I understood only that the man standing between me and the elevator, calm and pressed and in control, was not behaving in any way like a father, and that I had been married to him for six years and had never, until that corridor, seen his face do the thing it was doing now.

Chapter 3 — What Time Did You Pick Her Up

Three steps behind Luke, a young woman was crying into a tissue.

Camellia.

Twenty-six years old, his personal assistant, whom I had met perhaps four times.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs.