bizarre not to mention—an eccentricity that stays on the tip of your tongue until you spit it out.

  “Thanks.” She brushes her knee-length hair over her shoulder so I can have a better view. “It’s the strangest thing—Stephanie, the stylist, always gives me purple dresses. I don’t mind. Purple is my favorite color, and she makes me look like a princess, but it’s a bit odd, right?”

  “Yes, it is.” I can’t wait to get off this island. “I’m Ann, by the way.”

  “I know. You’re the one Nick likes.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

  “No, it’s true. All the girls have noticed. A few are bent out of shape about it. He doesn’t give anyone else the time of day, and I would know—this is my second retreat with him.”

  I peer at Nick on the patio, talking lackadaisically to two women. He must feel my gaze, as he glances back at me and offers a small smile. I feel a mosquito bite the back of my neck, and I slap the skin.

  “You know, that’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “Oh?”

  “One of my good friends was at the last retreat you attended. Reese Marigold. Do you remember her?”

  “Yes, of course. I didn’t know her well, but I liked her. She helped fish me out of the pool one night when I had one too many glasses of bubbly.” She giggles and points to her champagne flute. “Now I limit myself to one.”

  “Smart,” I nod. “I’m glad you liked Reese.”

  “Oh, she was lovely. I could tell she was a romantic, like me. We both thought this experience was a dream come true. So much so that I came back for a second round.” She laughs.

  “Did you not connect with anyone at the last retreat?”

  “Not particularly. There were a few who caught my attention, but I didn’t find that soul mate I was yearning for. That true love, you know?”

  “Sure.” I don’t. In my opinion, soul mates are a thing of fiction. An idea generated by Hallmark and Hollywood executives. Even if you find someone you like, they’ll leave you. Or you’ll fuck it up. It’s just the way the world works.

  “So I pleaded with Christina to let me come back, and she agreed. But only if I promised to keep searching for that special someone at any cost. I told her ‘easy, peasy.’ Finding a husband before thirty-two is my priority. I mean, what else would I be doing?”

  “Nothing. That’s definitely the most important thing.”

  “So how’s Reese doing?”

  “Well.” I clear my throat. “She’s actually gone missing. No one has heard from her since the retreat.”

  Somehow, Rhea’s eyes get even bigger. She clasps her heart. “My goodness. That’s terrible.”

  “Yeah, it is. I was wondering how she seemed on the retreat. Nick said she spent most of her time with a guy named Lamb?”

  A flicker of realization crosses Rhea’s face, and she pauses.

  “Yes,” she responds. “Yes, she did spend time with him.”

  “And?” I can tell she’s holding back.

  “Well, okay, I don’t want to spread rumors, but I overheard Magda saying she had to cover up bruises on Reese. And then, I didn’t see what happened, but Lamb came back one day with . . .”

  Rhea stops.

  “Yes?”

  “Well, with blood on his knuckles. It was on his shirt too. He said it was a nosebleed, but now . . . I don’t know.”

  “Oh my God,” I whisper. “Do you think—” Now the words catch in my throat. “Do you think he hit her?”

  “I—I don’t know. I didn’t like him much, but I never actually saw any violence. It could just be a coincidence.”

  “How did Reese seem when she left the island? Did she seem scared?”

  “Well, that’s the thing. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but now . . . well, she didn’t leave with the group. She and Lamb both left early. Christina said things didn’t work out between them, and they were ready to go after that.”

  “But Reese boarded her scheduled plane home. She didn’t take an earlier flight.”

  “I—” Rhea raises her shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe she hung out in Hawaii for a few days.” Rhea glances toward the patio, where two of the handlers are whispering. The larger one heads our way. His legs slice through the sand like tree trunks. I only have time for one more question.

  “Do you remember if you saw Reese after you saw Lamb with all the blood?”

  The handler is now within earshot. He’s rapidly approaching.

  “I can’t be sure.” Rhea wrings her wrist. “I don’t think so, though.”

  The handler reaches us.

  “Girls, would you mind coming back to the patio? We just want to make sure we can keep an eye on everyone.”

  “Of course.” Rhea nods. “We’ll follow you.”

  The handler narrows his eyes. He turns back to
the mansion, but he glances over his shoulder to make sure we’re behind him. When he’s not looking, Rhea grabs my wrist.

