“Oh, do yourself a favor; check you don’t look a mess, because we both know how you feel about looking messy when meeting new people.”
“I don’t think mockery is necessary at this point.”
“I’m serious, get up and check yourself, like right now.”
Sighing, I walked over to where a tall mirror rested just above the floor, making it fine for anyone who didn’t tower over it. Which meant I had to bend down. I made sure my suit jacket was okay, pulling at it to cover my broad shoulders. Hunching, my dark features came into view: olive-toned skin and dark eyes, from my mother. My thick, black hair was from my father, along with a broad jaw and chin. I was doomed to have thick brows that I worked to keep from getting bushy, as both my parents had them, though my mother had kept hers trimmed for as long as I could remember. My father always teased me that it was unfortunate my face was made for scowling, and Hannah was quick to point out that, for me, that was fortuitous.
“After all,” she’d add with a grin, “imagine if he had a face for smiling? It would be wasted.”
My dear sister, always able to find the bright side.
“I am presentable,” I said with a sigh, straightening. “Are you happy?”
“I’d ask you the same, but we both know any happiness you feel is fleeting and prone to being buried lest you risk enjoying life.” Credit to her, she sounded fond when she said it. “Feel better?”
“Not particularly,” I muttered, but I suppose I did. Not because of vanity, though I knew I had a handsome enough face to make up for my dour expression. Mostly, it was because the idea of showing up somewhere new, where people were expected to heal, looking a mess, was intolerable. Bad enough that I had to go to some retreat for healing and recovery, even worse if I showed up looking like I desperately needed either.
It was a job, and nothing else.
A car pulled up to the curb. “I believe this is my ride. So, if you’ll excuse me.”
“Good luck, Mr. Rowan Thompson. I hope your time at the Arete Resort is as fulfilling as it is healing.” She ended the call before I could tell her what I thought.
Sighing, I grabbed my suitcase and made for the station’s doors. The car idling at the curb wasn’t marked, but the driver asked my name when I approached, and once I’d confirmed I wasn’t about to be kidnapped, I let him slide my suitcase into the trunk before getting into the back seat.
“All set?” he asked, sliding into the driver’s seat.
“Yes,” I said curtly as my back seized from long hours sitting still, and I leaned forward slightly as the muscles tried to wage war with each other.
“Alrighty,” he said, just shy of being too perky, but if he was bothered by my short reply, he gave zero indication as he pulled away from the curb, flipping on some music at a reasonable volume.
Trying to ignore the twang of protesting muscles, I turned my attention to the job at hand, which was kicking off now that I was headed for the resort. The car was clean, inside and out, and I couldn’t detect any troubling noises. Good, they kept their vehicles well-maintained. The driver was nothing special, but he wasn’t offensive. He had attempted friendliness and, when shot down, had gone about his job without batting an eye.
I looked him over and found that while he wasn’t wearing a uniform, he was dressed reasonably well—nothing that would attract attention, but neat and clean.
It was important to make sure everything I witnessed and experienced was catalogued and appraised, including the first person I interacted with and how they handled things. Considering his driving wasn’t bad, I decided to relax a little before the full assessment started.
I could certainly give high marks to the view. The roads were smooth and wound back and forth through the mountains,allowing passengers to take in the vista below. The upper peaks glistened with white caps atop gray rocks, surrounded by pure blue. Everything below was a sea of green and brown stretching for miles; the hills and cliffs giving the illusion of a sea of trees. I wasn’t sure if you could drown in that kind of sea, but the idea was unsettling, and I pushed it away.
Not that the sight did much for the pain, but it was beginning to ease. The last thing I needed was the occasional pothole jolting me. What I wanted was to reach into my jacket and pull out the pills I’d stowed in a hidden pocket, but that was a bad idea. The retreat was a ‘clean living’ facility, and the only drugs allowed were those necessary for the preservation of health, though there were exceptions for pain management.
When I’d seen that while reading over everything in my office, I’d snorted. At a lot of these ‘wellness’ resorts and camps, the idea of painkillers was anathema to their ‘clean’ doctrine. Apparently, the Arete Resort was run by a different breed of people. At least they had the sense to know that no matter how ‘clean’ you were, some people needed pain management to get through life. To my annoyance, doctors had all decided I was not that person, and no amount of money or threats could dissuade them. I strongly suspected my parents or sister had interfered, probably because they suspected, without proof, that I had been abusing my pain medication.
They were right, and their hearts were in the right place, but damn them.
I lost track of time, but at some point, I became aware of less traffic on the road. Eventually, there were no other vehicles, especially when we pulled off the main road onto a narrow path. The fir trees grew thick, and even with the windows up, I could smell the rich, fragrant dirt and the needles wafting through the vents.
Eventually, the trees began to thin and then broke, opening into a clearing. I leaned forward, curious about what lay before us. I had only seen a few pictures of the place and knew the basics, the better to pretend to be a standard resort resident. The driveway, if that’s what you wanted to call it, turned from a rough path into gravel that led up to a concrete patio. The entrance to the building was built into the side of the mountain, an elegant but striking facade of mountain stone, lined with metal beams and punctuated by tall panes of glass that sparkled in the sunlight.
The wall of stone that made up the mountainside blocked the view of the rest of the facility, but I thought, near the top, I could see the corner of something peeking out that didn’t look natural. It was gone as the driver swung the car around the circular drive to the broad pavement leading up to the doors. The car rolled to a gentle stop, and the driver got out, popping the trunk. I looked around. The smell of the forest was thicker now I was outside, and there was a dampness to the scent that wasn’t unpleasant, but spoke of lake water and pleasantly soft mud.
The doors leading into the lobby slid open, revealing two men walking toward me. One wore a suit and took measured steps, while the other, shorter and younger from the looks of it, wore loose-fitting clothes and smiled widely when he saw me. The older of the two was slower to respond emotionally, his eyes sweeping over me. The younger man spoke first. “Hello there, you must be Rowan.”
“I am,” I said slowly as I approached, not sure who to hold my hand out to. “I take it you are Mr. Wentworth?”
“Reggie is fine,” he said brightly, taking my hand. “And this is Mr. Shepherd.”
“A pleasure,” I said, shaking the older man’s hand as well, albeit with less enthusiasm than Reggie had done with mine. “Iwasn’t aware there would be a meet and greet with the heads of the resort.”
