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I had no clue where he lived. From Mama Peg, I had learned he’d become a type of accountant called an actuary. So I figured he would more than likely be home on a Saturday.
    I had no idea where home was, of course, but with the small fortune his grandparents had left him, I felt sure it would be a lovely place in an affluent neighborhood I could never afford to live in. Nor would I want to. His tastes had always seemed extravagant to me, and mine too simple for him.
    He used to say, “If you’re going to dream, dream big. You want a cottage; I’ll build you a castle.” I didn’t want a castle. Like Goldilocks sitting in Papa Bear’s chair, I found his dreams too big. I preferred my smaller ones, which felt just right.
    Never in my dreams had I imagined I would be the big bad wolf in David’s fairy tale. I had meant to be his princess. But he had chosen another. Even after all this time, that fact brought back the stabbing pain of rejection. I knew I wasn’t being rational, but emotion seldom cares.
    I made a sharp right onto Elm. Gravel crunched and sprayed as my tires kicked off the last remnants of the back road onto pristine asphalt. The stuffiness of the car, all closed up and stale, suited me somehow, but as I neared a large, dusty home with an older man rocking on its porch, I felt a sudden desire to disturb the peace. I opened the front windows and cranked the music louder, relishing the dirty look he sent my way.
    The warm wind whipped at my face, pulling strands from my once-tidy braid. I tilted the rearview mirror down and glanced at my reflection. Long, untamed hair hung partly in its braid, partly slapping at my oval face. I yanked out the ponytail holder and ran my fingers through to loosen the tangles. The wind finished the job. Long, crimped tresses flew about me like kite tails.
    My lips, neither full nor thin, were as red as if I’d applied a lipstick too bright and then wiped it off. I smiled at my wild reflection. She didn’t smile in return. While I had my mother’s shape, face, and mannerisms, I had inherited one thing unmistakably belonging to my father. His eyes. Gray and disapproving, they glared at me under my own long lashes.
    I pushed the mirror back into place and turned the radio down to a less obnoxious level.
    A sickening feeling came over me as I glanced through the windshield at the sun, fully risen. What if I got to David too late? The clock on my dashboard read 9 a.m. The dreaded conversation between father and son might have already taken place or could be taking place at that very moment. I could almost hear it.
    “David, I have news, Son. Remember that girl you were seeing that I couldn’t stand? You know, the one whose mother died and her crazy father keeps accusing me of murdering her? He always said he’d get even. Well, he finally has.”
    Sick of my rampant thoughts and being whipped by my own hair, I put the windows up and concentrated on a plan of action. Surely half the town would know where David lived. I sped past Theodore’s Café, which looked more like Ted’s truck stop—a long, characterless building, once white, now yellowed from sun and age.
    Theodore was David’s uncle. David’s uncle would have David’s address. I threw a glance in the rearview mirror, saw only an empty road lined with overgrown grass behind me, slammed my brakes, and burned rubber as I sped in reverse. The crowded parking lot offered only one unoccupied spot, wedged between two pickups, which I squeezed into.
    The owner, Theodore Preston, better known to everyone as Uncle Ted, was Dr. Preston’s stepbrother. Though Theodore’s Café was a classless little establishment, Ted made a killing. He lived two houses down from his doctor brother and matched all the luxuries Dr. Preston enjoyed—Mercedes for Mercedes, summer home for summer home—everything, that is, except his superiority complex.
    The so-called café was a strange little place, complete with vinyl tablecloths,