There is another woman in the water’s reflection, lying supine on the beach. When I turn around, I see that the woman is Reese. She wears a tattered white sundress, the shreds of which are blowing in the breeze. Her eyes are closed, her skin pale, her red hair dirty and tangled. She is motionless. She must be dead. I’m afraid to get closer, but I know I have to. When I’m within an arm’s reach, she wakes, violently—her eyelids shuttering open like the lens of a camera. Her eyes are as black as coal. No pupil, no iris, no color. Just like mine. I jump back in terror. She cocks her head at me and sits up on her elbows, her black eyes following me. I crab-walk backward, trying to get away as fast as I can.
“How’s it going to end?” Reese asks. Her voice is faded, distant. Like an echo.
I’m too afraid to respond, so I keep crawling farther and farther away from her. I pause when I feel someone’s legs against my back. I jump at the touch. Scream. It’s my mother, but she is long past dead, her skin hanging off her bones like sheets on a clothesline. She points at her wrist, to the watch she loved so much.
“Time is ticking,” she announces.
I wake with a gasp, drenched in sweat. I throw the sheets off and sit up with a start. My hair is sticking to my neck.
It was just a nightmare, I reassure myself. Just a nightmare.
Once I catch my breath, I realize I feel hungover. Between the nightmare, my vulnerability with Nick, and my sleepless nights worrying about Reese, I’m left feeling hollow. I can still smell the smoke from the cigarettes on my hands, in my hair, on my clothes. It makes my head spin. I take the empty glass by my bed and head to the bathroom, where I fill my cup once, twice, three times with tap water. I drink like there’s no tomorrow.
After a long shower where I rub my skin raw, I head downstairs to the kitchen. I’m normally the first one there, so I’m startled to see Nick with multiple glasses and plates of food.
“Good morning,” he chirps.
“Morning,” I say as I take a seat across from him. “Are you hungry?”
“No, some of this is for you,” he smiles as he slides a mug toward me. “I got you espresso—four shots, right?”
I nod as I take the cup.
“I notice you also like to put ice in your espresso, which is sort of strange, but I got you a cup anyway.”
“It’s normally too hot,” I murmur.
“And, finally,” he continues, “I got you a bagel. I know you normally skip breakfast, but I’ve got to admit, I’m a little worried about all that caffeine on your empty stomach. So I figure some bread can soak up the acid.”
“Thank you.” I feel a flush creep up my neck. “That’s very observant of you.”
“Anything for my girl,” he says with a wink. The phrase echoes in my head: my girl. The words, the gesture, the secrets, the kiss—it’s all too much. It feels wrong.
“So, are you excited for your date today?” he continues.
“Uh, yes,” I stammer. “Yeah, it’ll be interesting.”
With all the excitement of last night, I completely forgot about my date with Teddy. I requested time with him so I could inquire about Reese, and I figured he’d be more coherent during the day. I also asked if we could hike the northern part of the island, as I want to get a closer look at the house for the crew that was pointed out to me by the pilot. I can’t run the distance, so a one-on-one date is the only way I can think to investigate. To my surprise, I was granted both wishes. If Christina were trying to hide something there, surely she wouldn’t approve, right? Of course, she did allow me to come on the retreat knowing my background and connection to Reese. So if something did happen on the island, she’s either incredibly stupid or incredibly arrogant. Or I’m on the wrong track altogether.
No, no. I can’t think like that.
“What do you think about Teddy?” Nick asks.
“Truthfully, I don’t know that much about him. He seems okay, I guess. Maybe a bit of a mess,” I admit as I tear off a piece of bagel. Before I put it in my mouth, my stomach turns. I force myself to eat anyway—if I lose any more weight, I’m going to start having health issues.
“He does like to party,” Nick agrees. His smile fades, and he studies me while I chew. “Just be careful, okay?”
“Why? Do you know something about him?”
“No, no. Nothing like that. He’s just been getting a little more out of hand lately.”
