271 Days
The sun began to peek over the horizon as Rhea sipped green tea from a KeepCup and drove north on the Pacific Coast Highway.
She did not stop to look at Morro Rock, the ancient volcanic plug that loomed over Morro Bay.
She did not even stop to look at the elephant seals lounging on the coast of San Simeon.
Despite the early hour, a large crowd had gathered to watch the seals drag their zaftig bodies across the sand, the male seals puffing their chests and yelling into the void while the female seals rolled their eyes.
She sped past the exhilarated horde, not even turning her head to catch a peek of a flipper.
Eventually, the highway became a narrow two-lane road, hugging a cliff above the ocean, leaving Rhea breathless at each blind curve. It was impossible not to envision her car flying over the railing and landing upside down in the frothy waves below.
Her hands were cramped from clutching the steering wheel, and just when she thought she could not take one more second of tension, a sign appeared.
She followed the sign and turned left onto a long driveway.
She eventually stopped at the guard gate and explained she had a reservation for the weekend workshop.
“Which one?” the kind-eyed, elderly gentleman asked.
“Finding Your Soulmate from Within…”
He checked his clipboard, then waved her through with a Zen smile.
The property was perched on a Big Sur cliff.
She parked under a eucalyptus tree with a rainbow-striped trunk.
She lifted her suitcase out of her Prius and wheeled it across a lawn decorated with wildflowers.
An equally kind-eyed woman checked her in at the front desk.
Rhea browsed self-help books and locally knitted scarves while the woman located her reservation.
“Okay, you’re staying in the Murphy House, and I upgraded you to an ocean-view room; you’re gonna love it.”
The free upgrade and kind eyes were making Rhea feel like she had wandered into heaven on earth or a dangerous cult.
Everything about Esalen was lulling her into a state of relaxation that her hard-earned hypervigilance was fighting against. The woman handed Rhea a map of the sprawling campus and pointed out the essentials: the Lodge, where breakfast, lunch, and dinner were served; the Leonard Pavilion, where Rhea’s workshop would take place; and Slates Hot Springs.
The woman described the hot springs as being “heated by the earth’s inner fires” and assured Rhea she would feel the magical healing properties after just one soak.
Guests were allowed to use them anytime, day or night, and Rhea felt relieved; even if the workshop was a stupid waste of time, the hot springs would have made the whole trip worth it.
Rhea embarked on a ten-minute walk across the campus, passing rolling hills of grass, a saltwater pool, and a garden.
She saw a hummingbird flit through a patch of fuchsia, and her muscles relaxed; hummingbirds were a good omen.
After her mother passed away, Rhea began seeing them more frequently.
Since they were her mom’s favorite bird, Rhea imagined they were her way of communicating from the beyond, letting Rhea know she was on the right path.
Rhea watched the tiny bird dart around the fuchsia and took it as a sign that her mother approved of the workshop. The thought made Rhea smile. Before Sarah Darby’s passing, she never would have approved of exploring one’s emotions with a group of strangers; maybe death had softened her.
Rhea walked across a bridge over a creek, and the sky darkened as clouds rolled over the sun. She looked up at the threat of rain and her muscles retracted; was rain a bad omen? Did the goddess of rain disagree with Sarah Darby and think Rhea should have stayed home?
Finally, she reached her ocean-view room.
She entered the clean, modestly decorated space and looked out the window.
She could see otters playing in the waves below.
She slid the window open. Not because the room was musty, but because she longed to bring the outside in.
She had never seen a more beautiful place, and being cooped up felt wrong; she wanted to buy a tent so she could sleep outside, connected to the lush environment.
Camping.
Thoughts of Danny radiated heat throughout her body.
There were moments on their date when they brushed up against each other—when they reached for a marshmallow at the same time, when he swept sand off the blanket and grazed the side of her boot.
Her skin crackled each time they touched—when he pulled her into a hug on her front porch, when he swept her hair behind her ear… .
She could feel that crackling now, as if he were in the room with her, smiling at her with those stupid, aggravating eyes.
She took a deep breath. The intake of oxygen did not cool the heat; it fanned the flames.
