Beneath the Marigolds

by Emily C. Whitson

  Luca rubs the back of his head and nods. I stop wriggling.

  “Fine,” I say to Nick. To Luca: “Tell me what you did with Reese.”

  “Nothing. I swear to God. I didn’t even know she was going to be here.”

  “That’s bullshit,” I say. “So Lamb just hit you for no reason then?”

  “No. Well, yes. He hit me when he learned about the order of protection. The fucker broke my nose. I couldn’t see straight for a week. I’m not saying I didn’t deserve it, but I’ve changed since then.”

  I stare more closely at his nose. It seems fine, but it has been about five weeks.

  I tap my foot, cross my arms. “So I’m just supposed to believe that Reese’s abusive ex-boyfriend shows up a mere few weeks before she disappears, and it’s a total coincidence?”

  “Abusive is pushing it,” he says. “It was one time.”

  Nick and I give him a look, and he puts his hands up in defense. “Look, there’s nothin’ I can say that’ll change your mind, but that’s the truth. I saw her that one day, that was it. The rest of the retreat I stayed out of her hair.”

  I’m about to protest when I hear Christina’s deep voice behind me.

  “Ann, I need to talk to you.”

  She’s between two handlers, and her eyes are the size of small slits. I don’t know how she found me so quickly. She was outside, all the way down on the beach, and there was no one near the kitchen, aside from Nick, when I entered. I want to tell her to fuck off, that I’m in the middle of something important, but I doubt that will end well, not with her enormous bodyguards by her side.

  “Fine,” I say through gritted teeth.

  Christina turns on her heels, and I can tell our conversation won’t be pleasant.

  “I’m not finished with you,” I mutter to Luca as Christina exits the room. I’m almost out the door when Luca calls after me.

  “She was upset about Lamb. If you find him, I’ll bet he has answers.”

  “I’m working on it,” I mutter under my breath.

  42

  Ann

  “Sit down,” Christina says as we enter the talking room, alone.

  I close the door behind me and take the seat opposite her. My temples throb. My blood boils. I squeeze the arms of the chair until my nails tear the fabric.

  “Why is Reese’s ex-boyfriend here?” I ask.

  “Luca? He’s one of my cooks. I had no idea he was connected to Reese until she arrived.”

  “So you know their history then?”

  “She told me as much when she discovered he was here.”

  “And you didn’t think to do anything about it?” I’m shouting now, but I don’t care. “Maybe, I don’t know, fire him?”

  “He’s a great worker,” she says evenly. “He never gave me a reason to doubt him. I believe everyone deserves a second chance. I would think you, of all people, would understand that.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She sinks back in her chair. For the first time, I realize there’s a sadness there, under the surface, behind all the polish.

  “I don’t know,” she sighs. “Everyone on this retreat has failed in some way to develop a healthy, successful relationship. My job is to give them another opportunity before it’s too late.”

  “Too late, as in reaching the age of thirty-five?” I scoff.

  “More or less,” she says. “After thirty-five, it’s harder to have children, so your chances of having a family dwindle. If you’re still single at thirty-five, no prior marriage, it starts to become distasteful. People take pity on you. They whisper behind your back. They believe there must be something inherently wrong with you.” She sounds like she’s rehearsing a speech, and then she seems to ad-lib. “Trust me, I would know.”

  I’m not sure how to respond to that, so I mutter under my breath: “This is so fucked up.”

  “We can agree to disagree.” She smooths the hem of her skirt. “The fact of the matter is, Ann, that you are staying at my place, attending my retreat, and while you do, you will abide by my rules. If you don’t like them, you can leave. But I can’t have you interrogating the participants. Threatening my staff. Sneaking around the house and looking for clues. I put up with your behavior at first because of your . . . let’s call them special circumstances. But now, I’m fed up. You’re making a mockery of my business.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about Lamb?” I say.

  “What?” She seems to break, just for a second. But perhaps I’m just imagining that. “What about him?”

