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schoolhouse chairs, and plastic flowers in chipped vases. A stuffed gopher stood guard over the rickety cash register, and the place reeked of grease and cigarette smoke. But what the atmosphere lacked, Ted’s cooking made up for.
    While breakfast patrons shoved biscuits and gravy into their mouths between words, I stood nervously near the counter full of men on stools drinking coffee and reading the want ads.
    I asked the waitress if I could please see Ted. She jabbed a pen into her bun and disappeared into the kitchen.
    Uncle Ted emerged. He took off his paper hat, revealing a bald head shimmering under a layer of perspiration. Shoving a hand out for me to shake, he spoke around the toothpick jutting from the corner of his mouth. “Jenny Lucas, I’m pleased to see you back in town.”
    I could tell by his expression that horrified was more like it.
    “I’m trying to find David.”
    He sucked on his toothpick and stared at me unblinking. Dishes clinked in the background, and behind the kitchen doors someone yelled for someone else to move it or lose it.
    He slurped on wood. “You know he’s married now?”
    “I know.”
    “Happily married.”
    “Listen, Ted, I’m not trying to cause trouble. I just have something of David’s I thought he might want.”
    The way Ted eyed me gave me the impression that he thought he knew what that something was and didn’t care for it one bit.
    The elderly couple occupying the booth behind me threw down two dollars, picked up their bill, and shuffled to the register to pay. Ted grabbed a soppy washcloth from under the counter and hurried over, clearing away two mugs and several empty creamer containers they left behind. He wiped the table, then gestured to it. “There you go.”
    “I really can’t—”
    “You can’t very well visit David on an empty stomach.”
    I gave him a pleading look, which he ignored. Good grief. No wonder the man was rich.
    When I sat, he puffed his chest out triumphantly. “Because you’re basically family, I’ll take your order myself.”
    Oh, joy. “I’ll have an English muffin and glass of water.”
    He crossed his arms and stared me down. “You want his address or not?”
    I glanced at my watch. “What do you recommend?”
    “Now, that’s better. I’ll fix you a stack of pancakes with bacon and sausage.”
    My stomach lurched at the thought. “Fine.”
    “How do you want your eggs?”
    “Eggs?”
    He raised his black eyebrows peppered with silver.
    “Surprise me.”
    “You like surprises, eh? David’s wife, Lindsey, sure don’t.”
    “Don’t tell them I’m coming, okay?”
    “Don’t tell them I gave you the address.” With that he scribbled something on the back of my bill and laid it on the table.
    Without waiting for my food, I read the address Ted had written—43 Sweet Mountain Court—paid the eight-dollar-and-forty-two-cent bill, and made the bell above the glass door jingle as I exited.
    * * *
    Outside a grand, stone-faced home, smack-dab in the middle of a cul-de-sac, surrounded by manicured boxwoods and other grand, stone-faced homes, I stood. My heart threatened to slam through my chest. For what seemed like the hundredth time, I wiped damp palms down the front of my jeans.
    Every minute I hesitated meant another opportunity for his phone to ring. For David to find out about Isabella from someone other than me. The thought was unbearable.
    My car keys clanked against my cell as I dropped them into my purse, then slid the bag over my shoulder. I sucked in a deep breath of humid summer air and tried to exhale away the worst of my nerves. Refusing their eviction, they clung to my insides like thirsty little leeches.
    I talked myself forward . . . left foot . . . right foot . . . left foot . . . right. I could do this. I had to. Gathering my last remnant of courage, I pushed the doorbell, adding a knock for good measure.
    As I waited, my hands wrung together nervously, my pinkie sliding over the smooth opal of