flexible as an elastic band, the hurt and humiliation of her romance scam long gone, washed clean! She would walk tall, stand tall. She would be ready for whatever happened with the new book. The review would have faded to nothing.
(She could actually feel the review right now, like a sharp-edged corn chip stuck in her throat, making it hard to breathe and swallow.)
She might even—and here she felt a burst of childlike anticipation, as if for Christmas Day—be able to zip that amazing Zimmermann dress all the way up again, the one that used to guarantee her compliments (often from other people’s husbands, which was always so pleasing).
Perhaps her transformed self would go home and write a thriller or an old-fashioned murder mystery featuring a cast of colorful characters with secrets and a delightfully improbable villain. It might be fun to murder someone with a candlestick or a cup of poisoned tea. She could set it at a health resort! The murder weapon could be one of those stretchy green elastic bands she’d seen in the gym. Or she could make it more of a historical health resort where everyone wafted about looking pale and interesting as they recovered from tuberculosis. She could surely throw in a romantic subplot. Who didn’t like a romantic subplot?
“There will be surprises on this journey,” said Masha. “Each morning at dawn you will receive your daily schedule, but there will be unexpected detours and plans that change. I know this will be difficult for some of you who hold your lives with tight fists.”
She held up her fists to demonstrate her point and smiled. It was a stunning smile: warm and radiant and sensual. Frances found herself smiling back and looked around the room to see if everyone else was similarly affected. Yes, indeed. Even the serial killer smiled at Masha, although it seemed as if his lips had been forced up only temporarily without his consent and the moment he got control back he was once again slack-jawed and sullen, pulling at a piece of thread on the fraying edge of his T-shirt.
“Imagine you are a leaf in a stream,” said Masha. “Relax and enjoy the journey. The stream will carry you this way and that, but will carry you forward to where you need to go.”
Napoleon nodded thoughtfully.
Frances studied the still, straight backs of Ben and Jessica in front of her, somehow vulnerable in their slim youthfulness, which didn’t make sense because they probably didn’t say “oof” each time they stood up from a chair.
Ben turned toward Jessica and opened his mouth as if he were about to break the silence, but he didn’t. Jessica moved her hand and the light bounced off an enormous diamond on her finger. Good Lord. How many carats was that thing?
“Before we begin our first guided meditation, I have a story to share,” said Masha. “Ten years ago I died.”
Well, that was unexpected. Frances sat a little straighter.
Masha’s face became oddly jovial. “If you don’t believe me, ask Yao!”
Frances looked across at Yao, who seemed to be trying not to smile.
“I went into cardiac arrest and I was clinically dead.” Masha’s green eyes shone with crazy joy, as if she were describing the best day of her life.
Frances frowned. Wait, why did you mention Yao? Was he there? Keep your narrative on track, Masha.
“They call my experience a ‘near-death experience,’” said Masha. “But I feel that is the wrong terminology because I wasn’t just near death, I was dead. I experienced death, a privilege for which I am eternally grateful. My experience, my so-called ‘near-death experience,’ was ultimately life-changing.”
There were no coughs, no movement in the room. Were people rigid with embarrassment or still with awe?
Here comes the tunnel of light, thought Frances. Hadn’t they proved there was a scientific reason for that phenomenon? Yet even as she scoffed, she felt a tingle of goose bumps.
“That day, ten years ago, I temporarily left my body,” said Masha. She said this with casual conviction, as if she didn’t expect to be doubted.
Her eyes swept the room. “There may be doubters among you. You may be thinking, Did she really die? Let me tell you, Yao was one of the paramedics who took care of me that day.”
She nodded at Yao, who nodded back.
“Yao can confirm that my heart did indeed stop. We later developed a friendship and a mutual interest in wellness.”
Yao nodded even more vigorously. Did Frances imagine it, or did the other wellness consultant