The Break-Up Retreat(19)

“I thought that Martina Hastings had to be the one to be blamed for Susannah going missing. But if Martina had wanted me gone, I’d be gone. So now I’m left asking myself. . . . Is it possible that she’s not involved at all?

“Is it possible that one of the other staff members was responsible for Susannah’s disappearance? That Martina has no idea?

“And how far are they willing to go to stop anyone from finding out?”





Chapter 11


The group therapy room is large and perfectly square, with a circle of chairs arranged in the middle, in a way that reminds me of the fictionalized AA meetings I’ve seen on TV. Flimsy curtains have been drawn at the windows; to prevent others from looking in, or us from looking out, I’m not sure.

There are paintings on the walls, large, abstract canvases in soothing blues and greens. The shapes remind me of Rorschach tests, and I wonder if that’s intentional, or if, ironically, I’m just projecting my biases onto them.

As we sit down, I take note of the others. Is there any possibility one of them left the note under my door? I don’t want to lock into one answer too early; my favorite journalism professor once told me that “Certainty is tempting, which is why it’s dangerous .”

It’s hard to imagine. Clara is looking daisy fresh, pink hair pulled back in a loose braid, her cheeks so smooth and taut the abundance of collagen seems to be taunting me. Leyla looks grumpy but relaxed, which appears to be her standard settings.

Katarina is sitting rigid on her chair, her back straight and her fingers picking nervously at her cuticles. Pernilla folds her arms across her torso as soon as she sits down, eyes pointed at the floor.

If I was to keep an eye on anyone, it would be Pernilla. There is something there, bubbling under the surface. Could it be guilt? Fear?

Rage?

Martina enters the room, and all of our eyes go directly to her. She sits in the one empty chair, and crosses her legs at the ankles without saying a word.

Then she smiles, and the room seems just a little bit brighter.

“Welcome.” Her voice is hardly louder than a whisper. “Let’s begin with a breathing exercise.”

She instructs us to close our eyes, and start breathing in tandem, feeling the rhythm of the others in our chests.

It makes me a little bit dizzy, and after a while, I decide to open my eyes, instead.

“Imagine you are a tree,” Martina instructs us. “You are in the middle of a forest. It is a quiet day. You have been standing on this spot for hundreds of years, and you will stand for hundreds more.”

Her voice is a soothing monotone. I can see the others inhaling and exhaling in perfect lockstep. Clara’s cheeks are flushed; there is a small wrinkle between Leyla’s eyebrows.

“Imagine the sunshine on your branches, and leaves, as you stretch ever higher,” Martina continues.

The note flashes before my eyes again.

GO HOME. THERE IS NOTHING FOR YOU HERE.



It was typed, not written by hand, so whoever wrote it had access to a computer and a printer.

It couldn’t have been one of the other patients, could it?

Unless they managed to sneak into the office. Unless they asked for a favor from one of the staff members. Unless they, like me, figured out a way around the lax security measures.

Unless, unless, unless.

My palms are sweaty. I tell myself I’m being ridiculous; it was a note, not a threat. I can’t let something that small frighten me. I’m a reporter, not a girl detective.

Actually, fuck that. A girl detective would never let a little note scare her. Nancy Drew would spit at a stupid little note.

“Stay there, for a few moments,” Martina continues. “Feel the light on your branches. Feel the strength you are gathering from the roots. You have no obligations; there is nothing calling for your attention. You are not letting anyone down, and no one is expecting anything from you. You are fulfilling your purpose by doing exactly this. By breathing, and drinking in the light, and existing.”

It’s a nice mantra. I decide to go with my own, instead.

I close my eyes with the others, and I tell myself:

You are exactly where you are supposed to be.

That note means that you were right, and there is something here.

You were right all along.

I let my fingers skim over the comforting weight of the recorder in my pocket, and I exhale.

“When you feel ready, you can stretch, and come back to yourself, and open your eyes.”

I open my eyes.

Martina reaches for the cup of tea standing on the table in the middle of the circle. There is a pitcher of water there, too, and a box full of organic tissues.

She smiles at us.

“I like to start the day with a breathing exercise,” Martina addresses the circle. “When we first started our work here, we used to begin with an hour of meditation, but everyone hated it.” She laughs, a little, and Clara immediately laughs with her.

Martina then puts her palm to her chest and lets it rest there, smiling at the rest of us. Let the silence percolate, for a few seconds.

“How did you sleep, last night?” she asks us.

I expect Clara to respond, eager to impress as she seems, but Pernilla surprises me by speaking up.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she admits.

Martina nods, leaning forward a bit.