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out that, at last, he’d actually have her sleeping in his bed. His room was far enough away from the guest room so she needn’t feel self-conscious. Spencer was practically an adult. He knew the score. He knew they were involved. Luke told her, “After what he’s been through, I don’t think he’ll be traumatized because we’re sleeping together.”
    But Luke had no idea how fragile Spencer was—and neither did she, for that matter.
    â€œJust so you know,” she told her nephew as they were driving to Luke’s town house that first night, “I’ll be sleeping with Luke in his room tonight. Do you have any problems with that?”
    â€œGod, it’s about time,” Spencer sighed. He had one arm dangling out the window on the passenger side. The wind whipped at his unruly, dark brown hair. Their suitcases were piled in the tiny backseat. “You guys have been going out for—like, three months now. I can’t believe you’ve waited this long . . .”
    And so, though it seemed to be rushing things, Andrea and Spencer “temporarily” moved in with Luke.
    In her effort to scare off Andrea, Evelyn had only thrown her and Luke closer together. But Evelyn still had an advantage—if she’d been the one who had hired that private detective. Luke’s soon-to-be-ex knew Spencer’s and her history. And it was just a matter of time before she told Luke.
    Last week, when Luke had asked her and Spencer to consider living with him on a more permanent basis, Andrea had come very close to telling him the truth. It had seemed like the best time, and she’d wanted him to hear it from her. But she’d lost her nerve.
    Except for this awful thing hanging over her head, she was the happiest she’d been in years. She was in love. After a sporadic series of “wrong guys,” she’d finally hit the jackpot with Luke. She cherished what they had together and didn’t want to see it ruined.
    Evelyn Shuler could do that with one phone call.
    Andrea knew she had to tell him the truth today.
    She found a parking spot a block from the theater, grabbed her umbrella from the floor of the passenger side, and stepped out of the VW. She made a mad dash in the rain. For this lunch she dreaded, Andrea wore—under her trench coat—a floral print sweater and khaki slacks. The pants were damp from the knees down by the time she reached the theater. The Seattle Group Theater was in a complex of buildings under the shadow of the Space Needle. Andrea knew which door they kept unlocked during the day. As she collapsed her umbrella and ducked inside, her phone rang. It played the refrain from the Beatles’ “Hello, Goodbye.”
    Checking her cell, she paused in the lobby by a life-size, black-and-white cardboard cut-out of Jack Kerouac, advertising the theater’s current play. Andrea pressed a few digits on her phone and saw she had a text—from Luke:

    C U Soon! XX—Me

    Andrea felt another little pang in her stomach. She took a deep breath and headed to the main level door to the theater. She wondered if it wouldn’t be better to get him alone for a few minutes and just tell him here. Why wait until they sat down at some restaurant for lunch? Why prolong this agony?
    Opening the door, she saw several actors seated in a semicircle of folding chairs on the illuminated stage. They all had bound scripts in their hands or in their laps. Some held Starbucks cups or bottled water. In the center of this group was a pretty, thirty-something redhead wearing a blue T-shirt and jeans. She was reading aloud part of a monologue Luke had written for his new play: “. . . I guess I’ve always been jinxed in the love department. My first boyfriend turned out to be gay. We were freshmen in high school. He was the first guy I ever made out with. I remember we were tangled up on the couch in his basement, listening to Air Supply