Page 25 of Beach Reads
The trunk dips down behind me, settling under the weight of my suitcase, then slams shut. The echoing thump is so final. The bodyguard prowls back across the driveway, one hand to his ear as he gives an update, and I’m left all alone.
Fine by me. I stare out of the tinted window at the ivy climbing the front of my father’s mansion, pointedly ignoring the smugness radiating from Lilian as she waves us off.
There’s no time to be sad. No time to mourn my beloved bedroom, or the rest of my belongings, or the fact that my father didn’t even bother to say goodbye. No time to think about Oslo, and the whale watching tour I had planned.
I don’t want to chat with the driver anyway.
Vengeance is on my mind.
Whit
Ilock up the private villa for this afternoon’s arrival, keying the code into the pad beside the door. Poppy Elizabeth Lennox.That’s quite a name. I scan her intake notes on my tablet and find a history of reckless behavior; no contact wanted with other patients; a strictly low carb, low sugar diet; private therapy sessions only and a request for immediate medication. She sounds…
Well. She sounds like a handful.
Her father specifically requested that we keep her onsite, because Poppy is a danger to herself and to the public, and she’s liable to flee. His statement was countersigned by Poppy’s own doctor.
Hmm.
I scroll down Poppy’s profile, my mouth flattening into a line. Her head shot stares up at me from the tablet screen, and it’s somehow the surliest photo I’ve ever seen. Long dark hair is scraped back in a pristine bun; her makeup is flawless. The crisp points of her eyeliner look like deadly weapons.
Poppy is pouting. She glares at the camera with ill-concealed distaste.
Yeah. A handful.
The midday sun is bright and warm, palm trees swaying on each side of the villa path. I focus on my surroundings, blinking away the lingering image of angry gray eyes, but my chest is oddly raw as I turn away from the accommodation.
A fine layer of sand crunches beneath my shoes as I stroll back toward the communal areas, the tablet tucked under one arm, waving at several patients when they call to me from the pool. I change direction, walking over to meet the nearest guest.
The Honey Cove Institute is more retreat than institution. Plenty of people come here bracing for the worst, for pills that make them feel sick and for group therapy sessions that tear their darkest secrets wide open, but often we find what they really need isrest.
Time to lie by the pool.
Time to read and reflect.
Time to finally stop running from whatever they’re afraid of, and face their fears in a supportive environment. Of course some do need more, and those measures truly help them. We provide that too.
But though I may be a medical man, I’ll never prescribe a drug when a few weeks by the pool will do the trick.
“Hello, Janice.”
The woman on the nearest sun lounger beams up at me. In her late fifties and widowed, with tight bleached blonde curls and tanned skin, Janice has taken to the rest-and-relaxation culture here with gusto.
“Is she here yet?”
We haven’t had a new patient at Honey Cove for over a week. It’s a small place with a community feel. Whenever we get a new arrival, there’s always a flurry of excitement.
“Not yet.” I don’t mention the ‘no socialization’ request on Miss Lennox’s form, nor the fact that I’ve prepared the most secluded villa for her. It’s confidential, anyway. “Did you sleep better last night?”
Janice rolls her eyes, her lips pursing, and after a few minutes of listening to the widow recount her night, I sit on the edge of an empty sun lounger, the tablet resting by my side.Janice is still going, tripping over her words in her rush to get them out, and this, to my eyes, should be an official symptom of loneliness. Word dumping.
It’s like all the unsaid things get stuck, lining up on a person’s tongue, until the dam bursts and they finally come out in a garbled flood. I smile faintly, nodding in encouragement as Janice goes on.
She’ll have to repeat it all later in our official session once I have her notes in front of me, but for now, this is what she needs. A friendly ear. A chance to let it all out.
Will Poppy Lennox need a friendly ear? Smoky gray eyes drift through my mind, and I stiffen, sitting straighter on the lounger. The warm breeze rustles through the foliage beside the pool, and the deep blue water is calm.
Across the pool area, someone snores loudly and rolls over on their towel.
