As a guest of both homeowners.
Then he looked up at me.
I was standing in the kitchen doorway in my bathrobe. I hadn’t slept. I hadn’t brushed my hair. I didn’t care.
“Lauren,” he said. “What did you do?”
“I paid your mother back.”
“Paid her back. For—” He stopped.
I watched it happen on his face. The exact second he understood that I knew.
“How did you—”
I reached into my bathrobe pocket. I took out the yellow legal paper. I unfolded it and laid it flat on the kitchen counter between us, next to the coffee maker, and I smoothed it with my hand.
AGREEMENT. Underlined twice.
Greg went white.
Not pale. White. Like somebody had pulled a plug in his heels.
“Where did you get that?”
“Taped to the bottom of your desk drawer.” My voice came out very calm. Calmer than I felt. “It fell out at three o’clock this morning. Along with every stamp we own.”
