The Writers Retreat Novels & Stories

My breath finally slowing down. He paused for a few more seconds and then continued. "As I was saying, Josh will bring there for a day to work with you on the new device. So, I'll expect the reports on my desk by the time you get back from your break..." "That's why you called?" My brows bunched up in confusion. I had run all the way to the bathroom to avoid Thea for this? "Yes." Like he hadn't expected me to expect anything else. "Firstly, there's this thing called an email. Very appropriate for the message you just passed across. Secondly, it's called a work retreat. It's for building team spirit and team relationship. The point of the retreat is to be away from work."

"Do you just... wake up like this? All charming and mysterious and well-moisturized?" Mr. Sandersen clapped like someone had said something wholesome and not unhinged. "Perfect! We'll set up the retreat for next weekend. Three days at our company beach house in the Hamptons. Just you, your team, Mr. Zuo... and a whole lot of sunscreen." Deja stared. "A whole weekend?" Her voice cracked. "Together? With all of them?" "Is there a problem, Miss. Moreau?" asked Mr. Sandersen, blinking innocently.

"That sounds sweet, Em. You deserve a break from campus madness." But Hannah—Hannah was the problem. She put her fork down, her eyes narrowing in that way that usually meant she was about to dissect a witness. "A retreat? Now? Two weeks before midterms?" "It’s just for the weekend, Han. I’ll bring my laptop," I said quickly. "Where is it exactly?" she asked. "What’s the name of the lodge? Do they have a website?" I felt a bead of sweat prickle my hairline. "It’s called... The Pine Grove Retreat. It’s very low-key, mostly just cabins. My old mentor, Mrs. Higgins, is organizing it."

Most of those who retreated to the ranch when he was there—and he continued to come to the ranch three or four times each year for some three decades after it opened—were caught in his web and refused to miss either the communal dinners or the after-dinner salon. As driven as most of the members of the art and literary set were, however, most of them then retired to their own well-appointed rooms to work late into the night on their craft. Some, however, including the writer of hard-boiled detective stories, whose Catholic wife would never divorce him, and the bitchy but brilliant New York playwright, whose lesbian lover would never accept the reality that the playwright was bisexual, took a

“Carrie smiled in her sleep.” “I didn’t flinch when I saw my old house.” They weren’t profound. But they were real. And after so many years of surviving, real was enough. One morning, I found a new paper in the jar that I hadn’t written. In Carrie’s handwriting: “You made coffee before I asked. I love you more than you know.” Marla – POV We hosted our first Rewrite retreat on a sailboat. A literal sailboat. It was River’s wild idea, of course.

"Will stay with Diane. Agent Park is personally overseeing security. Three guards at Diane's house, two following Emma everywhere. She'll be safer than the president." I wanted to argue. Wanted to find reasons why this was impossible. But Marcus gave me a look that said he wasn't taking no for an answer. "One week, Beth. Just us. No phones except for emergencies. No business. No threats. Just you and me remembering why we fell in love in the first place." The retreat center was a converted estate in the Catskills. Rustic cabins scattered across wooded property. Hiking trails. A lake. Peace and quiet that felt almost aggressive in its intensity.