Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
The young woman who escorts me down the stone path—after I pull myself together—walks at an unhurried pace, her posture relaxed, her hands clasped neatly behind her back.
The path curves away from the central courtyard where I saw the children earlier, the sound of the fountain fading behind us as we move deeper into the grounds.
The path narrows as pines close in overhead, their branches weaving a green ceiling that filters the sunlight.
Low stone walls and manicured hedges now shield the teenage residents’ area from view. We abandon the sunny lawns for something quieter.
Halfway down the path, the woman glances over her shoulder.
Suddenly she halts and turns to me. “I’m sorry, I completely forgot to introduce myself. I’m Elena.”
Her voice carries a bright, rehearsed quality, like someone who’s memorized their lines for a play. She can’t be more than twenty-three.
“Judy,” I reply, accepting her outstretched hand.
She resumes walking. “This side is for adult retreat guests,” she explains, gesturing ahead. “We recently piloted the program. It’s separate from the teen residences for safeguarding purposes. The board was very clear about that.”
The farther we go, the more peaceful it becomes. When we stop, it’s in front of a single-story lodge partially hidden by trees.
Inside, after navigating a hushed hallway, Elena unlocks a door. “Your room,” she announces. “I hope it meets your needs.”
I step into a meticulously designed space: honey-colored wood floors, natural stone features, furniture in muted earth tones. Potted plants occupy every corner. But unfortunately, the windows overlook trees, not the beach.
I hesitate, then gesture toward where I know the ocean must be. “I thought I might have a room with a view of the water.”
Elena gives me an apologetic smile. “I know. Most people would prefer that. But the waterfront cottages are reserved for legacy families and long-term retreat bookings. This was our only availability on short notice. I assure you, it’s fully equipped and very private.”
“It’s perfect.” At least I made it inside this place.
I venture deeper into the room, taking in my surroundings.
A massive bed dominates the eastern wall, framed by floating shelves holding rocks and books about nature. The sheets are pure white and uncreased. A desk sits beneath the window, and beside it is a chair upholstered in moody gray. There’s also an armchair by a small fireplace.
The space whispers quiet luxury at its best. It’s all natural materials in earthy tones that echo what I’ve seen throughout the camp. Polished wood, smooth stone, and lots of plants.
But I don’t see a coffee machine anywhere and that weighs on me a little. I need my daily fix of three cups.
“This is your itinerary for your three days with us.” Elena hands me a neatly folded booklet.
“On there you will find all the guided reflections, wellness sessions, and other activities. Some are optional, but there are a few we consider essential to the process. We emphasize autonomy here. Participation is encouraged but not enforced. There’s also a map of the grounds, and a list of amenities. ”
My eyes dart over the schedule. Yoga at dawn. Meditation before breakfast. Journaling sessions and nature walks filling the daylight hours. A “Mindfulness” workshop. None of it matters, of course. I only came to see if my daughter is here and convince her to come back home.
I look up. “Are there opportunities to go into town? I was hoping to explore Saltspray Cove while I’m here.”
Elena’s smile remains fixed, but something flickers behind her eyes. “We recommend guests remain on campus during their stay. It helps maintain immersion and consistency,” she says, each word measured.
“What if there’s an emergency?”
“If someone does need to leave for any reason, we simply consider the retreat concluded at that point.”
“Of course.” I nod, careful to keep my expression neutral. “I’m here for the full experience anyway.” I better not make her suspicious.
“I’m so pleased to hear that.” Her smile widens to reveal perfect teeth and a dimple on her right cheek.
“Everything you need is provided,” she continues, pointing to a small panel by the headboard of the bed. “That connects directly to me, your personal counselor. Whatever you need, you ask for me only.”
She backs toward the doorway. “Lunch begins in thirty minutes in the central hall. I’ll leave you to settle in.”
Elena lingers at the threshold, her gaze locking with mine one final time. Then she lifts her hand in a delicate wave and gives me a bright smile, before disappearing down the hall.
I close the door behind her and stand very still before going to check out the bathroom, which doesn’t disappoint. A deep stone tub stands proudly next to a rain shower. Plush white towels wait in perfect stacks on a wooden bench.
All this must have cost a fortune, funded by the wealthy, powerful donors. The large donations I made to this camp when we were here on honeymoon and shortly before we sent Sadie here must have helped as well.
Having been handed flyers about the camp, I’d known about their work with underprivileged children, the ones no one else seemed to want to deal with. It had felt like the right thing to support.
I unpack quickly, then I pull my phone from my bag to send a single message to Gabriel.
I’m inside.
That’s all he needs to know for now.
The screen goes dark as I power the phone off and tuck it away in a hidden pocket.
Sadie’s face flashes in my mind, reminding me why I’m here.
After doing some quick stretches to ease the tension in my back, I dress in black, loose linen pants and a white blouse, then follow the path to the dining hall.
Long wooden tables stretch across the sunlit space. Teens sit in small groups with their counselors, who are college-aged, wearing polo shirts with the camp insignia stitched over the heart. The adults occupy a smaller cluster of tables near the back.
The kids look happy and healthy. A few laugh, and one male counselor leans down to listen to a boy speaking animatedly with his hands.
I scan each table methodically, searching for Sadie’s dark hair, the particular way she tilts her head when concentrating, her habit of rearranging food before taking a bite. She’s nowhere.
My stomach tightens as disappointment settles heavy in my chest. I tell myself not to panic. She could be late, or maybe she already ate and left. Or maybe she’s not hungry.
Still, her absence makes my heart ache.
I retreat before my staring draws attention and make my way toward the buffet lining the far wall of our segregated space.
The meals are very healthy. There are roasted vegetables arranged by color, grain salads with seeds and fresh herbs, and steamed greens with just a little oil.
The fruit display is spectacular: pineapple spiraled into coils, mango sliced into flawless fans, bowls of a great assortment of berries so luxurious they seem to glow in the light. So many more fruits, some of which I don’t even recognize. And everything smells fresh.
As I reach for an apple, a woman slips into a seat at a nearby table.
“Hi, I’m Quinn.”
She’s in her mid-thirties, dressed in a green and white striped shirt dress. Her dark eyes are bright and intense, and her hair is tied back in a shiny braided knot at the base of her neck.
“I’m Judy.” I offer her a smile.
“First time here?” she asks. “Alone or as an accompanying adult?”
“Yes, and alone. I’m part of the pilot adult group, and you?”
She nods. “There are three of us lucky ones apparently.” She points to a bald man at another table talking to a twentysomething male waiter with a mop of curly dark-brown hair.
“My son has come here three summers in a row. When I heard they were expanding into adult retreats, I wanted to experience what he has told me about. He never stops talking about all the fun he has when coming here. It has cost us a pretty penny over the years, but it’s worth it seeing him so content. ”
“He loves it here that much?” Is that how Sadie felt, that she fell in love with this place so much she decided to stay for good?
“He does, and so do we. No child comes here and leaves unchanged.” She pops a red grape into her mouth, while looking at the teens. “People trust this place. After what happened six months ago, they doubled security and locked gates leading to the beach after dark. It really reassured us.”
Quinn stands and, humming, drifts to a nearby tea station. “Want some? It’s a blend of chamomile and something else,” she asks over her shoulder. “It’s refreshing.”
“Sure,” I accept, my mouth feeling dry at the thought that my daughter wanted to escape from me. Was I really such a terrible mother?
Quinn returns with two cups and places one in front of me. The scent is herbal, faintly sweet.
“Thank you.” I take a long sip before I realize how thirsty I am. It’s delicious.
Quinn sips hers, eyes unfocused, almost dreamy. “It’s soothing, isn’t it?”
I nod, letting the warm liquid coat my throat. I push back my chair and drift toward the fruit display. My fingers itch for something to do besides clutching this cup.
As I select slices of pineapple and pear, my eyes drift toward a narrow side window at the far end of the dining hall.
Through gaps in the hanging plants that partially obscure the view, a woman appears—her hair a shade of blonde so pale it borders on white, and something about her strikes me as hauntingly familiar.
There is something about her posture, the way she stands ramrod straight with her chin tilted slightly up. My body recognizes her before my mind can form the thought, and a gasp steals my next breath. No, it can’t be.
She shifts slightly, and sunlight catches the edge of her profile.
I sink into the nearest chair, memories flooding back with physical force: whispered secrets after curfew, our ritual of counting ceiling cracks, pinky promises sworn in darkness.
She turns and it feels like she’s staring straight at me, or through me.
There’s no mistaking her.
Megan Hale. My roommate from when I was a child.
Gabriel and Scarlett aren’t the only ones with secrets. They have no idea I’ve stayed here before.
Years ago, I was one of those less fortunate, sponsored kids. Here for months, at Saltspray Cove Youth Camp, with Megan.