Page 21 of Halstead House

With one last small nod to Eliza and Lucas, I returned to my place in the conservatory. Ana greeted me with a knowing smile that I didn’t bother to respond to. Instead I ran wobbly fingers over my hair and suit jacket, my nerves seeking the soothing motions.

My mind was racing. For years and years Mary had teased me, saying I should look up Lucas someday. I had seen through her match-making attempts and allowed the older woman her fun. I’d never imagined that when I did finally meet him, he’d be someone who made my toes tingle. Nor did I imagine he’d be such a cold statue. It had been ten years since Mary had passed. Enough years for the happy and loving young man she’d always described to turn into the cool, reserved man I’d just officially met.

Watching Eliza and Lucas Halstead work the adoring crowd over the next two hours was eye opening. I’d had no idea. Eliza had welcomed me so warmly and effortlessly that I’d not realized the true social status of the beautiful gray-haired lady. She had simply felt like family. However, Ana was right; the Halsteads were Lavender Island royalty.

Having seen Eliza in her relaxed, familial state, I could easily recognize the mask she wore for the guests. Lucas’s was the same aloofness he’d used with me in our short interactions. While I knew that Eliza took her public persona off at the end of the day, I didn’t know if Lucas did or not. And I wasn’t sure if I was brave enough—or interested enough—to find out.

CHAPTER 7

Ana was speeding along Lavender Island’s little coastal highway a few days later with me as a helpless and terrified passenger. We were heading toward the bridge that would take us to the mainland. At the rate she was driving, I had to wonder if her plan to get there involved launching us into the air and skipping the bridge all together.

“I would have been happy to drive,” I said through gritted teeth. I hadn’t planned to come to the island to die, after all.

“I’ve seen your rental car. No thanks. My abuela drives a more exciting car.”

I was momentarily distracted from my horror by a chunk of Ana’s long hair whipping across my face when she turned her head quickly. I had only ever seen it braided, but today Ana had left it down and it seemed like it had a life of its own, filling the tiny car with its dark waves while the breeze from the window tossed it recklessly around.

A honking horn brought me back to reality. Ana’s own horn honked, and she laughed as she swung the car to the right and then whiplashed back into our lane. I did not want to know what I’d missed.

“There’s nothing wrong with my rental,” I argued.

“That’s true, if you’re out to impress the women at the senior center.” She turned to look at me with pursed lips and raised eyebrows. I pointed out the front windshield in an effort to get her eyes back on the road, even though it seemed to do little good. “Seriously, Grace, you have got to be less of a cheapskate and do something fun just because you want to.”

“I got the blue car instead of a more sensible champagne color,” I defended.

“Stop my racing heart.” Her eyes rolled.

“Hurtling down the highway in this death trap certainly isn’t sensible, now, is it?” I replied in a haughty tone that sounded so much like Mother I actually cringed with regret. “I’m sorry...” I started to say.

“Nope, don’t say it. You’re probably right.” She shrugged. “Now’s as good a time as any to tell you that we aren’t going to the movie you thought we were seeing.” She cranked her head to look over her shoulder before zipping into the next lane. It was the first safety conscious thing I’d had seen her do. “You’re about to start phase two of your therapy.”

“Phase two? What was phase one?” I asked curiously.

“The day I made you go to the beach instead of dropping off your dry cleaning.”

“Oh.” I paused. “Quick question. Do you suppose the therapy counts if the patient doesn’t realize they’re in the middle of a session?” I quirked a smile.

“Are you kidding me? Sneak attack therapy is the best kind.” She changed lanes again, making my elbow slam against the door. I made a noise of complaint, and she sent an apologetic smile my way.

“Do I want to know what movie you’re actually taking me to see? Assuming we arrive there in one piece,” I said.

“Hey, I’ve been driving for years and haven’t died yet,” she chirped. “We’re going to the biggest action, alien adventure, superhero show I could find.”

I processed that for a moment. I liked to think of myself as a reasonably intelligent person, but it would be best to make sure I’d heard correctly before deciding how I felt about this tidbit of news.

“If I’m understanding correctly, you’re taking me to a blow-em-up show?” I finally asked.

“Yep.”

My fright-filled brain needed another few seconds to process before asking, “Why?”

“Because I’m guessing that you’ve never seen one.”

Annoyingly, she was right. I only went to festival award winners, or independent films, or classics likeCasablanca. Still, I lied. “How do you know I don’t love those kinds of movies?”

“I don’t think you get out much,” Ana supplied.

“I get out just as much as anyone else,” I defended.

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