I scan his face for nonverbal clues, hidden meanings. Like I’d read a client, I search for subtle shifts in speech, evasions, lies. But he maintains eye contact and an even tone. He appears to be telling the truth, so I take his words at face value.
“I’ll be careful,” I promise.
Back in my room, safely hidden in the water closet, I take out my phone. I’m hoping for a text from Ned. There are still so many loose ends that need to be investigated. What’s Nick’s background? Who is Christina’s guarantor, Beverly Wellington? Is this Beverly aware of the island’s happenings, or is she more of a silent investor? Is she even a real person? Is there proof that Christina worked on the set of Happily Ever After? If so, did she go by Christina Wellington? And most important, is there an update on Lamb? Has he been located? I would follow up on all these questions myself, but I don’t have the resources at the moment. I tried using my phone’s internet, but it’s been spotty ever since I researched Hawaiian recording laws.
To my disappointment, there’s nothing from Ned. So I text him my daily update. I proceed to filter through my email, to see if there’s an urgent notice from a client, and my heart stops when I see a message from one of the founding partners from the previous day. The subject reads Inappropriate use of company resources.
My finger trembles as I click on the message.
Time sent: 3:06 p.m., December 23, 2018.
Message: Ann, It has come to our attention that you’ve been using one of the new associates, Ned Hargrove, to investigate the disappearance of your friend, Reese Marigold. I don’t need to tell you that the use of his time on your personal affairs is highly unprofessional and against company policy. The other partners and I will discuss an appropriate course of action, and we will schedule a meeting after the holiday break to discuss next steps with you. Be on the lookout for a meeting date and time.
My palms have become so sweaty, and my hands so shaky, that my phone slips through my fingers and lands with a thud on the bathroom floor. I see it crack, the breaks in the glass crawling up the screen like vines. My entire body feels hot. The room starts to spin, and for the second time in two days, I throw up.
When I’m finished, I rest my head on the lid of the toilet and laugh.
36
Reese
After my encounter with Luca, I was too riled up to take a nap. My pulse was pounding in my ears. A flush crept up my neck. I needed to cool down, get some water. I had almost made it to the kitchen when I heard a familiar voice coming from the hallway for the crew. Lamb.
I followed the sound. Why would he be in a crew member’s room? Did Christina move their talk there? If so, maybe I could eavesdrop, hear what he said about me. But just as I neared the hallway, I heard another voice, higher-pitched. Trixie.
“Keep your voice down,” Lamb whispered. “Someone might hear us.”
A smacking sound. Lips on lips.
“Who, like Reese?” Trixie giggled between kisses.
“Yes, like Reese. I mean it, I don’t want her to know about this.”
And then, moaning. Trixie’s moans. Lamb’s moans.
I don’t know how long I stood there at the door. A minute? Two minutes? Ten minutes? It seemed like an hour. I tried to make sense of the situation, but it was like I was paralyzed, the neurons in my brain in a freeze frame. Perhaps my body was generating some sort of defense mechanism, as if it knew that if I fully comprehended the situation right then and there, I would have broken. Or maybe I was already broken, and that’s why these men kept searching elsewhere for the missing pieces. But, isn’t everyone a
little broken? Just a tiny bit? What was it about me that wasn’t enough for someone?
My body snapped out of it before my brain did. I backed away from the door like it was lava on my fingertips, and I found myself wandering outside. The patio was strewn with statuesque, semi-starved bodies, like a magazine cover. Or a graveyard. The sky was bubblegum pink, with cotton-candy clouds. I found myself taking off my shoes. Without stopping to talk to anyone or listen to the chatter, I descended into the water. I went in methodically, using the pool steps. The cold water took my breath away, but somehow I still felt numb. I watched my sundress billow around me like jellyfish, and I couldn’t help but think it was a beautiful sight. I thought about staying under, just for a second, but the burning in my lungs brought me back up for air.
