Page 71 of Destiny

“Was she beautiful?”

“She was. In a totally different way from Daphne. But from the photos I’ve seen, yes, Wendy was very beautiful. She would have to have been to catch my father’s eye.”

We head to the kitchen, where Michaela is already working on lunch.

“Hey,” Michaela says. “I figured you two would be out for lunch pretty soon. How do Cuban sandwiches sound?”

“Sounds great to me,” Dad says. “Ava?”

I nod. “Anything you make will be perfection, Michaela.”

“Thank you, Miss Ava.”

I’ve told Michaela time and again to simply call me Ava, but all the household help in my family uses the formal honorifics. Dad says it’s the way it was when he was a kid, and it just sounds right to him. Apparently his brothers and sister feel the same way.

If I ever have a house and family of my own, and enough money to afford household help, they will simply call me Ava.

I sigh.

I fear my chance for a house and family of my own ended when Brendan and I…

What did we do, exactly? Are we on a break? Are we split for good?

I don’t know, and right now I need to compartmentalize. I’m not good at compartmentalizing, but I need to get good at it. I must figure out this whole Wendy Madigan thing and what it has to do with me.

Is Dad right? Is William Elijah Steel an illusion?

Dad and I take seats at the table, and Michaela brings us glasses of ice water.

“Would you like to have anything else to drink?” she asks.

Dad shakes his head. “I promised Dale I’d go over to the winery this afternoon and taste some of the barrels. But Ava, I don’t want to leave you here alone.”

“Mom will probably be back soon,” I say.

“Probably, but I want you to promise me something.”

“What?”

“Promise me that you willnotgo in that room and you willnottry to talk to your grandmother without me present.”

“Dad, I can handle an old woman.”

“Ava, I have the utmost confidence in you, but Wendy Madigan is not simply an old woman. She’s your grandmother, and she’s a criminal. Please. Humor me.”

I resist rolling my eyes. “All right, Dad. I promise. I have to go back into town this afternoon anyway and meet with the contractor for the bakery.”

“Good. Can I assume I’ll see you back here tomorrow?”

“Absolutely. First thing in the morning.”

Michaela brings us our lunch, and I inhale the savory aroma of the cheese, ham, and toasty bread of the Cuban sandwich. I pick up half, take a bite, and then wince as the hot cheese burns the roof of my mouth. I take a sip of water.

Again, I’ve singed the skin off the roof of my mouth. I do it every time with a Cuban or grilled cheese sandwich because I can’t wait to get to the melted deliciousness.

It’s something I put up with.

Even though I know it hurts.

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