The Last Resort

by Marissa Stapley

  “Please don’t say anything,” Grace said, her tone suddenly urgent. “To anyone. About any of this. The only person you can trust here is me. You can tell your secrets to me, but you can’t tell them to anyone else. Do you understand? And we can’t talk about anything in my office. Not anymore.”

  Up ahead, the resort, a scattering of buildings that had seemed like diamonds and garnets and beautiful jewels, looked dull and ominous. There were clouds gathering behind everything, and Johanna and Grace walked straight toward them.

  “What are you doing?”

  Shell looked up from the computer screen. She fought for control. “Did you know about this storm, Ruth?”

  “Miles has it under control.”

  Shell stared at her in disbelief. “You understand he can’t control a storm, right? Especially not a category four.” As she said it, Shell’s voice rose in fear. She couldn’t help it now. The articles she had just read said all flights had already been canceled. There was no way out, not now. Maybe yesterday, but not today. She stood. “Where is my husband?”

  Ruth didn’t reply. She walked over to the computer. She reached forward. She was wiggling the mouse and hitting the back button. “What is all this?” She read for a few minutes, then turned to Shell. “Lies,” she said simply. “No one will believe you.”

  “I think we both know that’s not true,” Shell said, but already, she didn’t believe herself.

  “I think a lot of people in your life probably know you’re a lush.” A cruel laugh. “I think I’ll tell anyone who asks that you snuck several bottles of vodka here and drank every single one—”

  “That’s not true!”

  “I’ll dump them, say you drank them—no one will believe you.”

  “You’re crazy, too. You’re just as bad as he is. Does he pay you, to keep his secrets? Pay you extra?”

  Ruth narrowed her eyes. For a moment, she seemed to be in pain. “It’s not like that at all,” she said.

  “Well, what does it matter anyway? A huge storm is coming. And you’ve hidden it from everyone. You, and Miles, and Grace, too.”

  “We’ve hidden nothing. The internet was down. It must have just started working when you broke into my office.” She raised her heavily penciled brows. “We had no idea.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Oh, grow up a little. You’re acting like a child. So dramatic. You’re safe here. It’s a big storm, sure, but this building is perfectly safe. It’s survived many hurricanes. You have nothing to be afraid of. Now, could you please leave my office? I need to make some phone calls. You should go back to your bungalow and wait for instructions. Do what you’re told for once.”

  “No,” Shell said, willing the waver out of her voice. She had to be strong. She reached forward and opened another article on the screen. “Look. This thing has been building for days. It’s the strongest storm ever to hit the region.”

  “It’s going to be fine, I said.”

  “How can you be so calm? How can you be so evil? No one is allowed phones here, or access to the outside world! No one but you, and Miles, and Grace, I’m sure. This is monstrous. It’s purposeful.”

  “We didn’t plan the storm, Shell. That’s just ridiculous.”

  “I didn’t say that. But you knew. I can tell.”

  “You can’t!” Her voice was sharp. “You know nothing! Go! You’ve done enough!”

  “You know about what he does. Don’t say you don’t.”

  “He’s great at what he does.”

  “He’s a predator.”

  Ruth stared at her for a long time. “You wanted it,” she finally whispered.

  Shell picked up the phone beside the computer. “I’m calling the police,” she said, suddenly certain it was the only solution. She dialed 911. A voice answered her in Spanish. “I need help,” she said, and felt immediately foolish. “Does anyone speak English?”

  A torrent of Spanish in response. She heard the word hurricane. “No, no,” she said, “it’s not about the hurricane. Not yet, at least. It’s about Miles Markell.” She glared at Ruth, who didn’t appear at all concerned. Her heavily made-up face was as still as a stone.

  “¿Cuál es el problema?”

  “Someone needs to come out here.”

  “¿Hay alguien herido?”

  Ruth took the phone from her hand, her grip surprisingly strong as she pushed Shell’s arm down. “Hey!” Shell shouted.

