Beneath the Marigolds

by Emily C. Whitson

  Neither of us responded to his question. Instead, Nick guided me toward the entrance, calling over his shoulder: “She’ll catch up with you later.”

  Lamb looked taken aback, maybe even a bit jealous. A small part of me was happy about that.

  The front of the house was quiet, save for the chirps from the forest and the gurgling of water from the fountain. I was starting to feel more lucid. Nick and I sat shoulder to shoulder on the front stoop. He ferreted a pack of cigarettes out of his sport coat.

  “You mind if I smoke?”

  I shook my head. Truthfully, I thought smoking was gross, but Nick was being kind to me when I didn’t deserve it.

  “Thank you,” I muttered. “For what you did back there.”

  He shrugged, lit his cigarette. “You saved me earlier, so I was just returning the favor.”

  He had made a bit of mess with those two girls, but at least they both knew there was another woman involved.

  “Do you know which one you’ll pick?” I asked.

  “No idea.” He laughed as he pocketed his pack of smokes. “Maybe neither. There’s something missing. That spark, you know?”

  I nodded, but I was starting to wonder if the spark was overrated. Or maybe my spark was just broken.

  “Do you wanna talk about you and Lamb?”

  I rubbed my eyebrow. I really wish people would stop asking me about it. I felt stupid enough already.

  “Not really, if that’s okay.”

  “Fair enough. But, between you and me, Lamb’s a dumbass. Trixie . . . Trixie’s not someone you want long-term.”

  So I guess everyone knew about Lamb and Trixie besides me. I really was an idiot. I rested my chin on my hand.

  “I don’t really know her, but she seems fine. She’s pretty.”

  “Pretty isn’t everything. And if we’re comparing looks, Trixie’s got nothing on you.” He exhaled, and I couldn’t read his expression through the smoke. “I think you should talk to Lamb. If you give him an ultimatum, he’ll choose you.”

  “But he lied to me,” I exclaimed. “Multiple times. I won’t be able to trust him again.”

  I had said I didn’t want to talk about it, but I guess all it took was some prodding and some compliments from Nick. I was so stinking easy.

  “We’re supposed to be exploring our options here, and Lamb was doing that. He shouldn’t have lied about it, but he didn’t want to mess up what you two had. People make mistakes. I’d give him a second chance.”

  “I give second chances way too easily.” I laughed. “And third chances. And fourth chances. I told myself things would be different on this retreat. That I would be different.”

  He exhaled the last drag of his cigarette and stubbed the remainder out. “Well, then at least talk to him. Tell him how you feel. Or talk to Trixie. Just don’t let them walk all over you.”

  I shrugged.

  He patted me on the shoulder, and I turned to face him. With his broad shoulders and deep-set blue eyes, he really was beautiful. I could see why other women fell for him. I could see why Ann would have fallen for him—or his lookalike, anyway.

  “At least think about it,” he said.

  I opened my palms. “I’ve got nothing else to do here.”

  He chuckled. “True, true.” He stood up then, brushed off his pants. “Well, I guess I’d better get back inside, clean up my own mess.”

  “Good luck,” I replied. “And thank you again.”

  He offered a corkscrew smile before he opened the front door and disappeared inside.

  I sat on the front porch until my backside fell asleep. I still wasn’t ready to face Lamb or Trixie, so I wandered over to the luxury SUV parked in the driveway. I noticed the stars were brighter than normal. They punctured the sky like diamonds, tiny pinholes of light in an endless black. I lowered myself onto the pebbled ground, laying supine so I could better admire the stars. They really were beautiful, and I hadn’t appreciated the island’s beauty enough.

  I almost nodded off, despite the small rocks in my back. Even with the nap, I still felt exhausted. Empty. I was in that transition period between wakefulness and sleep when I heard footsteps on the driveway.

  “Did you hear Christina’s in trouble with the boss?” I recognized the husky voice—it was the handler with the eye tattoo.

  “Yeah.” Another handler, though I’m not sure which one. “For mishandling a situation with a participant, I hear.”

