Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
Gabriel comes to stand in the doorway as I finalize my packing and get ready to leave. “Judy, are you sure you want to do this?”
A few minutes ago, he tried to talk to me again about what he did, to apologize and beg for my forgiveness, but I cut him off.
So he switched to trying to get me to change my mind, saying he does not want me to end up disappointed when I don’t find Sadie, as he’s sure I won’t.
Pretending a little too late to care about me, like Scarlett did this morning.
I glance out the windows at the crashing waves, then take a breath to control my emotions before I turn to the man I loved enough to marry, feeling that burn inside my chest from what he has done to me, to us.
As much as I want to lash out at him, I refuse to go there, refuse to give it my energy. I wept enough last night.
What good would it do anyway to fight with him? There’s no longer a marriage to try and restore.
Our relationship no longer deserves my attention. Of course my heart is broken and my ego is bruised, but as much as it would bring me so much satisfaction to lunge at him and claw his eyes out, Gabriel and I are done. As far as I’m concerned, this will end in us going our separate ways.
No point in dwelling on something that can’t be undone, when I need to focus fully on finding Sadie.
“I already said I’m doing this.” I zip up the small suitcase I normally use as hand luggage when traveling on a plane.
He takes a few steps into the room and stands there, shifting from one foot to the other. Gabriel is not the kind of man who is often nervous, at least not in front of other people.
The confidence he brings to the courtroom usually escorts him through life.
But now, as he stands there in front of me, he looks like a child who has been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
I’m the one who had the honor of seeing the weak parts of him.
I just didn’t know he was weak enough to make stupid decisions.
“Judy, before you go, please let’s talk about… I don’t know what to say. What I did…”
“There’s no point. There’s nothing more to explain. You did what you did, and the only thing we can do now is focus on finding our daughter, if she’s still out there.”
The sparkle in his eye gives away his emotions, but he blinks quickly and then reaches into his pocket. “I found out that they no longer allow electronics in the camp. Apparently, they used to for the adults, but now the rule applies to all guests.”
I already know that from visiting their website. That’s why I didn’t pack my laptop or iPad. But I can’t go in there without any contact with the outside world, so I was going to find a way to sneak my phone inside.
He reaches into his pocket and hands me something rectangular. “This is a burner phone. If they demand to have your phone, give them this one. I doubt they will suspect you have two. I advise you to keep it switched off just in case. It would be great if you keep in touch and update us.”
Us? Him and Scarlett? It almost sounds as though they are married, and I will be updating the couple.
I swallow the hot lump inside my throat and take the phone, dropping it into my handbag. My main phone is in a hidden side pocket. Unless they scan me, they won’t know I have it.
He shoves his hands into his pockets and remains standing there. He doesn’t look ready to go away.
“I should get going.” After hours of waiting, I’m ready to get out of here.
Gabriel attempts to take my suitcase from me, to carry it to the car, but I reject his offer, stepping away from him. “I’m fine. I’ll manage.”
I wheel the suitcase past him and on my way down the hall, I see Scarlett standing in front of her door, holding Coco.
I don’t say anything to her, just walk straight to the front door, wondering what they will be doing without me here.
If they’re really no longer together and are just friends as they claim, what if being alone in the apartment sparks what they felt for each other back then and they pick up where they left off?
I did tell them they could do whatever they wanted now.
I didn’t mean it. I’d never feel comfortable with my friend being with my husband even if he’s no longer mine.
The thought causes tears to flood my eyes, but I stop them from spilling out. Again, I remind myself to let it go, for now.
But inside my car, I lean my head against the steering wheel and close my eyes tight; they’re hurting so much from crying and lack of sleep.
Then I glance up at our apartment. Even as I fight it, I wish I could see through walls, see them, hear them, to know what they’re saying about each other and about me.
I shake my head and start the car.
Less than ten minutes later, I’m on the winding, palm-lined road that leads to the camp.
My hands tighten around the steering wheel as the white gates come into view, sunlight flashing off the metal like a warning.
I slow the car to a stop just inside the entrance and follow a discreet sign pointing toward guest parking.
For a moment, I don’t get out. I sit there with my hands resting on the steering wheel, breathing shallowly.
I count to twenty, forcing myself to stay present, pressing my tongue against the roof of my mouth until the nausea eases.
If Sadie has been inside these gates for six months, then turning around isn’t an option.
Two guards stand a few feet away, dressed in dark navy uniforms with subtle earpieces, their posture rigid and watchful. Beside them are three women in identical attire. Soft gray linen trousers, pale-blue button-down shirts with the camp’s insignia embroidered over the breast.
As soon as I step out of the car, one of the women approaches with a bright, warm smile.
“Miss. Ellis?” she asks.
“Yes.” Hopefully, they won’t suddenly recognize who I am and turn me away when I’ve already made it this far.
“Wonderful. We’ve been expecting you. I’m Marianne Sullivan.” She extends a slim hand. Her grip is cool and firm. “Welcome to Saltspray.”
Another woman joins us, mirroring the same polite smile, the same stillness. The third lingers just behind me, close enough that I’m acutely aware of her presence.
I’m impressed by the warm welcome. Do they receive everyone like this?
I glance past them, deeper into the grounds. The camp is uncomfortably quiet.
A small fountain trickles softly at the center of a circular courtyard. Around it, a handful of children sit on stone benches or on the grass, reading books, sketching, or staring at the fountain water. They look calm and happy.
As I follow Marianne along the seashell path, I get a sense of déjà vu, but I shake it away.
I’m relieved when we step into a reception building made mostly of wood and stone.
It smells fresh and clean, the kinds of scents one would expect in the high-end spas I’ve been to. I love the sight of lush plants climbing the wall, bringing nature inside.
I know this camp used to be more traditional years ago, but I’m really loving this rebrand into something more modern, with its focus on growth and self-actualization rather than the usual elite camp concept.
Still, reminders of the old legacy remain, like the wooden crest mounted on the wall behind the reception desk that holds brass plaques engraved with the names of returning families and the dates they walked through the camp’s doors.
There must be a tennis court nearby because I catch the sounds of tennis balls hitting a racket and the faint shrill of a whistle.
This place still has history. It hasn’t been erased. And strangely, that comforts me.
Marianne gestures toward a smooth wooden desk where another staff member is waiting.
“Unfortunately, before we get you settled, Miss Ellis, we’ll need to take your phone,” Marianne informs me. “I’m sure you’re familiar with our rules. They’re listed on the website.”
“I need it for work.” I have to seem reluctant so they don’t suspect I might have a backup plan.
“I understand,” she replies, her tone low and soothing. “But all guests surrender electronic devices during their stay. It helps with healing and detachment.”
A padded lockbox appears on the counter, and left with no choice I pull out the phone Gabriel gave me and place it inside. An already prepared label with my name is taped to the box, which soon disappears behind the desk.
Forms are signed, and questions asked and answered. Then I repeat everything I’ve already told them on the phone about why I need to be here, that I’m depressed and need to disconnect.
I make sure to act the part too, hunching my shoulders and forcing just enough tears to my eyes.
But then something slips inside me. And suddenly I’m not pretending anymore but full on sobbing.
Between gasps for air, one thought pushes through.
I have to find my daughter.
Because without her… I have no one left.