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Sensing my hesitation, she takes a step back to give me some space. “Digitally detoxing isn’t for everyone but I can assure you that you’ll leave here a different person.”
“Right.”
It’s the first word I’ve uttered, and she appears taken aback, her hazel eyes narrowing slightly, studying me. “We don’t ask you to hand over devices because you’ll have no reception out here anyway. But if you need to contact anyone in an emergency, don’t hesitate to reach out.”
“Thanks,” I say, and it comes out a tad squeaky courtesy of my throat constricting at the thought of having no one to contact now that Mom’s gone.
“Let’s get you checked in, then I’ll have Spencer show you to your room.”
I nod and fall into step beside her, lengthening my stride to keep up with her. At a guess, Cora is around sixty, but she appears a decade younger with her radiant skin, long blonde hair and clear blue eyes. The white tunic should’ve aged her. Instead, she looks like an angel.
I stub my toe on a cracked paver and stumble, pausing to let the initial pain pass. When I glance up, Cora’s two feet in front of me, striding toward the house, and I see it.
The Viking compass, emblazoned on the back of her tunic in vivid turquoise, the same color as Mom’s tattoo, and I’m catapulted back to that awful day in the medical examiner’s office having to identify my mother.
Realizing I’m not following, she stops and glances over her shoulder. “Are you alright, dear?”
I nod, grief making breathing difficult. Focusing on the throb in my toe is almost a relief, a welcome distraction from a distinct urge to sink to my knees and bawl. “Stubbed my toe.”
“Ouch. That always hurts.”
I can’t drag my eyes away from her back and she notices. “Our logo is something else, isn’t it?”
“It’s distinctive.”
Beaming, she nods. “The only one of its kind. My husband’s ancestors were from Iceland so you’ll see a lot of Nordic influence in Arcania. We use Norse mythology and symbolism in a lot of our treatments too.”
“I saw you have an extensive list on offer in your day spa.”
I want to keep her talking about the logo but don’t want to appear too eager. She’s garrulous and if I gently probe for answers, there’s less chance of her clamming up.
“Oh yes, it more than makes up for the lack of access to the precious social media apps so many who come here are addicted to.”
I mumble an agreement and fall into step beside her, when she says, “I notice you aren’t on any social media sites.”
Surprised, I shoot her a sideways glance. Why would she look me up?
“No. I’m not interested in sharing my life with the world or seeing what an old classmate’s dog has eaten for dinner.”
She laughs. “Good for you. It’s unusual, that’s all.”
For a moment, I wonder who’s probing who for information, and I shrug. “I’m far from unusual. I’m more mundane.”
“Then why are you here, Lucy?” Her curious gaze skewers me, like she can see straight to my soul. “If you’re not online much, why do you need to detox?”
I almost snap ‘mind your own business’, but if this woman knows as much about Norse mythology as she proclaims, she may have answers about my mother.
Feeling increasingly out of my depth, I mumble, “I’m a librarian, so I’m online for work a lot.”
“Ah, that explains it,” she says, but it doesn’t, because as she opens the front door and I catch my first jaw-dropping glimpse of Arcania’s interior, I have a feeling Cora’s watching me, waiting for me to slip up and reveal why I’m really here.
Chapter4
Cora
THEN
Harlan hasa flashy red convertible and I feel like I’m in a movie as he zooms along the highway toward Arcania.