  My curiosity was piqued. The boss? I thought Christina was the boss.

  The footsteps were getting closer. I wanted to continue eavesdropping, so I did the dumbest thing imaginable: I rolled under the car. Gently, of course, so as not to disturb the gravel too much. The handlers were too busy talking to notice.

  “Yes, Reese.”

  Mishandled me?

  “Apparently she saw the check,” he added.

  I took in a sharp breath. So I didn’t imagine that. Was Christina paying him? If so, then for what? I was fully awake now, every nerve in my body in overdrive, and I could feel the rock fragments digging into my skin with a new sharpness.

  “Yep. Christina’s in for it now.”

  “She sure is.”

  They laughed. And then, a click. The car unlocked. The handlers stepped inside, the car buckling beneath their weight. The undercarriage was inches from my nose. The engine started. A rush of hot air and the smell of gasoline enveloped me.

  I’ve heard the primal reactions to fear are fight or flight. From my own experience, I’ve learned that’s not totally true: some people freeze. And in that moment, I was frozen.

  The handlers put the car in drive. The wheels dug into the gravel, rocks sputtering into the air. I closed my eyes, waiting for the inevitable. The blackness. But the wheels stayed straight.

  Even after the car was long gone, I remained immobile.

  45

  Ann

  I pace back and forth in my room. I count my steps. I count the trees outside. One, two, three. One, two, three. I walk from the window to the chest of drawers so many times that my feet seem to leave permanent indentations in the carpet. How am I going to continue to investigate Reese’s disappearance if I can’t mention her name? I could ask around more discreetly, but what if there are cameras and microphones? And if there are, then who else is in on this production? I can’t trust anyone here. Not really.

  I remove my phone from its hiding place and go through the usual routine of blocking my door and hiding in the water closet. I have a missed call from Honey, which I ignore. And another from Ned. I shouldn’t ring him back—I’m already in hot water—but I can’t help myself. I dial his number. When he answers, his voice isn’t as chipper as it normally is. It’s low and muted.

  “Ann, I’m glad I caught you. There’s something—”

  “I know, Ned. I got an email from the partners this morning.”

  I hear a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the phone.

  “Gosh, Ann. I’m so sorry. I know you told me not to work on Reese’s case at the office, but I just got so invested. I got careless. That nosy secretary—the one with a really tight bun and uppity nose—”

  “Sherry,” I say. It’s one of founding partner’s secretaries. I’ve worked with her on a few projects, but I found her work subpar. She always seemed to be more interested in office gossip than actual work. Oh, the irony.

  “Yes, Sherry.” Ned exhales. “I guess she caught me looking at some news articles about Reese a few times, and then, once she got suspicious, she started following me to the bathroom. She overheard our conversation about Lamb and went straight to the partners.”

  I wince. I told Ned to never call me about Reese while he was at work. I also advised him to use a personal cell phone and a personal email, so as not to use company resources. It’s not that personal affairs are forbidden at the office, but it’s frowned upon if it takes up too much time and eats into your billable hours. And it’s definitely frowned upon if you ask for extensiv
e help from subordinate employees, and their billable hours slip.

  “Ned, it’s okay. I was the one who asked you to get involved in this. It’s on me. And honestly, it’s probably fine. As long as your billable hours haven’t slipped, I’ll likely just get a slap on the wrist.”

  “Well . . .”

  Shit. I press my forehead against the wall. I should have known. Otherwise, the partners wouldn’t have made a big deal of it.

  “How bad is it?” I ask with closed eyes.

  “My hours dropped by about thirty percent the past week.”

  Goddamnit, Ned. I want to reprimand him, but I can’t. I asked him to do this. Granted, I asked him to do this in addition to his normal work—not in place of it.

  “Okay, it’s okay.” I say this to Ned as much as to myself. “We just need to cut it off. Do not work on this anymore. I’ll work directly with Pat from now on.”

  I honestly should have done that from the beginning. But Ned was so eager, so helpful. And he had recent experience with criminal law—he knew better than I did what could be prosecuted and what couldn’t. Pat has been out of the FBI for fifteen years.

  “Fine, but since it’s Christmas Eve, can we at least discuss it until the office reopens? There’s no work for me to miss. And I do have some news . . .”

  I should say no. I should hang up the phone right now. But I’m too far gone.

  “What is it?”

  “They filed a missing person report for Lamb.”

  I don’t know whether I should be excited or heartbroken.

  “How’d that happen?” I stutter.

  “After I talked to his parents, his mom called him repeatedly. After twenty-four hours of no response, she called around to his friends, anyone whose phone number she had. She posted the situation on social media, and everyone said the same thing: No one has heard from him since the retreat. So, she filed a report.”

  I feel like weights are situated on my chest.

  “My God, this is terrible.”

  “I know,” he whispers.

  After a pause, Ned continues to talk, and my mind drifts. Ned’s voice fades. I stare at a dent in the floor—a nick in the otherwise smooth marble—and wonder how it got there. Surely Christina wouldn’t allow such a blemish in her perfect bathroom? I reach out to touch it, to feel the sharp edges on my pointer finger. I dig harder, and harder, and harder, until my skin tears. A drop of blood drips onto the white tile.

  “Ann?” Ned calls. “Ann, did you hear what I just said?”

  I put my index finger in my mouth to stop the bleeding. It tastes like metal, and the texture makes me queasy.

  “Sorry, yeah. Repeat that one more time.”

  “Pat is bringing this to the FBI.”

  “That’s good,” I huff. I rub my forehead. There’s a pain behind my temple I can’t shake. “Surely now they’ll look into the retreat, with a double disappearance.”

  “I hope so. They’re idiots if they don’t. But . . . it doesn’t help that Reese and Lamb are both known to be flighty. I know you don’t like to hear that, but I just want you to be prepared.”

  “I know,” I say.

  After a beat, Ned calls my name again. “Ann?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I think you should get out of there.”

  46

  Reese

  When my heart rate slowed enough to stand, I stumbled inside. My mind buzzed from what I had just overheard. Teddy’s check. In trouble with the boss. Mishandled Reese. I needed to find Christina.

  The noise level had risen several decibels since I’d been outside. The participants were louder, their speech slower, their eyes glazed. I searched in the kitchen, in the living room, and outside on the patio, but Christina was nowhere to be found. I decided she must be in a talking room, so I started checking each one. I had a couple left when I felt a hand on my wrist. Lamb’s blond hair was in my periphery, his forehead lined.

  “We need to talk,” he said.

  “Can we talk later? I’m trying to find Christina.”

  I tried to ignore the increase of my heart rate as I turned the door handle of another talking room. Empty.

  “Do you know where she is?” I asked. I didn’t glance back at Lamb as I headed for the next room. I heard the patter of his footsteps behind me.

  “I assume with a participant,” he called. “Reese, can you wait up? I know you know, and I need to explain.”

  I still didn’t know what I was going to say to him. Luckily, I didn’t have to deal with him just yet, as the next room contained Christina. She was deep in conversation with Nick, their voices low. They seemed startled, which wasn’t surprising given my abrupt entrance. What was surprising was a twinge of fright in Christina’s eyes.

  “Reese,” she said. “Can I help you?”

  “Christina, I need to speak with you.” When no one responded, I continued: “It’s urgent.”

  Nick and Christina exchanged concerned glances, and then Nick stood up to leave. “No problem,” he said “We were wrapping up anyway.”

  He grabbed Lamb’s shoulder and guided him out of the room before closing the door. I lowered myself onto the chair that Nick had occupied. I had to blink a few times before my eyes adjusted to the lights—it was always much brighter in the talking rooms than in the other areas of the house.

  “What’s going on?” Christina asked.

  I had been so focused on finding Christina that I hadn’t planned exactly how to approach the topic.

  “I . . . well, a few things are bugging me.”

  “Like what?” She shifted in her seat, crossed her legs.

  “Like, I saw Teddy leave here with a check. Why?”

  “We offered a partial refund.” She said this a beat too quickly, like it had been rehearsed. “Since he left with two weeks remaining, we didn’t feel it was fair for him to pay the full amount.”