  “You said Reese didn’t connect with anyone here, and I’ve heard from several others that she did.”

  Christina sighs, closes her eyes, and rubs her temples.

  “Reese didn’t leave engaged or in a committed relationship. I don’t consider that a ‘connection.’ Just a fling.”

  “But you lied to me. Why?”

  “I didn’t lie. I just told you—we have different definitions of the word connection.”

  “Is it because something happened to him? He’s missing too, but I’m sure you already knew—”

  Christina puts her hand up. “Enough. I’m tired, Ann. So very, very tired.”

  Her head is lowered at an angle that highlights the dark circles under her eyes. Without the intense lights in this room, I don’t think I would have ever noticed.

  “I don’t ever want to hear Reese’s name again,” she continues. “If you’re only here to follow some trail of nonexistent breadcrumbs, then I can arrange for you to go home. As soon as today. There are a lot of people who actually want to be here to fulfill a dream, and if you don’t believe in that dream, then there’s no point continuing this journey.”

  My heart pounds in my throat. I take a deep breath, try to think rationally. I could continue to be stubborn, but then I would leave the retreat empty-handed. I’ve come this far, and the answers are this close—I can feel them at my fingertips, just within my grasp. If I could reach a bit further, then I would hold something tangible. But I can’t do that if I’m not on this island.

  So I nod. A tacit surrender. A white flag.

  “Do you want to go home, Ann?” she clarifies.

  “No,” I whisper, so soft it’s barely audible. “I don’t want to go home.”

  “Okay, then.” She exhales. “No more mention of Reese while you’re here. Is that clear?”

  I nod again. “Clear,” I mumble.

  “Now, is there anything else you’d like to discuss. Perhaps your budding romance with Nick?”

  I swallow, try to formulate an appropriate answer. I don’t want to play this game anymore, but I have to. I tell Christina what she wants to hear. I answer all her prodding questions.

  As I sit there, I study the talking room. I hate it, this room. In this small space, there are no windows, no photographs, no design. No color. Just white walls cornering me on all sides. It’s suffocating. It reminds me of a mental institution. Maybe it’s fitting, though. Maybe—just maybe—I’m losing my mind. I’m making wild accusations without reliable evidence. I’m making decisions based on my intuition, not on facts. I’m close to being evicted from this island. I’m about to be fired from my job for taking advantage of someone under my supervision.

  And the worst of it is that a part of me doesn’t care. Finding Reese is my main objective now, and I know, I know, in my heart of hearts, that something terrible happened to Reese while she was here. I’ll continue to search for her if it kills me.

  43

  Reese

  A couple hours later, Magda knocked on my door. It was time to get ready for the nightly cocktail party, and she was here to do my makeup. I knew I was a mess. I could feel the swelling in my face, the puffiness around my eyes. The rapping continued, intensifying.

  “Reese,” she yelled. “Let me in!”

  I didn’t want her to see me like this, but I also couldn’t not let her in.

  “One minute,” I said. I wiped my cheeks and checked
my appearance in the closest mirror. It was just as bad as I had feared, but there was nothing I could do about it in the next thirty seconds. I sucked in my breath and I opened the door. I kept my face turned toward the floor, but Magda didn’t miss it.

  “Vhat happened to your face?” she shrieked.

  “I’m sorry, Magda.” I winced. “It’s been a rough day.”

  She screamed and turned on her heel. She muttered various curse words as she padded down the hall. I wasn’t sure where she was going, but I was glad to be alone. I shuffled to the bathroom, turned on the faucet, and splashed cool water on my face and neck. I huddled over the sink and took deep breaths, trying to calm myself down.

  “Reese?”

  I jumped at the nearby voice. It was Christina, hovering over the end of the marble sink. The running water must have muffled her footsteps.

  “Christina, hey. I didn’t hear you.”

  “Magda said you were upset. She went to get you some ice.”

