Grandpa turned.
“What?”
Mom laughed lightly.
“We’re sharing it.”
I remained silent.
That was the first time she looked nervous.
Dinner started twenty minutes later.
Roast beef. Green beans. Potatoes. Grandpa’s expensive crystal glasses that only came out on Sundays.
Ava dominated most of the conversation.
She told Grandpa about imaginary clients.
Imaginary meetings.
Imaginary business opportunities.
Eventually, she started talking about the SUV.
“It handles beautifully,” she said. “Especially on country roads.”
Grandpa stopped cutting his meat.
“Country roads?”
“Yeah. I drove toward the edge of town yesterday. I might help with some work at your farmhouse.”
I almost looked up.
Grandpa owned an old farmhouse about thirty miles away, property that had once belonged to my grandmother’s family.
Nobody visited often.
Grandpa lowered his fork.
“Is that right?”
Something in his voice shifted.
Mom looked at me.
The old silent command passed across the table.
