Beneath the Marigolds

by Emily C. Whitson

  “And Teddy’s drinking?” I ask.

  She winces. “Yes and no. At first, yes. We had him leave early when Reese was here. We thought that would get to her, since she’s so into AA and all that shit. But then, she caught him when he was leaving, a check for his acting in hand, and he was too shocked to act drunk. So when we had him come back during your stay, we thought it might be more realistic if we slipped him something.”

  “You roofied him,” I say evenly.

  Honey stands and starts to pace up and down an aisle.

  “Who’d you get to impersonate Reese on the airplane? An actress with a wig?”

  Honey nods.

  “And the text from her phone about getting away? Did you send that?”

  She nods. “Yeah. We didn’t want anyone to go looking for her. We had to make it look like she really ran away.”

  “You don’t think there were better ways to handle that? You really don’t seem the harm in any of this?”

  “I know!” She stops to scream. “I know, okay? God, everything has just gotten so out of hand. It wasn’t supposed to go this way. We weren’t even supposed to have a second round of this before we found distribution, but the story lines from Reese’s stay got fucked up, so we had to get more guests to shoot additional film.”

  “Why’d you do it, Honey?” I ask, finally vocalizing the question that’s been nagging at me for the past hour. Why?

  She stops pacing, sits on the edge of a seat, head in hand.

  She sighs. “Money. Isn’t that why everyone works?”

  “You have money,” I reply. “Lots of it.”

  She shakes her head. “Power, then. I thought having a kid, playing housewife was what I wanted, but I got bored. I felt like I didn’t have any agency in my own life. Everything was about the baby, or about the marriage, or about the family. I wanted to do something meaningful. I wanted real power, like my dad had. Sure, I have his money, but everyone knows it’s inherited. I wanted people to respect me for me.”

  She slumps into the seat. “So Kris and I decided to put our trust funds to use. She knew things about television from her time in Hollywood, and I’ve always wanted to work in an industry that has real impact. So we invested everything in this retreat and then some. We had to borrow money, a lot of money, and if this doesn’t go well . . .”

  “You did all this to protect your investment?” Now that some of my anger has worn off, I can feel a sob building in my chest. I swallow, in an attempt to keep it down. “You don’t care about me at all, do you? You never have.”

  Honey sits up. “Oh, Ann. Of course I care about you. You’re my closest friend.”

  She starts to stand, to come down to my level, and I hold up my palm. “How could you do this to me? I know you never really liked Reese, but how could you do this to me? After everything we’ve been through?”

  Honey looks like she wants to continue moving in my direction, but she respects my gesture to stay where she is.

  “I know you won’t believe me, but when this whole thing started and I found Nick . . .” She stares at the seat beside her, crossing her arms. “That’s why we accepted you when Reese sent in your application. We hadn’t anticipated that, hadn’t even thought about you as a possible participant. But then I thought: Maybe this’ll be a good thing. Maybe you’ll actually like Nick or someone else. Maybe I could give you what you lost.”

  She turns back to face me, and her voice changes from contemplative to cross. “After the first round of guests and everything that happened with Reese, I changed my mind, of course. I tried to convince you not to come here, but you’re so goddamn hardheaded. I thought about rescinding your spot, but I didn’t want to raise any more flags than we already had. And, on some level, I thought you might still be interested in Nick. God, you don’t know how badly I want you to move on.”

  She emphasizes the last two words with her hands. My skin feels tight. So tight it’ll crush my insides. My next words are softer, almost too quiet to hear.

  “I wouldn’t need to move on if you hadn’t slept with my boyfriend.”

  I don’t know if that’s actually true. I’ve always suspected he cheated on me, but Honey’s always insisted her romance started after my relationship ended. This time, though, she doesn’t try to deny it.

  “Come on, Ann,” she pleads. “The relationship was over in everything but name.”

  My chest gets even tighter.

  “And it’s not like he was just some one-night stand,” she continues with flailing arms. “We’re married now. We have a child together. I love him, and he loves me. Plus, we work together, better than you ever did. Our backgrounds are more similar, our personalities more compatible. I mean, look what happened when you two got together: You became a fucking drunk! You need someone less laid-back, less understanding. You’re fragile, and you need someone who will keep you in check.”

  I look at my feet so Honey can’t see the tears that well in my eyes. For so many years, I’ve thought I deserved my best friend marrying my ex-boyfriend. If it weren’t for my drinking, if it weren’t for me, my parents would be alive. I accepted my punishment, karma’s cruel form of retribution. But now I see the truth: I didn’t deserve Honey’s betrayal. Reese knew this, but I was blind.

  I really don’t know Honey at all. And, as it turns out, she doesn’t know me either. I will my eyes to dry, pull my shoulders back, and look Honey dead in the eye.

  “Reese is still here, isn’t she?”

  Honey studies her feet before nodding.

  “I need to see her.”

  “Ann, what—”

  “Honey.” My voice is stern, controlled. “You owe me that much.”

  After what seems like an hour, she moves toward the exit.

  “Come with me,” she calls behind her.

