The Break-Up Retreat(9)

Sandra’s voice, echoing in my head.

“And do you like it?” I ask.

Anna looks out over the pond for a few seconds, the glimmering light bouncing off the water reflected in her gray eyes.

Then she smiles, bright and sudden.

“It’s intense,” she says. “Really intense. But it’s good. I think you’re going to like it here.”

“Well, my experience will probably be a bit different,” I say. “I mean, I won’t be working.”

At this, Anna turns to me, her smile turning into a smirk.

“Trust me,” she says. “It’s definitely going to feel like work.”

A small chill runs up my spine.

“What do you mean?” I ask, light and breezy. Just making conversation.

“Nothing,” Anna says. “Just that it’s hard work. Becoming the best version of yourself.”

Is there a hollow quality to her voice? Did she say that slightly too quickly, as though regretting her initial comment?

For a moment, a name hovers on my lips, a question fueled by the doubt I can almost convince myself I hear in her voice.

But then she adds:

“But I’m sure you are going to love it!”

My resolve dies, and I swallow the question. I remember, once again, what Sandra told me before I left.

The staff worship her. They are not your friends. Don’t trust them. They will tell her immediately, and you’ll be out on your ass, and we’ll both end up either destitute or in prison.

When we reach the fourth cabin, Anna reaches into her pocket, pulls out a little notebook, checks one of the pages and then says:

“Here we are! Welcome to your home for the week.”

She fishes a keychain out of her pocket and unlocks the door.

As I step in, I notice that, just as I was told, my bags are stacked by the bed. The space is small but impeccable; the walls are covered in cream wallpaper with sage-green leaves hanging off of lazily twirling vines, the bed is made up with pristine white sheets, and there is a nightstand next to it, gleaming dark wood with brass detailing.

I do what everyone does when first entering a new room; I walk up to the window and look out. The cabin is slightly raised above the walking path, so that I can see all the way across the pond to the woods on the other side. Even in the soft, dreamy late-spring sunlight, the dark, dense forest looks forbidding. All too easy to get lost in.

“There is a welcome dinner for all the new patients in about an hour and a half,” Anna says. “It’s in the big house at the other end. There’s a map in the nightstand, if you need help getting there, but you should have no problems finding it. Just follow the smell.”

“Oh,” I say. “That’s nice.”

“It’s mandatory,” Anna adds, in a breezy sidenote. “So just make sure to be there on time.”

“Huh.”

“People usually enjoy it,” Anna hurries to assure me. “It’s a chance to meet everyone and get to relax a bit before diving in. Kind of like summer camp.”

I think the summer camp comparison is meant to denote fun and life-long memories, but it doesn’t have the desired effect.

Rather than long, lazy days in the sun, I immediately flash to an old slasher film. Camp counselors being picked off, one by one.

I smile.

“That sounds great.”

Anna still isn’t making any move to leave. I switch my weight to my other foot, feeling a mild twinge in my lower back from the long car ride.

“Is there anything else?” I ask her.

The silence seems to stretch between us, thick and ragged. Anna’s smile grows wider.

“Don’t want to give it up, huh?” she says.

Her tone implies it’s a joke, but her posture contradicts it.

I feel my pulse quickening.

“I’m sorry?” I tilt my head to the side, palms open, signaling confusion, trying to radiate innocence.

A beat passes. Two.

Anna is still staring at me.

She knows.

No. There is no way. How could she know? How could they?

“Your phone,” Anna clarifies, and it takes me a second to understand; when I realize what’s happening, I start laughing in pure relief.

Anna joins in.

I stick my hand into my back pocket and pull out my cell phone.

“Here you go.” I hand the iPhone to Anna, and she tucks it away.

“Any iPads? Computers?” she asks me.

I shake my head.

“Thank you,” Anna smiles. “I promise, we’ll take good care of it.”

“How is the reception up here?” I ask her. “I mean, I won’t have my phone, so I guess it doesn’t matter. I just want to make sure my mom can reach me if she needs me.”

Isobel Anderssen has a mother who is very worried about her. The phone number I’ve given them goes to Armin, who knows that I’m here, as opposed to my actual mom, who has no idea.

“We have a signal booster,” Anna assures me. “Best coverage this side of the Baltic.”

“Must be nice for you guys,” I remark, and she laughs again.

“Don’t I know it,” she says. “I have to get that Bridgerton fix at the end of a long day.”

With a quick wave, she turns around and leaves, shutting the door behind her.