The opportunity arrived two Sundays later.
“We’re going to Grandpa’s for dinner,” Mom announced. “We’ll all take the SUV. You can sit in the back.”
I looked at her.
“The back?”
She shrugged.
“Ava’s already driving.”
I smiled.
“I’ll meet you there.”
I called an Uber.
When it pulled away from Grandpa’s long brick driveway that evening, he was already standing on the porch.
His eyes followed the departing vehicle.
Then he looked at me.
“Amelia?”
I climbed the steps.
“Hey, Grandpa.”
He frowned.
“Why are you coming here in an Uber?”
Before I could answer, Mom appeared behind him carrying a kitchen towel.
“Her sister needed the car more,” she said cheerfully.
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.
