Page 14 of Beach Reads: Three Summer Scorchers

T he doctor leaves me at the poolside, depositing me on a sun lounger and all but ordering me to stay like a naughty puppy. He’s unsettled, rubbing at his strong jaw like he might unearth the answers in his stubble, and his shoulders are rigid beneath his white coat as he strides away.

Three sun loungers over, a woman guffaws. “What did you do to Dr Whitaker? I’ve never seen him so scrunchy.”

I squint in the sunshine, craning my neck to peer at her. Palm fronds wave around the pool, making shadows dance across the ground, and my heckler is stretched out next to a stack of beauty magazines.

She’s older than me—in her fifties, maybe.

Bleached blonde curls dance around her cheeks as the woman laughs, shaking her head.

“Did you see that vein throbbing in his temple? Ha! What I’d have paid to be a fly on the wall in that room.

You should give me tips for my next session, hon, because that man is a sight when he’s all riled up. ”

So he is.

Um. “I’m Poppy.”

The woman beams, flashing a smudge of lipstick on her front tooth. “Janice. Welcome to Honey Cove, chicken. We’ve been wondering about you.”

What do you say to something like that? How does a person respond to any of this? I have no idea, so I breeze right past it.

“He’s in a mood.” I wave after the doctor, glancing at where he disappeared down a garden path in a flurry of white coat. “I told him I’m being held captive here against my will and he didn’t like that.”

Janice’s eyes are round as saucers. “Nooo.” She wriggles, getting comfy in her black and white striped swimsuit. “No, I bet he didn’t.”

She waits for an explanation. I don’t offer one.

As an awkward silence stretches between us, I scan the courtyard.

Better that than inviting any more questions.

The pool is lined with deep blue mosaic tiles and filled with sun-dappled water; a stray leaf floats in one corner, spinning around the filter.

It looks blissfully cool. Like sliding into that water would be a path straight to heaven—especially after the way my temperature climbed near Dr Whitaker.

I’m still flushed. Stupid hormones.

All around the pool, loungers are scattered beneath large umbrellas, half of them filled with dozing sunbathers. Down one of the garden paths, there’s a yoga group in session on a patch of grass.

Okay, I’ll admit it. It’s pretty nice here. So nice that if I were on vacation, I’d think I’d won the jackpot.

But this is no trip. The overlords have spoken, and Poppy Lennox can’t control her own life.

“So what are you in for?” I wince at my awkward question, but Janice hoots with laughter.

“This ain’t prison. You make it sound so bad. No, I’m here because…” She trails off, her smile fading. When she speaks again, her voice is so quiet, I nearly miss it. “I’m here for my husband. He passed last year.”

Janice sighs and peers out at the pool. I wait for her to keep talking, heartsick. I’ve never had someone close to me like that, never had my own special person, but if I did and then I lost them…

“I’m gonna swim,” she says suddenly, slapping her bare thighs. “It’s too hot to natter.”

“Sure.” I figure she’s had enough, but when Janice weaves past my lounger a minute later, a pink towel gripped in one hand, she grins down at me. “You coming in? Happy topics only, mind.”

…Alright. There’s a bikini back in my villa, and I’ve got nothing better to do until the doctor’s back and ready to admit that I’m right.

Maybe I can float around and plan my revenge, picturing the look on my father’s face when it leaks to the public that he locked up his own daughter. Freaking maniac.

Those are happy thoughts, right?

“I’ll just be a minute.”

“No rush,” Janice calls as I leap to my feet, my flip flops slapping across the paving stones. There’s no straight path away from the pool: it’s a warren of sun loungers, and I feel like a lab rat bumping around a maze. “Take your time, hon. Not like I’m going anywhere.”

* * *

A shadow falls across my bare stomach a few hours later, and that’s how I know he’s here: the shivers. Sure enough, when I crack one eye open, Dr Whitaker stares down at me from the poolside, his expression unreadable. I shield my face as I squint up at him.

“I borrowed this float from Janice,” I say. “Borrowed. Not stole.”

I know what those notes say about me, but none of it is true. I’m not a thief, or a liar, or any of those other things. I’m just a girl with a secret passport and a desperate need to control her own life.

Dr Whitaker’s frown deepens. A breeze whispers through the courtyard as he squats at the poolside, his elbows resting on his knees. He’s so graceful , so lithe with every movement, his white coat pooling around his bent legs. Like a bronze-haired lion who went to medical school.

“I called your previous doctor.” I tear my gaze away from his thighs. “His receptionist told me he’s out of office. He won’t be available for comment for several months.”

My smile tastes bitter. “Weird, right?”

“Yes, it’s highly unusual. I could call your father—”

“No!” I wince and lower my voice. Janice is swimming laps, her blonde curls piled on her head like a poodle, but I know she’s eavesdropping. If she doesn’t concentrate, she’ll swim right into the side of the pool. “Don’t call him. He’s the one who sent me here.”

It’s crazy, I know, and I’m sure it sounds exactly like all the other paranoid delusions the doctor must hear every day. But those chocolate brown eyes are steady on me. He hasn’t shut me down yet, and as this man waits for me to speak, a seed of hope takes root in my chest.

“Did you take away my phone?”

He shakes his head slowly.

“My purse?”

Dr Whitaker rubs his jaw. “So let me get this straight. Your father took your phone and purse away, and sent you here with false records and strict instructions to medicate. Your father, Peter Lennox. The governor.”

I bite down on my lip so hard I taste blood.

Because I know how it sounds, and I was such an idiot yesterday, stomping around and sniping at this man. I have given him zero reason to trust me. No reason at all.

But I nod anyway. Nearby, Janice bounces off the pool wall and says, “Oof.”

“Why would he do that?”

Because I made a tiny break for freedom. Showed the slightest interest in having my own life.

“Does it matter?” I rasp. When I suck in a deep breath, it smells of chlorine and citrus. “There’s nothing wrong with me. I don’t need to be here, Dr Whitaker, I swear.”

And maybe I’m long overdue for a break; maybe I’ve been unlucky for too long, and the universe owes me something good. Because the handsome doctor sighs and nods, and the seed of hope inside me sprouts a tiny green shoot.

“Yes.” His scowl makes my skin prickle. “I’m starting to believe that, Miss Lennox.”