  I pressed on my cheeks in a futile attempt to both hide my face and bring down the swelling. “I’m fine. I’m just tired.”

  Which was true. I was exhausted. We hardly got any sleep, with the early mornings and late nights. We also didn’t eat much, with the odd meal times, so I felt like I was constantly low on energy. Or short-tempered and hangry. I wondered if I would have acted differently—not hitting Nick, not crying so much over Lamb, being more careful with my words—if I was rested and satiated. I didn’t even have a distraction at the retreat, so all I could do was focus on the participants, my love life or lack thereof, and the same circular thoughts. Sometimes, it felt like I was going crazy. Like Teddy sobering up and stuffing a check in his pocket. Did I imagine that, or did that really happen?

  “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked. “We could go to a talking room.”

  I sighed. I didn’t have the stamina to filter my responses. “I really, really don’t.” I reached for a hand towel to dry a lingering wet spot on my cheek.

  “I think it’ll help to talk it out,” she prodded.

  “What do you want me to say?” I finally snapped. “That you were right? That Lamb was sleeping with someone else? That, no matter what I do, I seem to end up with the same, shitty guys? That there’s something so wrong with me that I can’t hold on to someone for even a week?”

  I instantly felt bad about my outburst, but I was too embarrassed to apologize. I threw the hand towel onto the marble sink, flopped down onto the vanity stool, and covered my face in my hands. It was quiet, and then I heard Christina’s footsteps. I prayed she left the room. Of course, I was wrong. I felt her tap my forearm a minute later.

  I glanced up to find her on the other vanity stool. She had moved it from the second sink so we were arm’s length apart. Her expression surprised me. There was a sadness there I hadn’t recognized before.

  “There’s nothing wrong with you,” she said softly.

  My eyes moistened at the unexpected kindness. When I didn’t respond, she continued.

  “I’ve been around shitty people my whole life. At first, it was an act of rebellion. I was mad at my family for abandoning me, so to get attention I found the most destructive people I could. And then, it just sort of became a habit.” She was speaking to me, but I could tell she wasn’t really speaking to me. Her shoulders were hunched, and she was staring off to the side. “Maybe it’s a form of masochism. Penance for the wrongs you think you did.”

  I didn’t know what to say. Up until this point, Christina had been so closed off, revealing so few personal details. I was curious about her, of course, but I didn’t want to pry if she didn’t want to share. And now that she was sharing, I couldn’t believe we had something in common. She always seemed so poised, so indestructible.

  Christina met my gaze and held it. She opened her mouth, as if she was about to say something.

  Of course, Magda came rushing in before Christina could vocalize her thought.

  “I got ze ice,” she cried, waving the pack in front of her. Magda’s entrance seemed to bring Christina back to the present. She sat up, crossed her legs, cleared her throat. Whatever she was going to say, she seemed to have changed her mind. She took the ice pack from Magda and handed it to me.

  “Thank you, Magda,” Christina said. “Why don’t you go work on another participant?”

  “But she’s the last one.”

  Christina shot her a look, and Magda nodded in understanding. She left, and Christina and I were alone again. When my bedroom door clicked shut, Christina continued: “Anyway, the point is: You’re better than that. Don’t let other people’s opinions define you.”

  I nodded, scrunched my eyebrows. She was being vague, but I thought I understood what she was saying. I needed to dust myself off, get back out there. This sounded good in theory, but the reality was I was just too tired. Christina seemed to read my mind. In another rare instance of compassion, she rubbed my shoulder.

  “Why don’t you lie down for a few hours? I’m not supposed to let participants skip the beginning of the cocktail party, but we can make an exception this once.”

  “Thank you,” I sighed. I almost started crying again, but Christina held her palm up.

  “No more tears,” she said.

  I nodded. “Okay.”

