The Break-Up Retreat(51)

“Yeah, exactly.” I exhale.

“I was just. . . . I’m sorry, I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but I was worried you had someone in here.” Anna smiles, not un-sheepishly.

“What? Why?” I’m bemused.

She makes a face.

“Well, you know, it’s stupid, but there are rules against fraternizing. Sexually, I mean.”

“Oh .” I finally understand what she’s getting at. “No, no one is here. Just me.”

Anna smiles.

“Well, I wouldn’t tell.” She winks at me. “It’s a silly rule, really. I mean, this place is supposed to be all about love, right? Who’s to say when you meet the right person.”

“Well, not to worry. The clientele doesn’t exactly swing in the direction of my orientation.” I shrug.

Anna smiles.

“Well, Katarina told me you weren’t feeling well, you poor thing,” she says. “I thought I’d come by and give you some painkillers.”

She holds up the white bag.

“Belinda put a little goodie bag together for you,” she continues. “A couple of paracetamol, and a sleeping pill, if you want to take a nap. I told the doctor you won’t be able to make your individual therapy session this afternoon.”

I reach out and accept the bag, opening it and looking in. Just as she told me, there’re two 500-milligram pills of paracetamol in there, still in the packaging, and a small, round pill which, when I pick it up, says zolpidem .

“Zolpidem?” I read, out loud. “I’ve never heard of this.”

“It’s like Ambien,” Anna says. “Fast acting. It should get you a few hours of decent sleep. I usually try to nap through my cramps.”

I look up at her.

“Don’t you need a prescription for this?”

“I don’t think so.” Anna shrugs. “Martina has a stash in her office. For patients who can’t sleep. Like you, last night. I’m surprised Belinda didn’t offer you any last night.”

“Me, too.” I look at the pill again.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it.” Anna turns to leave. “Sweet dreams, and so on. I hope you feel better.”

“Wait, hold on a second.” I drop the pill back into the bag and look up.

Anna stops.

“What’s up?” she asks me.

“Are you ever . . .” I try my best to sound calm, cool, and collected. “Okay, I hope I’m not offending you here, but you don’t seem like you’re . . . all in on Martina’s practices.”

Anna grimaces. It’s small, and seemingly involuntary; barely more than a twitch.

“I know you’ve only been here for a few weeks,” I say. “But have you heard anything about patients . . . getting hurt? Or . . . going missing?”

“Going missing?” Anna becomes very still. “What do you mean by that?”

“I . . . well, I heard about someone coming here for treatment and not coming back.” I choose my words as carefully as possible. “I was just wondering if you might have heard anything about her.”

“What was her name?” Anna’s voice sounds different, in some way I can’t put my finger on.

“Susannah,” I say. “Susannah Wallin.”

A beat. She stares at me.

Hope flares in my stomach.

Then she shakes her head.

“Never heard of her.” Anna makes a face. “Sorry.”

“Yeah, I figured as much.” I do my best not to show my disappointment. “But you haven’t heard anything else? About anyone else getting hurt, or . . . leaving?”

“No.”

I’m not sure if I imagine the hesitation in her voice.

“Don’t take this the wrong way.” Anna is looking at me like I’m a puzzle, and she can’t find any of the corner pieces. “But why would you come here, if you’d heard that people had gone missing? That seems like a very strange thing to do.”

I need to backpedal, and fast. I got overexcited, took too big of a risk; I have to laugh it off, now, make it seem like nothing, or she might bring it up with Belinda, or Martina, and whichever one of them left that note might decide that a note wasn’t enough of a deterrent.

“God, I’m sorry.” I laugh, going for embarrassment. “It’s the hormones. I get really weird when I’m hormonal. I guess the cramps and the exhaustion and everything . . . yeah. I mean, I figured it was just a weird story. I guess the intensity of group therapy today just really got to me.”

I silently apologize to my foremothers for blaming my idiocy on my period.

“Just . . . would it be okay to keep this between us?” I ask her. “I feel really stupid for even asking. I don’t want Martina thinking I’m running around, seeing ghosts.”

“Don’t worry.” Anna holds out her pinky, and I grasp it with my own, finding it oddly charming. I haven’t done a pinky swear since I was a kid.

“Your secret is safe with me,” she adds, and winks.

As she goes, closing the door behind her, I sit back down on the bed, dropping the paper bag onto the floor.

That’s the second time today I’ve messed up.

It’s so much harder than I expected to find the right balance; to ask questions without raising suspicion, to gather information without getting caught.