  She began speaking, her voice low, her words fast. “Sí. Sí. Lo siento. Sí sabemos sobre el huracán. Nos estamos preparando. Gracias. Adiós.” Then she hung up.

  “You can’t do this,” Shell said.

  “I am doing this. And you need to leave this room now, or I am going to call Security and tell them that the woman with all the vodka has broken into my office, for the purposes of getting her hands back on her alcohol.” She slid open a drawer and Shell saw them in there, two of the bottles she had brought with her. But one of them was gone. She remembered that familiar taste on Miles’s lips and felt sick. Ruth took one out of the drawer and placed it on the desk in front of Shell. Shell tried not to look at it. Not now. She couldn’t falter now. But just the sight of it had caused her to shake.

  Ruth leaned against the desk, as if they were having a casual conversation. “We get women like you every year or so. Desperate for affection, neglected by their husbands. Miles is handsome and charismatic. He can’t help the way he is. They fall for him. Like you have. And they’ll sacrifice anything, even their own dignity, even the truth, to get him. It never works. It’s certainly not going to work now. No one is going to believe you. You think you have more power than you do.”

  “But I’m sure there are others.” Shell had to pry her eyes away from the vodka. Ruth saw, and smiled.

  “You made your own choices. Don’t ever forget that. Like this.” She reached for the bottle. She held it aloft. “Maybe you want to take this with you. Just take it, and drown your sorrows. Make things a little easier on yourself. Make that choice.”

  All at once, Shell didn’t even have to think about it. All at once, the longing was gone. She had made her choice, she realized, when she sat down at that computer earlier. She had chosen to be the kind of person who was believed—and she would now tell her story to the person who mattered most. And he would believe her, too.

  The sound of her feet was loud on the stairs as she fled. She half expected Ruth to follow, but she didn’t.

  It had rained all day as Johanna had waited, telling Ben first that she was going to a yoga class, and then something vague about a group enrichment session. But now the rain had stopped. The ocean was dark blue, the sky deep into the gloaming. There was a line of dusky peach fading to pale yellow, right along the horizon of the ocean. Dark clouds were above that, but they were distant. And she was finally with Grace again, walking toward her house. “It reminds me of an Astro Pop,” Johanna said, trying to make Grace smile, pointing at the horizon as they walked. The wind was strong and blew her hair out behind her.

  “I haven’t thought about those for a long time. My brother and I used to love those. My father didn’t allow sweets except on special occasions but sometimes we’d sneak to the general store and buy them.” It was the first time Grace had mentioned anything about herself, Johanna observed, about her life outside of this place. It was as if she could do that now that they were outside of the confines of her office.

  “Wow, no sweets, what kind of childhood was that?” Johanna said, but something about the look on Grace’s face when she said that made her regret it. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly.

  “No, no, don’t be,” Grace said. “My family was very religious. That was just the way it was.” She looked toward the ocean for a moment and Johanna got the feeling that normally, this time of day was sacred for Grace. Her alone time. She would walk by herself and th
ink about the things she had heard all day. The secrets, the lies, the truths. She was the helper. Johanna understood this. No matter what else was going on with Grace, she understood this. So she stopped trying to make small, anxious chatter and walked beside her in silence until she reached the steps leading up to their front door. Johanna paused at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Is he in there?”

  “I’m not sure. We’ll see.”

  The villa was boxy and modern on the outside, and airy and light on the inside, completely open concept with a wall of glass at the back leading to a private swimming pool. “It’s gorgeous,” Johanna said.

  “Thank you. We designed it ourselves. We lived in the main villa at first, but it just didn’t feel right. We needed somewhere separate. A little more privacy.” She led Johanna toward the kitchen area while Johanna wished she could just stop and look around, take it all in, every little thing, the place Grace Markell called home. Now, Grace paused and lifted the hem of her harem pants, revealing a hint of redness at her ankles. “My rash looks a lot like yours, see? And I have some ointment I think will work. I get it at a market near here.” Now their eyes met, and Johanna opened her mouth to speak.

  A male voice startled them both, and Johanna’s hand reached, for just a second, toward the kitchen knives on the wall.