She felt the impulse to say his name out loud, and although she was alone in a room three hundred miles away from anyone she knew, she still looked around to make sure no one could hear her.
“Danny,” she said softly.
She flung herself on top of the white bedspread and moaned into her pillow.
How did he get so deeply under her skin?
A small voice told her to open TikTok…just to make sure he was okay.
What if something terrible had happened and he’d just posted a video of himself lying in a ditch, wondering if that lady he went on one date with would ever show up to rescue him?
She told the small voice to shut the hell up.
Salty air entered the room through the open window, and the sound of waves lulled her body into a state of calm, enticing her to close her eyes. She looked at her schedule to see if she could sneak in a nap, but noticed a “morning welcome circle” was imminent.
She wondered if she could get away with skipping the workshop and just spend the weekend soaking in the hot springs and eating the meals.
Although she dreaded the thought of “delving within” under the watchful eyes of strangers, she forced herself to get up.
She’d made it this far; the least she could do was walk to the Leonard Pavilion.
—
She sat in a circle of about thirty people, mostly women, mostly past midlife.
The Leonard Pavilion was less of a pavilion and more of a giant white tent, albeit an extremely fancy one, with wood floors and delicious heat piped in from an unseen source.
Rhea had removed her sheepskin boots at the door and wore socks like everyone else.
Sitting on the floor wearing socks gave the event the air of an adult slumber party.
She was surprised to see many objectively good-looking people in the group. She had wrongly predicted the content of the workshop would attract only the slime at the bottom of the dating pool, the unlovable few who needed all the help they could get.
The married couple leading the workshop looked like models on a brochure for a vibrant senior community.
Their hair was the most stunning shade of silver, as if they had decided to go perfectly gray at the same time.
They were well-dressed and greeted a few individuals they already seemed to know in gentle voices before taking their seats at the head of the circle.
Rhea clocked shelves full of yoga mats. Images of Danny on a yoga retreat in some exotic place surrounded by taut models filled her head.
She shook it off; she did not drive five hours along a suicide cliff to think about Danny, she came to figure out why she was too broken to be a married mother of three who lived in a Craftsman.
Rhea looked up at a few stragglers entering just in time. Her lungs collapsed when she saw Danny Beckett among them.
Danny.
Her first reaction was to stare at him for an aggressive length of time, because although her eyes were screaming to her brain, Danny Beckett just walked in the door, her brain kept rejecting the information.
Her second reaction was to look for an emergency exit so she could run to her car, leave her suitcase behind, and keep driving north until she reached Canada.
She was making peace with assuming a new identity and mastering a Canadian accent, but the only exit was the door Danny had just walked through.
Besides, he had already seen her and dropped his bottom lip in amused surprise.
“Hi,” he mouthed with the most infuriating smile.
“Hi,” she mouthed tersely back.
Of all the soulmate workshops in all the world, Danny Beckett had to walk into hers. Rhea decided she would sit through the Welcome Circle, then go back to her room, pack her bags, and eat the twelve hundred dollars she had shelled out for the weekend.
The gorgeous gray couple was speaking, but Rhea could not hear them; her eyes were glued to the floor, her ears flooded with white noise. It was not until the woman next to her started talking that she realized what was going on.
“Hi,” the woman said to the circle, “I’m Wendy, I’m from San Fran, and I’m here ’cause I’ve read all your books and they’ve helped me so much, and I just wanted to learn from you guys in person.”
The group nodded a silent acknowledgment of Wendy while the leaders said, “Bless you,” and “We’re so grateful to have you here.”
All eyes landed on Rhea, including Danny’s. He was sitting directly across from her, repressing a grin.
“Um, my, uh, name’s Rhea, and I live in Topanga, and I’m here ’cause a friend of mine recommended it.” Rhea said this at 2x speed.
She resumed looking at the floor and did not look up again until Danny spoke.
“I’m Danny. I’m from L.A. I’ve been to Esalen a bunch and saw a flyer for this and just thought it sounded…interesting. I have no idea what to expect, but I’m low-key terrified.”