“You told me they’d also received notes. And then later, you added that they would go to extreme means to stop it from happening again. Because they have things to hide.” He grabbed another piece of garlic bread. “I thought it would be useful for the cops to know that.”

Lauren could only stare at the rising steam coming from the breadstick as Graham tore it in two. She couldn’t quite grab on to the memory of telling Graham this. She hadn’t said anything about Andrea being a Vandermeer, had she? And what Ronnie confessed about Esme flashed in her mind, too. Ronnie absolutely had a reason to keep Piper quiet, but if Graham knew that—if Graham had told the cops—Ronnie could lose that child.

“I shouldn’t have said anything about them,” she whispered. “Um, when did I tell you? That other stuff, I mean. The stuff I said about Ronnie and Andrea having things to hide. I know I mentioned the notes Friday. But . . .”

“You . . .” Graham was looking at her strangely. “Saturday night. You don’t remember?” He set down his fork. “I thought this was a good thing. Had I known you didn’t want me to share, I would have kept quiet.”

“I just . . . I said I wouldn’t. I promised them.” Saturday night? She scrambled to remember. Saturday, she’d talked to Kelsey. She’d come home, then, and tried to play with the baby, but she’d felt so nervous, so she’d had an illicit, breastfeeding-taboo glass of wine, which made her woozy. Graham worked late, and she’d fallen asleep on the couch. She’d awakened to the lights snapping off and Clarissa shutting the door, but she’d been disoriented—kind of drunk. Graham had stood over her, and she’d felt a little sheepish, afraid he could smell the alcohol on her breath.

Was that when she’d betrayed Ronnie’s and Andrea’s trust? They’d confided in her. Look what she’d done.

Graham reached across the table and touched Lauren’s hand. “I just want you to be safe, babe. I want us all to be totally, totally safe.”

Lauren nodded shakily. “I know, but . . .”

She didn’t feel safe. How was this her mind? If she’d confessed things to Graham, who else had she told? How could she do this to Ronnie and Andrea?

She dropped the fork into her uneaten food. Nothing felt real or solid. Lauren glanced at her baby, her throat closing up with sadness. “Graham,” she said in a choked voice. “Graham. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I do need help.”

Graham’s expression wilted, and he stood up and moved around the table and gathered her crumpled form in his arms. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “We’ll get you help. We’ll get you all the help you need.”

Twenty-Two