  60

  Reese

  When the door opened, Christina and Honey were motionless. Honey stood, gripping the door handle with an intensity that could have snapped a weaker piece of wood, while Christina was on the floor. She appeared to have been picking up shards of porcelain. They were in a room similar to all the other bedrooms in the mansion. Blindingly white walls, furniture, carpet.

  “How long have you been standing there?” Honey asked, no inflection in her voice. Christina covered her face in her hands.

  I didn’t know how to respond. I was furious with them, for putting Lamb and me in that situation, for considering hiding his death, and for the grief that would ensue from a cover-up. But I was also terrified. Supremely, unapologetically terrified. They were ready to cover up an accident to ensure there were no consequences to them. My spine tingled at the thought of what they would do to me. I wanted them to pay for what they did to me, and Lamb, and God knows who else, but I had to be smart. I had to get off the island first.

  “I—I just got here,” I stuttered. “I heard a crash.”

  Honey’s eyes narrowed. I had to be more convincing.

  “Are you here visiting, Honey?”

  A vein in Honey’s forehead twitched, even in spite of the Botox. I glanced in Christina’s direction.

  “Where’s Lamb?”

  “Cut the shit, Reese,” Honey snapped. “What do you want?”

  I should have known my acting wouldn’t fool them. I was a terrible liar. I could feel my eyes cloud—at the thought of Lamb lost at sea, at the hopelessness of my situation, and at the realization that people are capable of such unspeakable acts.

  “I want to go home,” I said. It was the truth.

  Honey studied me, her eyes boring into mine like her life depended on it. Then she strode to the edge of the bed, sat down onto the mattress, and pulled at the skin on her neck.

  Christina lifted her head, glancing back and forth between Honey and me. No one spoke for what felt like forever. Finally, without meeting my gaze, Honey said:

  “Could you speak to another guest before you go? We’ll make something up for why you’re leaving early.”

  I
nodded. “I’ll say whatever you want me to say.”

  Honey was eerily still. And then, in a monotone, she muttered: “It’s decided then.”

  We rode back to the mansion in silence. Christina came with me to my room while I changed and she prepped me for what I’d tell the guests that night. Somewhere between my eavesdropping and the preparation, Christina had decided to follow Honey’s lead. We would pretend that Lamb had left the retreat voluntarily, and I was too heartbroken to stay. My heart sank at Christina’s choice. She wouldn’t look me in the eye as we rehearsed my lines. Our true thoughts and emotions hung in the air like an invisible cloak, weighing us down until we could no longer see the light at the end of the tunnel. We were both broken in our own ways, but I think Christina must have been damaged beyond repair. It filled me with an unparalleled sadness to realize this.

  I’ll never know if I could have left if I recited my lines to the other guests. As Magda put on my makeup, and Christina marched back into my room, I couldn’t help but think that I was providing Honey with an alibi, that I was preparing my own cover-up. Maybe I should have gone downstairs and shouted from the depths of my lungs that Lamb was dead, and that it was Honey’s fault. But those handlers carried guns, and somehow I knew Honey wouldn’t be afraid to order them to use them. So my mind, like a broken record, became stuck on one single, solitary idea:

  Run.

  61

  Ann

  Honey leads me outside through a back entrance, where Kris and one of the handlers are whispering. At our arrival, they freeze like deer in headlights.

  “We’re taking Ann to Reese,” Honey says. “Go get the car keys.”

  “But, Ho—” Kris tries to interject.

  “Go.” Honey repeats. “Ann already knows.”

  Kris glances at each of us and then heads inside to do as her sister asks. It’s hard to remember their relationship when we were children, but I could have sworn that Kris was the one who took charge. Perhaps I’m misremembering. What happened with Bear was so long ago. Memory is tricky—it’s like trying to create a motion picture from a few still images. It’s impossible, so we fill in the gaps with informed imagination.

  The rain has abated, and the air feels sticky. I glance up at the sky to see dark clouds still huddled together like an angry mob just waiting for the opportunity to strike. When Kris reappears, unlocks the car with a quick click, and hands the keys to Honey, I feel a raindrop graze my shoulder. A storm is coming.

  “Ann, you can sit in the front with me,” Honey says.

  “Do you want me to come?” the handler asks.

  “Yes, get in the back.”

  The handler walks around to the other side of the car, the gun in his back pocket gleaming in the moonlight, while Honey and Kris expertly traverse the pebbled ground in high heels. I take my own off; I can’t walk in these things.

  Once inside the car, I buckle my seat belt, ensure it’s firmly in place, and then hold on to the center console and the door with a cat-like grip. Honey doesn’t offer her normal reassurances. She heads off on a winding path through the dark woods.

  The only conversation in the car is between the tires and the gravel. I try to focus on what I’ll say to Reese when I see her. I’m elated that she’s alive and safe, but I can’t quite forgive her for putting me through this. I keep secrets for a living; surely Honey and Reese know I could have kept quiet until the premiere. I didn’t have anything to gain from spreading the news, and everything to lose from their silence. I thought they would know that I’d be out of my mind with worry, that they cared more for my well-being. Honey’s actions sting, but Reese’s betrayal severs my heart in two. In one night, in the span of just a couple hours, I’ve lost the two people who meant the most to me.