  “Talk to Trixie,” she whispers. “She was involved with Lamb too.”

  30

  Ann

  In the restroom, I splash cool water on my face. I need a minute alone before I talk to Trixie. I knew there was a possibility that Reese might be . . . deceased, but it was always some vague what-if. Now, that thought is becoming more of a possibility. My stomach turns.

  There’s no use in melting down just yet, not without more answers. I still have hope.

  Trixie is near the bar, with Nick, Richie Rich, and an impossibly small woman whose name escapes me. Sally, maybe. Small Sally, that’s it. Trixie is sitting on Rich’s lap on a couch, while the other two circle around them. Rich’s hand snakes up Trixie’s thigh through the slit in her gown that nearly reaches her pelvis. His tar-black hair, curled at the ends from an excess of oil, drips onto Trixie’s arm.

  I didn’t like Rich right from the get-go—he’s cocky, patronizing, entitled. After he discussed his investment-banking job with me for forty-five minutes, the longest forty-five minutes of my life, he bragged about sneaking cocaine onto the island.

  “I’ve got a little—” he brushed his nostril and gestured toward the mansion, “if you really want to get the party going.”

  “I’m an addict, so I think I’ll pass,” I said.

  That effectively ended our relationship.

  As I reach the group, Nick beams.

  “I was wondering when you were going to come talk to me,” he says as he touches the small of my back. I kiss him on the cheek as he pulls me forward.

  “Actually, I was hoping I could talk to Trixie.”

  Nick’s face drops. There’s a hush among the group, exchanged glances. Rich pulls his hand out of Trixie’s dress. She sneers. I instantly dislike her.

  “Sure, let’s chat,” she says with a wad of gum and a Southern California accent. “Let me just refill my drink.”

  She slithers toward the bar, hands the bartender her glass, and bends forward enough to reveal her cleavage. I try not to stare, but she’s popping out of her dress—it’s a size too small in the bust. It’s like watching a train wreck.

  “And what can I get you?” The bartender asks me.

  Wine. I want wine.

  “Ice water would be great,” I say.

  “Lame.” Trixie rolls her eyes. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

  We take our drinks, and I lead her to a vacant spot on the patio, near the infinity pool. Trixie pops her hip out and stares at me expectantly, the highlighted ends of her hair glinting in the moonlight. Most women can’t pull off such a short haircut, but Trixie has the cheekbones, the attitude, and the body to do it. With her neck bare, she is fleshier, more naked, more seductive.

  “Well, this might sound strange, but I was hoping you could tell me more about Reese Marigold. She was at the retreat a few weeks ago. Rhea and Nick both said you were here too?”

  “Yeah, I knew her. Didn’t care for her much. It’s hard to meet someone who’s both easy and living in a fairy tale. I mean, the woman wouldn’t cuss, but she would spread her legs within thirty minutes of meeting a guy.”

  My ears are on fire, so I rest the cool glass against them.

  “She was definitely eccentric,” I say.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Well, she’s my friend, and she’s gone missing.”

  “Yikes,” she says with a grin. “Sorry about that.”

  I think about hitting her. I refrain.

  “I heard she was seeing a guy you were involved with too. Lamb Martin?”

  “Yeah, Lamb and I used to sneak off together when Reese wasn’t looking. Although she was such a moron, I could kiss him right in front of her and she wouldn’t notice.”

  “But you didn’t leave here with Lamb?” I should stop there, but I can’t help it. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t be back for a second round.”

  “No.” She narrows her eyes. “Our relationship was more physical. I couldn’t live off a poor painter’s salary.”

  She’s lying. Trying to save face. I don’t know for certain, but I have a feeling that’s what’s really happening below the surface.

  “So why did Lamb leave?”

  “I don’t know,” she says as she inspects her nails. “I had moved on at that point, so I didn’t pay him as much attention at the end.”

  More lies. Why is she lying?

  “Is that it?” She sighs.

  “Just one more question. Was Lamb ever violent with you?”

  “I mean, he sometimes choked me in bed, but I’m into that sort of stuff. I wouldn’t be surprised if he hit Reese, though.”

  “Why?” I clench my fist.

  “’Cause she was fucking violent. It was probably their thing.”

  “I don’t believe that. Reese would never hit anyone.”