  “Hello,” Miles said to Johanna, a quizzical expression on his handsome face. He approached his wife, bent down and kissed her on the lips, lingering for a moment too long while Grace stood motionless and so did Johanna. “I missed you,” he said. “It’s been a long day.”

  “Honey, you’re home,” Grace said.

  “Anything in the fridge? I can’t wait for dinner. I’m starved.” They were like a couple on a fifties’ sitcom. Except something wasn’t right, and Johanna knew it now.

  Grace pulled out of his embrace and reached into the fridge to retrieve a small mason-style jar with a lid. As she unscrewed the cap she said, “I’m not sure. Why don’t you have a look. Johanna has a terrible rash, so I offered her some of my ointment.”

  Now Miles stood between them. “Grace gets that at a market in Akumal,” he said, and Johanna couldn’t read the look that passed between them as he spoke. “Your husband mentioned you’re a fan of jungle markets, too, Johanna.”

  “Yes,” she forced herself to say, hoping her voice sounded normal.

  “Maybe you picked up the rash there?” A raise of the eyebrow, a signature smile. “I hear the jungle is full of mysterious plants. Mysteries in general. Hey—” He paused and tilted his head, like an actor playing a role, and badly. “Do you think it’s possible the two of you were at the same market?”

  Johanna’s gaze flitted to Grace and then back to Miles. She didn’t like the sound of his voice, or what was behind it. She didn’t like that he was trying to intimidate her. She knew he wanted her to be afraid. And she knew she needed to try not to be. She owed that to Grace. “Maybe,” she said, and this time her voice was stronger. She looked at Grace again. “The market I went to was in Puerto Morelos. There was this amazing cenote and I went to get a closer look. I wish I could go back. It looks like the perfect place to swim.”

  Grace dropped the jar. It hit the counter, not the floor. There was a clatter but it didn’t break. “You all right, Grace?” he asked but kept his eyes on Johanna.

  “I am,” Grace said quietly, picking up the jar again.

  “I’ve heard of that cenote,” Miles said. “But it’s not open anymore. Something about a crocodile. At least that’s the rumor I heard. But people still swim in it, I hear. Who knows why people take the risks they do, right? Anyway, Grace tells me the market she goes to is in Akumal. So you couldn’t have been in the same place after all.”

  Grace tells me. Grace’s hand was frozen in midair. Then Johanna watched as she recovered and continued to spoon the ointment out, focused and determined. “I warn you, this is strong stuff,” she said. “Miles thinks it stinks. I kind of like it.” The smell was so familiar to Johanna.

  “That stuff does stink,” Miles said, his mouth now curled in a repulsed sneer.

  Grace shrugged and smiled. “What can I say? I need it. So, what’s the plan for tonight?”

  “Oh, yes, tonight!” Now he was smiling. And the lid was back on the jar. “We’re going to play a favorite game of mine.”

  “What’s the game?”

  “It’s called, ‘Do You Trust Your Wife?’ It’s based on a game show my father used to watch, when I was very, very young. Dick Van Dyke was the host. Not many people remember it.”

  “I’ve never heard of it.” Johanna didn’t want to hold his gaze, so she looked at the knives. There was a big one, closest at hand. She could reach it if she had to, she could reach it fast. “How does the game work, exactly?”

  “It’s a lot of fun,” he said. “Three couples are the contestants. The husband is asked a question and he has to decide whether to answer it himself or trust his wife to answer it.”

  “Why is it the husband deciding whether to trust the wife? Why isn’t it the other way around?”

  “It doesn’t have to be the husband,” Grace said. “The couples choose who gets to be the question answerer. Remember, Miles?”

  “Right,” Miles said, finally taking his eyes off Johanna. “It can go either way. All right, I’m hitting the shower. See you tonight, Johanna. And you’ll be there, too, won’t you, Grace? You’re feeling better, aren’t you?” Questions, orders, commands.

  “See you later,” Grace said. Miles walked up the stairs slowly. They both watched. When he was gone, Johanna moved closer to Grace.

