I told Lena too.
She listened while eating toast shaped like a star.
“So he is our dad?”
“Yes.”
“The big sad man?”
“Yes.”
She considered this, then climbed down from her chair, marched to Luca, and placed both hands on her hips.
“You should have said.”
Luca knelt so they were eye level.
“You’re right.”
“Mamas don’t like surprises.”
“I am learning that.”
“Do dads know stories?”
“Some.”
“Good. You can start with dragons.”
So he did.
Not well at first. His dragon had no name, no treasure, and a confusing career in architecture. Lena interrupted constantly. Ash eventually supplied blueprints for the castle. By the end, the dragon had become mayor of a mountain village and everyone was laughing.
Everyone except me, because I was trying not to cry.
For one beautiful, dangerous hour, we looked almost like a family.
Then Mrs. Pike came upstairs holding a yellow envelope.
“This was taped under the back counter,” she said. “I found it when I dropped a spoon.”
My name was on the front.
Not Sarah.
Sarita.
Only one person had ever called me that.
My grandmother.
My hands shook so violently that Luca took the envelope only after I nodded.
Inside was an old key, a bank receipt, and a folded letter written in blue ink.
My dearest Sarita,
If you are reading this, then someone has finally become desperate enough to look for what I hid.
I am sorry. I hoped your father would protect you better than he protected himself.
There are truths in our family that do not stay buried simply because good people stop asking questions.
The land is not the inheritance.
The land is the lock.
The key is what your father took from the Morettis before you were born.
Trust no signature. Trust no apology given too easily.
And if Luca comes to you with amber-eyed children between you, ask him what happened at Bellweather House the winter before your wedding.
I read the last line again.
Then I looked at Luca.
All the warmth left his face.
“Luca,” I whispered, “what is Bellweather House?”