  “Ha.” She brays—an unfortunate neigh of a laugh. “Nick would disagree. She practically tore his face off right here on the patio. In front of everyone. If you don’t believe me, ask him yourself.”

  I glower at Nick, who is still talking, half-heartedly, to Sally and Rich. Is that true? Why would he keep that from me?

  “Well, I’ve gotta go,” Trixie says. She glances back and forth between me and Nick. “You should too, if you’re smart.”

  As she walks away, I step on the hem of her dress. Her ankles roll, and she falls face-first into the pool. When she emerges, thrashing angrily, fits of laughter erupt from the other participants.

  “Sorry about that,” I mutter as I walk by.

  31

  Reese

  “Reese, can I talk to you?” Lamb appeared on the mansion’s front door step. His hands were in his pockets, his head hung low. I had been searching for him all day, desperate to talk about the night before, but now that he was here, it was hard to form words.

  “Y-Yeah, come sit down.” I gestured to the spot on the stoop next to Teddy. He was in the middle of the space, while I was on the left, so Lamb had no choice but to sandwich Teddy between us.

  “Hey man, what’s up?” Teddy chirped.

  “I’ve been better, Teddy.” There was an awkward pause, so Lamb was more direct. “Do you mind if I have a minute with Reese? Alone?”

  It took a moment, but finally Teddy read the room. “Oh yeah, man. Of course.”

  He sauntered inside. Once the door clicked shut, Lamb reached for the ice pack on my eye. “Do you mind?”

  I shook my head. I watched as his eyes grew wide at the sight of my swollen face. “Reese, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you were that close behind me.”

  “I know. I shouldn’t have tried to get in the middle of it.”

  Lamb shifted his weight. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that. It’s unacceptable.”

  I flexed my bruised knuckles from hitting Nick earlier. (On a side note, no one tells you how much it hurts to hit someone. Like, it really hurts.)

  “I can’t really point fingers.” I said. “Literally.”

  Lamb gingerly wrapped my injured fist in his. “I guess we’re two peas in a pod then.”

  “No more hitting?” I asked.

  “No more hitting,” he agreed. “No more violence.”

  After a moment of silence, my hand in his, he continued. “So, what’s the deal with you guys anyway?”

  I sighed and rotated the ice pack on my eye, debating how much to say. I decided to give him a short, glossy version of our relationship, leaving out the part where Luca’s friends were threatening to break my kneecaps if I didn’t pay them interest on a loan. After I finished running through the story, Lamb still seemed shocked by the assault, so I guess I didn’t do too good a job at glossing.

  “Reese, that’s terrible. He can’t be here if he’s violent.”

  That was good logic, but I didn’t want to antagonize Luca and give him a reason to disclose my location to his fri
ends. “It was a long time ago, and he’s apologized. Everyone deserves a second chance. Besides, there are a million people around, so I don’t think he’ll try anything here. I can lock my door at night.”

  Lamb didn’t look convinced, but he dropped it for the moment. I took a deep breath and plucked up the courage to bring up the topic I really wanted to discuss.

  “Did you kiss Trixie?” I asked.

  Lamb’s eyebrows raised in shock. “What? No. Why would you think that?”

  “Christina said you did.”

  “What?” His voice raised. “Why would she say that?”

  “I don’t know, but she seemed pretty sure.” I shrugged. I looked at my feet. “It’s okay if you did. I know we’re not dating or anything. I was just surprised, ’cause . . . I don’t know. I thought we had something.”

  I flinched. I sounded so stupid. I was glad the ice pack covered my profile, but Lamb started to remove it again. He was delicate with it, like a surgeon. He put his hands on my cheeks, careful not to touch my injury, and he turned my face so I would look at him.

  “We do have something. Something really special.” He wasn’t blinking. “I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize that.”

  He leaned toward me, hesitantly. I didn’t back away, so he leaned in further until his lips met mine. It was a soft kiss, just what I needed. I don’t know if I fully believed him, but I wanted to. More than anything.

  32

  Ann

  “I’m not sure what she said to you, but I’m betting she deserved it.” Nick laughs as he catches me escaping the vicinity of the infinity pool. My skin feels wet. I want to get inside, escape the humidity. All night I’ve felt as if I’ve been swaddled in a warm, wet blanket. Nick touches my wrist when I don’t respond.