  That made sense. But it didn’t explain how he sobered up so quickly.

  “Who’s we? I thought you owned this retreat. I overheard your handlers mention your boss?”

  She was calm. “Like most companies, we have a board of directors. Some investors. I founded the retreat, and I run it, but I still have to answer to the board and the investors.”

  I wasn’t the most savvy businesswoman, but that sounded plausible. Maybe I was manufacturing drama where there wasn’t any. The handlers referred to the “boss” as a singular person, but perhaps I misheard. Or maybe they meant the board president?

  “Who did you overhear?” she asks.

  “I didn’t see them. Just heard them. They also mentioned you mishandled me. What did they mean by that?”

  Christina was still. She blinked rapidly before scanning the room. She brushed her hair behind her ear before answering.

  “I’m not supposed to let participants skip activities. I told you that earlier.”

  “But why? If someone wants to skip an activity, what’s the big deal?”

  She sighed. “It’s not how the journey works. Since you’re only here for a limited time, we want participants to make the most of it. No missed opportunities.”

  “But,” I stammered. I was running out of questions. “How did the board know you mishandled me? They’re not here, are they?”

  “I report to them every day. We had a call after I kicked off the cocktail party. I shouldn’t have mentioned letting you get a couple hours’ sleep, but they understood, with the circumstances.”

  “Oh.” I slumped into the chair. All of this made sense. Why was I so alarmed? Maybe I really was losing my mind. Christina took advantage of my silence.

  “Have you had a chance to talk to Lamb yet?”

  “No.” I sighed. “I’m not sure what to say yet. I don’t think there is much to say. He wanted to have his cake and eat it too, and I’m not interested in being with someone like that.”

  “I think you should hear him out.”

  How did everyone seem to know the situation with Lamb better tha
n I did? How was I missing so much?

  “I’m going to set up a one-on-one date for you two tomorrow so you can at least clear the air. I’m thinking scuba diving. It’s really gorgeous, and it’s hard to be in a sour mood during that experience.”

  “There isn’t a lot of talking during scuba diving.”

  “No, but you’ll have a chance to connect before.”

  I twirled my crimson hair between my fingers. “Could I go with someone else? I’ll talk to Lamb, eventually, but I want to gather my thoughts before I do so. I just . . . I don’t know. I feel so stupid, still.”

  Her face pinched together, and she drew a long, slow breath through her nose.

  “Okay,” she said. “But then, after that, you can’t put it off any longer. Remember what we talked about: you’re better than that. You need to stand up for yourself.”

  I agreed, but I wondered how long I could get away with avoiding Lamb if I kept asking nicely. She asked if I had any more questions, if I felt more at ease, and I said I did. She inquired about my talk with Nick, my general disposition, and after a few more unsuccessful attempts, my feelings about Lamb and Trixie. I was honest. I didn’t have the energy not to be. After forty-five minutes of conversing, she told me it was time to wind down the cocktail party.

  I offered a silent prayer and slipped to my room quickly so Lamb wouldn’t have time to grab me. I huddled under the covers of my massive bed. I wished, not for the first time, that I had my phone so I could call Ann. She would have known what to do. Because even long after my conversation with Christina ended, I couldn’t shake the feeling that she was lying. There was something, or someone, that frightened her.

  47

  Ann

  It’s been almost twenty-four hours since I talked with Ned, and every minute has felt off. Christmas has never been my favorite holiday, at least since my parents died, but today has been especially disorienting. We had a mandatory group breakfast—a first on the retreat—flowing with Bloody Marys, Irish coffee, and more hot food than is necessary or appetizing in tropical weather. With the earlier start time, I forgot to check in with Ned. I planned to text him after, but there was a group date immediately following the meal. So I told myself I’d message him later, and in the meantime, I needed to keep a low profile, blend in as best I could. I made small talk. I removed Reese from my vocabulary. I let Nick kiss me, hold my hand, run his fingers through my hair. I participated in every single goddamn activity Christina requested.