When I emerged, gasping, I discovered Rhea sitting on the edge of the pool, her feet dangling in the water. Her golden hair fell in rivulets onto the lanai, and her enormous eyes were glossy. She looked like a very sad, very beautiful Barbie doll.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
I waded to where she was sitting and put my elbows on the tile. I brushed the hair out of my face, the water out of my eyes, and tried to focus on what she was saying. Was I all right? Again, my body responded before my brain did, and the words were out of my mouth before I could make sure they were coherent. They were, I think.
“Just needed to cool off.”
“I know what you mean. It can get hot in those dresses.”
“Yeah.” I noticed there were bags under her eyes, and her face was swollen. The sight was enough to jump-start the gears in my brain. I couldn’t think about what happened with Lamb, but I could think about talking to Rhea. “What about you? You seem a little . . . bummed.”
“Oh,” she waved. “I’m fine. Just feeling a little blue.”
“Well,” I said as I got up and out of the pool. “Tell me about it.” I sat next to her, but not so close as to get her wet.
“It’s just . . . well, I haven’t really connected with anyone here. I’m starting to feel like I’ll never find my person.”
“Just because he’s not here doesn’t mean he isn’t out there,” I said reflexively. Up until then, this had always been my mantra: your dream man is just one date away.
“But I’m thirty-two,” she whispered. “I’m . . . old. If it doesn’t happen now, I don’t think it will ever happen.”
“Hey, I’m thirty-four, and I don’t feel a day over twenty-five.” This wasn’t entirely true, but I was trying to help a sister in need.
“But you have someone. Lamb worships you.”
I laughed, loudly. It escaped my mouth before I could catch it. I could feel the dam that was holding my feelings back starting to splinter, and I held my chest in an attempt to stop the imminent flood.
“Sorry,” I said after I composed myself. “I, um, have a tickle in my throat.”
“I think I’ll be alone for the rest of my life.” Rhea sighed.
If I had a dollar for every time I’d heard that declaration—usually from women—I’d be a rich, rich lady. I repeated a different mantra, this time Ann’s:
“Maybe there are other ways for us to feel fulfilled.”
37
Ann
This part of the island can only be described as a jungle—the vegetation is rougher, denser, and more tangled than the forest of palm trees that surrounds the mansion. The gnarled roots on the ground are like a thick web that traps us at every turn. I stare at the dappled sunlight through the canopy of trees, little pockets of white in an overgrowth of green, but I’m having trouble concentrating, like I have for the past two hours. I keep thinking about the email from the firm’s founding partner and the potential repercussions. Hopefully, I’ll just receive a slap on the wrist, but I’m aware they might terminate me.
Jesus Christ. I could be fired.
The thought makes me feel faint. I love this job. It makes me feel powerful. So much of my life is out of my control, but this, this is the one aspect of my life that feels stable.
And yet I willingly lied to my partners. I used company resources for non-work-related activities. I took advantage of a new and vulnerable associate. My actions were completely inappropriate. I knew it was wrong, and I did it anyway. I worked twelve-hour days for seven years so I could be the youngest female in the firm’s history to make partner, and now I’ve just flushed all that hard work down the toilet. In a matter of weeks. Gone.
I lean against the trunk of the nearest tree and try to slow my breathing. I feel a panic attack coming on.
“Can we stop for a minute?” I ask Teddy.
“Yes, thank God,” he says as he deflates, wiping sweat from his ashen face. “I thought you’d never ask. Henry—wait up, we need to stop.”
Henry has been ten steps ahead of us the entire hike. He isn’t ambling along as he normally does; he’s walking quickly now.
At Teddy’s request, Henry groans and throws his hands in the air. “We’re almost to the crops and livestock. You’re the one who requested this, Ann.”
“I know, I know. Just one minute.”
Teddy plops onto a fallen tree trunk, panting heavily.