  We exit the woods, and the second mansion looms in the distance like a gallows. Without the protection of the trees, the rain has open access to the car, hitting with a thousand tiny pitter-patters. Honey turns on the wipers, and through the windshield I notice a larger-than-normal star. It burns bright through the sky’s tears, and for a second, I could swear it’s moving toward us.

  The car slows to a stop, and my breathing evens. Then I notice that we’ve stopped in the middle of the marigold field. We’re about a quarter mile from the second mansion.

  “What are you doing?” I ask Honey.

  Honey keeps her eyes on the road. “We’re here,” she says.

  Honey removes her seat belt and exits the car with heavy footsteps. The rest of us follow her lead. I forget to shut the door, so the car dings in uniform succession. The open-door light illuminates the dark field. I glance around for another house or a small shelter that I’ve missed, but it’s just an open field. Why would Reese be here?

  And then it hits me like a freight train, Lily Marigold’s words ringing in my ear: Reese loved the marigolds. She would get lost in them. There’s an unbearable pressure in my chest, worse than any pain I can remember. Is this what a heart attack feels like?

  “I can’t breathe,” I wheeze. “I can’t breathe.”

  I fall to my knees and gasp for air. My vision tunnels, and I can barely hear Kris’s exclamations over the blood pounding in my ears. I hold myself up with my hands. I feel someone reach for my arm, brush my hair back, but somehow I can’t fully register the touch.

  I know why Reese is in the open field. If I’m being honest with myself, I think I’ve known for quite some time. I just haven’t wanted to face it.

  62

  Reese

  After Honey’s handler broke my finger, I screamed and thrashed as he and his colleague dragged me from the woods to the SUV. Honey was in the driver’s seat, waiting. Christina sat to her right, head bowed. After I was thrown in the car, Christina repeated what she had said earlier.

  “Reese,” she cooed. “It doesn’t have to be like this.”

  “You’re right,” I cried. “It doesn’t. You can still do the right thing. Tell everyone what happened to Lamb. Don’t cover it up. Please. Please. Let me go. Two deaths don’t cancel out one.”

  I knew my words were futile, but a part of me couldn’t give up hope.

  Honey put the car in drive, and the adrenaline convinced me to make one more run for it. Because the handlers had made one mistake—one fatal mistake—when they propped me in the car. They sat me next to the window. If they wanted me contained, they should have placed me in the middle seat, one handler on each side of me.

  Whether this mistake was an accident, a discreet attempt to help me get away, or something more calculated, I’m not sure. All I knew was, I had one last chance.

  I waited until we were moving thirty or forty miles an hour, at least. And then I unlocked my door, rammed it open, and threw myself into the night. I felt something inside me snap as I tumbled onto the paved road in the middle of the forest. Honey slammed on the brakes and threw the car in reverse. But she backed up quickly, went too far. As the wheels approached my neck, I couldn’t help but wonder if she knew what she was doing.

  63

  Ann

  Eventually the pain in my chest subsides enough for me to take in my surroundings. Kris and the handler sit on the pavement with me. We’re soaked, and I have to blink rapidly to see through the raindrops.

  “I thought she knew?” Kris yells at Honey.

  Honey is still.

  “How did it happen?” I rasp. Kris starts to answer, and I stop her. “I need Honey to tell me.”

  “It was an accident.” Honey’s tone is somber, serious.

  “How did it happen?” I have to scream over the impending storm.

  “She jumped out of a moving car. It happened too fast for me to stop.”

  Saliva pools in my mouth. “Why would she jump out of a moving car?”

  Honey puts her hands on her hips, stares at the ground.

  “Honey!” I’m screaming again. “Why would she jump out of a moving car?”

  “Because she thought we were going to hurt her. There was a scuba-d
iving accident with Lamb. It was an accident, honestly, Ann, and nothing good would have come from announcing his death. We wanted to keep it under wraps for the sake of the show and our livelihoods, and that didn’t sit well with Reese. We were trying to reason with her, and she just wasn’t listening.”

  My stomach inches up my throat.

  “So you killed her?”

  “It wasn’t my fault. She jumped out of the car. It was an accident.”

  “And what about Bear, Honey? Was he an accident, too?”

  It’s hard to tell with the weather, but I think I spot tears. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen her cry before. The sight makes my own eyes water.

  “Please, Ann.”

  “It was you in the creek with him that day, wasn’t it?” I cry. “Kris found you, and she took the fall, and you were too much of a coward to come forward.”

  Honey wipes her eyes, smudging her makeup. A trail of black mascara now cuts across her cheek.

  “We were just playing. He wouldn’t kiss me, and I pushed him. Playfully, teasingly. His head fell back and hit a rock. It happened so fast. I was just a kid, Ann. I didn’t know what to do, and Kris took care of me.”

  I crawl to the edge of the road and vomit. All the while, I wonder how I never saw Honey for what she really was: deeply insecure and deeply unhappy. Did she like Bear before he showed interest in Kris? Did she like my ex-boyfriend before we started dating? Maybe a part of her did, but I think a bigger part believed the grass was always greener on the other side. And when Kris took the fall for Bear, Honey learned she could get away with anything.