  Johanna put a hand on her arm gently and moved in close to Grace’s ear. “You are never trapped,” she whispered. “You are never trapped until he kills you.” She had said this once to Cleo. And it had been true.

  Grace moved away from her, silent. She picked up the jar she had filled, reached out to hand it to Johanna. Their hands touched and they stayed like that for a long moment. “I know,” Grace whispered.

  They could hear the shower upstairs. Grace stepped closer to her again.

  “It was you,” Grace said. “Right? I saw you, at the edge of the cenote. The one in Puerto Morelos.”

  Johanna nodded. She couldn’t have spoken if she wanted to.

  “It’s not safe to talk about it now. But we will, later. I promise.”

  Finally, Johanna found her voice. It was the words it’s not safe that did it. “You need to go up and get some things. You need to stay somewhere else tonight. Somewhere you can be safe.”

  Grace nodded. “My office. I stayed there last night.”

  “We’ll think of something. We’ll come up with a plan.” We. It was effortless. It was terrifying. But the idea of Miles upstairs was even more terrifying. “I’ll wait at the bottom of the stairs.” Johanna looked to the knife rack, indicated a small paring knife. “Take that with you,” she said. “Hold it in your hand.”

  Grace held the knife pointed downward as she walked up the stairs. It was almost completely hidden. Just a small glint of metal before she disappeared. She was fast. She came down only a moment later carrying a garment bag and a duffel bag, as if she had had them packed already, ready and waiting. They walked to the door together.

  “I’ll shower at the yoga studio,” Grace said. “I’ll see you at dinner, and for the game. But there’s something I need to do first, so I may be a little late. Remember what I told you before, okay? You need to be careful. Don’t tell anyone anything.”

  “I know. So do you.”

  They parted near the villas. The clouds were thick again. Johanna stood and watched as Grace was swallowed by the night.

  Up ahead, closer to the bungalows, Johanna thought she heard a banging sound, over and over. Like someone knocking on doors, endlessly. She stopped to listen, but it was gone. Just the wind and the waves, the gathering da
rk. And Grace, somewhere out there, alone.

  Shell knocked on door after door. Her knocks got louder, more insistent. If Ruth wanted corroborators on her story of an unhinged woman, she had them now, but Shell didn’t care. She needed to find Colin. She needed to explain what had happened. The next few villas were empty. She came to the one she remembered Johanna saying was hers. She would tell Johanna first, if she had to. But when Johanna’s husband answered the door, Shell lost her nerve.

  Ben appeared bemused to see her. “Hi?”

  “I was just—could you tell Johanna I stopped by, please?”

  “She should be back soon,” Ben said. “If you want to wait.”

  “It’s fine, really.” She had fled, moved on to the next villa as fast as she could, then the next and the next. Either a stranger answered, frowning and confused, or no one at all.

  And then, finally, him. Colin flung the door open almost the moment she started to knock.

  “Colin. Please. You have to listen to me.”

  His expression was guarded, but still he said, “I’m glad it’s you. I was going to leave, I’ve been intending to book a flight—but I thought we should talk first. That I should at least say goodbye. It’s gone too far, hasn’t it, Shell? There’s nothing to save of our marriage, is there?”

  “No. I swear to you, it was not what it looked like. What you think you saw with Miles, it wasn’t real.” She started to sob, then forced it back in. What she needed to be now was strong. Stronger, perhaps, than she had ever been. “Please, please, you have to believe me. You of all people. We’ve been through too much for you to stop listening to me now.”

  He let her in. She had known he would. She had known when she finally found him, he would let her in, out of the coming storm. Because he was Colin, and he had made promises to her that he was always going to keep, no matter how far into hell they went.

  The yoga studio was empty. Grace was alone. She waited. She checked her watch. Miles could potentially be expected to miss dinner, but he would never miss his favorite game. Not even on account of her. But still, she waited even longer. Eventually, she went outside again and she walked back toward their villa. All the lights were out.