The sight triggers an old memory. An afternoon in the woods with my father, listing the names of the trees. Oak. Pine. Spruce. Before he lost his lumber business, he would quiz me on the different parts of the forest, ensuring I had a good understanding of nature. If I did well, and even if I didn’t, we would conclude the day at my favorite place, Dragon Park. It’s named for its 150-foot-long serpent sculpture, complete with various steps and nooks for climbing. That was, and still is, the primary attraction. But I wanted to spend my time on the merry-go-round. It wasn’t just any carousel either—it was this new, big-kid merry-go-round. Painted the color of cherries, the ride was visible from a mile away. My father and I would spend hours on it. Even after he passed, I’d return to that spot, inhaling the scent of pine trees. I’d pray for a chance to start over, my feet hanging listlessly from a metal swing.
I need a distraction.
“So, Teddy, tell me more about yourself,” I say. “Where are you from?”
“Los Angeles,” he wheezes.
“Don’t tell me: your parents are famous actors.”
“What?”
“Nick’s from L.A., too. His dad is Frank Keyser.”
“Really?” Teddy’s eyelids disappear. “That’s awesome. I knew he lived in Hollywood, but he never told me what his parents did. I wonder if he’d let me meet them. . . . Do the other participants know about this?”
Shit. I probably shouldn’t have said that.
“Uh, you know what? Let’s actually keep that between us. I don’t know if he wants that out there.” When he starts to protest, I continue. “So, your parents. What do they do if they’re not in show business?”
His eyes roam the area, like he has to really think about the answer.
“Accountants,” he says finally. “They own a small firm together. I started working for them after college.”
“Well, that’s cool.”
“Not really. That’s why I drink.”
I laugh, and Teddy offers a coy smile. I push myself off the trunk of the tree and perch on the log next to him. Woodpeckers drill in the distance. A bird shrieks. Mosquitoes hum in my ears.
“Henry, do you have any bug spray?” I ask.
Henry is still in the same spot, hands on hips. “No, but there is a can at the house. We can get it if we keep moving.” He shows us his wrist and points to his watch.
“Okay, we’re coming, don’t worry. Why don’t you join us while we catch our breath?”
Henry taps his foot, crosses his arms. Finally, he gives in and joins us. “Just fifteen minutes, though,” he grumbles.
“We can sync our watches,” I say as I tap my wrist.
He rolls his eyes at my sarcasm. I continue anyway. “Your turn, Henry. What’s your story? How did you end up here?”
Henry bends d
own to tie his shoes. “I was trying to get a job as a waiter,” he mutters as he tightens his laces. “Miss Christina, she was eating at the restaurant when the manager threw me and my résumé out the door. She helped me pick up the copies, said she would give me some work, if I wanted. She was starting this retreat, and she needed help putting it on—organizing the activities, making sure the guests were comfortable, keeping an eye on things. She offered me more money than I’d ever make as a waiter.”
“That was really kind of her.”
Henry meets my gaze. He doesn’t blink. “Not everybody understands Miss Christina’s ways, but I do. She’s the smartest person I ever met. She knows what she’s doing.”
“I’m sure she does,” I nod. Then something clicks. “This restaurant. Was it in L.A.?”
“Yep,” Henry says. “Sure was.”
“That’s a bit odd, right?” I prod. “That so many people here are from the same city?”
Ned’s damn reality-show theory comes back to me. It’s looking more and more accurate. I sit up straighter, making sure my cleavage is TV appropriate.
“Not really.” Henry rolls his eyes again. “Miss Christina is from L.A. She just started the retreat. It makes sense that friends of friends would be the first participants.”
“Is that how you learned about the retreat?” I ask Teddy. The words ‘through a friend of Christina’s’ are halfway out of my mouth when I notice Teddy has become paler. He’s sweating profusely, drops of perspiration streaming down his face.
“Whoa, Teddy, are you okay? Here, drink some water.” I reach for my water bottle, but it’s empty. I check his canteen, but it’s out too. I peer at Henry. “Henry, do you have water?”
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