  When she left, there was an eerie silence that filled the void. I crawled to my bed, sank into the mattress, and closed my eyes. I tried to shut out all the thoughts bouncing around in my head. Lamb and Trixie. Teddy’s check. Christina’s confession of sorts. Right before I drifted off to sleep, Christina’s words came back to me: I’m not supposed to let participants skip the beginning of the cocktail party. That seemed like an odd thing to say. I thought she didn’t answer to anyone.

  44

  Reese

  I woke to a light tap, tap, tap on my forehead. I swatted at it, but the pressure increased. I opened my eyes enough to see Magda, tapping her forefinger between my brows. The slit in my eyes, combined with her proximity to my face, created a fish-eye lens, making her upturned button nose appear bigger than it was. Her gaze crawled down to meet mine, magnifying her eyes behind her large rose-rimmed glasses.

  “Vakey, vakey,” Magda said.

  I pushed myself up with my elbows. The room was hazy. I felt like someone who had risen from the dead.

  “Ve need to do your makeup now,” Magda said as she pressed a cool compress to my eyes. “It’s been few hours and eyes are vorse.”

  “Okay, okay,” I said, using both arms to create some space between us. “Give me just one minute, and then I’ll come sit for you, okay?”

  Magda harrumphed and muttered something incoherent under her breath. She shuffled her little legs quickly to the bathroom, not shifting her weight, making her appear more robot than human. I threw my legs over the bed and tried to shake the last vestiges of sleep.

  When I arrived downstairs twenty minutes later, my fog still was just starting to lift. It was also pitch-black outside, the sliver of moon hidden behind clouds, and I was used to starting the cocktail party at sunset. Everything felt off. I accidentally bumped into Nick. He was talking to his two female friends, and his face contorted when he saw me. Awesome, I thought. Just awesome.

  “I’m sorry, Nick,” I said. “I just woke up, and I guess I’m still feeling a little dizzy.” I waved at his lady friends. “Hello girls. Excuse me.”

  Before I could leave, Nick grabbed my elbow.

  “Hey, you sure you’re all right?” His brows were furrowed, his lips pursed. His lips seemed so soft—like clouds.

  “I’m not sure,” I replied. “No. Yes. No, I’m fine.”

  “Let’s get you some water, okay?”

  “Um, all right.” This was very surprising. When had Nick decided to forgive me? Nothing made sense anymore.

  He led me outside. I glanced over my shoulder to offer an apologetic look to his now-unhappy companions.

  While Nick ordered an ice water from the bartender by the pool,
I glanced around at the other participants. I noticed Trixie, on one of the sofas closest to the patio doors, stroking Lamb’s leg. My stomach lurched, and I turned my back on the sight as quickly as I could.

  “Here,” Nick said as he pushed the glass of water into my hand. “Drink that.”

  I gulped it down, hoping the cool liquid would shake me out of my funk.

  “Thank you,” I said. “That was . . . that was nice.”

  He offered a soft smile as he passed the glass back to the bartender. “Can you refill that?”

  I thought of Christina’s words: You’re better than that. I decided it was now or never to apologize.

  “Nick?”

  “Yeah?” he responded as he grabbed my refill.

  “I’m really sorry, again, about the other night. I feel terrible about what happened.”

  He studied me, seemingly assessing my sincerity. Then his lip curled up and to the left. I hadn’t noticed his lopsided grin before. It was endearing.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “We’re all going a little crazy here.”

  My shoulders fell in relief. I hadn’t realized how much that had been weighing on me.

  In my periphery, I saw Lamb approach, and my shoulders hunched right back up. I wasn’t ready to talk to him yet. I didn’t respond when he wrapped his arms around me.

  “Hey sweetheart,” he said with a quick kiss on my lips. “I missed you.”

  I stood stock-still. I didn’t know what to say. I just wanted him to leave me alone, quit humiliating me.

  “Are you okay?” Lamb asked.

  I nodded. I was afraid if I spoke, my voice would break. After an uncomfortable pause, Nick came to my rescue.

  “We were actually about to go chat.”

  “Really?” Lamb’s eyebrows furrowed. “Why?”