I swallowed. “Lauren knows?”
“She knew before you left for Asheville.”
I stared at him.
“No,” I said. “That’s not—”
“She knew.”
My fingers tightened around the pages.
I remembered the morning I left. Lauren had sat by the window in the bedroom, wearing the cream sweater she liked because it was easy to pull over one shoulder. Her hair had been tied loosely at the nape of her neck. I had told her the retreat was mandatory. I had told her the company needed me there. I had told her I would call every night.
She had looked at me for a long second and asked, “Do you have everything you need?”
