Chapter 3 - The Places Ava Never Mentioned
Ava stopped breathing.
At least, that was what it looked like.
Her shoulders went still.
Her mouth remained slightly open.
Mom moved first.
“Dad, give me the phone.”
Grandpa looked at her as though she had asked him to hand her his cane and walk without it.
“No.”
“It could be spam.”
“It came from a dealership.”
“So?”
“It has Amelia's name in the subject line.”
My stomach turned.
Grandpa read silently.
I watched his eyes move.
Then stop.
“What does it say?” I asked.
He looked at me.
There was anger in his face now.
Not explosive anger.
Something worse.
Controlled anger trying to decide where to go.
“It's a follow-up.”
“For what?”
He didn't answer immediately.
Ava dropped back into her chair.
Mom remained standing.
Grandpa turned the phone toward me.
The message began:
Ms. Amelia Harper,
Thank you for visiting Westlake Auto Gallery regarding the preliminary valuation of your 2026 white SUV...
I stopped reading.
My eyes went to Ava.
She looked at the table.
“You used my name.”
“No.”
I held up Grandpa's phone.
“My name is literally here.”
“I didn't sign anything final.”
That wasn't a denial.
The room felt suddenly too warm.
“What did you sign?”
“Nothing important.”
Grandpa's cane moved against the floor.
“Ava.”
She rubbed both hands over her face.
“They were just going to tell me what it was worth.”
“Why?”
She didn't answer.
I asked again.
“Why were you trying to find out what my car was worth?”
“I wasn't trying to sell it.”
“Then why?”
She looked at Mom.
I followed her eyes.
Mom looked exhausted now.
Not surprised.
Again.
She knew.
“Mom?”
“This got out of hand.”
I almost laughed.
“Got out of hand?”
“Amelia, please.”
“No. You don't get to say please now.”
She looked hurt.
That old reflex stirred in me.
Apologize.
Soften your voice.
Don't make Mom feel bad.
I let the reflex die.
“What happened at Westlake?”
Mom sat slowly.
“Ava needed collateral.”
I stared at her.
“For what?”
Ava snapped:
“It wasn't collateral.”
Mom looked at her.
“That is what you told me.”
“Well, you don't understand it.”
Grandpa leaned forward.
“Then explain it.”
Ava looked cornered.
For years, she had been rescued before she had to finish uncomfortable explanations.
Now nobody was rescuing her.
Finally she said:
“I was looking at business financing.”
“What business?” I asked.
“My consulting company.”
“You have a company?”
“Yes.”
“Since when?”
“Why do you say it like that?”
“Because two weeks ago you told me you were interviewing.”
“I can do both.”
Grandpa picked up his phone.
“What is the company's name?”
Ava hesitated.
“Aster Lane Creative.”
I had seen that name.
Instagram.
A beige logo.
Three photographs.
One inspirational quote.
No clients I knew about.
“You registered it?” Grandpa asked.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Recently.”
“How recently?”
“Last month.”
Mom jumped in.
“She has been working very hard.”
I looked at her.
“Using my car?”
She sighed.
“Can we not reduce everything to that?”
“That is why we're here.”
“No, we're here because you deliberately embarrassed your sister.”
That sentence was so absurd I couldn't answer for a moment.
Grandpa could.
“Linda.”
Mom looked at him.
“If you're worried about embarrassment, stop defending embarrassing behavior.”
Mom's face reddened.
Ava pushed her chair away again.
“I wanted to find out if I could use the vehicle as proof of assets.”
Grandpa stared.
“A vehicle titled to Amelia.”
“I thought Mom was transferring it.”
My head turned.
Slowly.
Mom closed her eyes.
There it was.
I felt something cold move through my chest.
“What?”
Ava realized too late.
“Nothing.”
“No.”
I looked at Mom.
“What did she just say?”
Mom spoke quietly.
“I told her I would talk to you.”
“You told her you were transferring my car?”
“I said we could figure something out.”
“Figure what out?”
“She needs a vehicle more than you do.”
I stared at her.
There are moments when someone says something so consistent with who they have always been that it somehow becomes shocking anyway.
Mom wasn't ashamed.
She still believed the fundamental idea was reasonable.
My property was a family resource because Ava wanted it.
Grandpa looked at her.
“You planned to transfer the title?”
“No.”
“Then why did Ava believe that?”
Mom looked toward the window.
“I may have said something.”
Grandpa waited.
She sighed.
“I told her Amelia would probably agree.”
I laughed once.
It sounded strange in the room.
“Why would I agree?”
“Because you're doing well.”
“And?”
“Ava needs help.”
“She always needs help.”
“That is unfair.”
“Is it?”
I started counting.
“Community college tuition after she dropped two classes.”
Mom's jaw tightened.
“Her apartment deposit.”
“Amelia.”
“The credit card balance last Christmas.”
“Stop.”
“The laptop she spilled wine on.”
Ava snapped:
“That was an accident.”
“The insurance deductible after you backed into a post.”
“I said stop,” Mom said.
I looked at her.
“No.”
The word surprised even me.
Mom stared.
I had almost never said it to her that cleanly.
“No,” I repeated. “I'm not stopping because every time we discuss Ava, I'm expected to forget everything that happened before the last five minutes.”
Ava stood.
“You've always been jealous of me.”
I looked at her.
That accusation used to destroy me.
Now it sounded almost childish.
“Of what?”
Her eyes narrowed.
“You think you're better than me.”
“No. I think my things belong to me.”
“Grandpa just handed you that car.”
“Yes.”
“You didn't earn it.”
The room went silent.
Grandpa's expression became unreadable.
I turned toward Ava.
“And you did?”
She looked away.
I continued.
“You posted ‘hard work pays off’ beside a vehicle someone else bought me.”
Her face went bright red.
Mom looked confused.
“What post?”
I pulled out my phone.
Ava moved toward me.
“Don't.”
I opened the photograph.
There she was.
Leaning against my white SUV.
Sunglasses.
Keys dangling from her fingers.
Caption beneath it.
I slid the phone toward Mom.
Her expression changed.
“Ava.”
“What?”
“You told me you weren't telling people it was yours.”
“So what? It's social media.”
Grandpa held out his hand.
I passed him the phone.
He read the caption.
His jaw tightened.
Then he swiped.
Another photograph.
Another.
Ava at a rooftop restaurant.
Ava outside an office building.
Ava parked beside a lake.
Then a picture that caught his attention.
He enlarged it.
“What is this?”
I leaned over.
The SUV was parked in front of a brick building.
Ava stood beside a man I didn't recognize.
He wore a suit.
A sign behind them read:
STERLING HOUSE CREATIVE SUITES.
Grandpa looked from the picture to his tracker.
Same location.
Friday morning.
“Who is he?” he asked.
Ava grabbed her purse.
“A client.”
“Name?”
“Why?”
“Because you used Amelia's vehicle while apparently representing it as yours.”
“I never said it was mine.”
I pointed at the caption.
She glared.
Grandpa enlarged the man's face.
Mom shifted.
Again.
That tiny movement.
I noticed.
“Mom knows him,” I said.
“No, I don't.”
Grandpa looked at her.
“You reacted.”
“I did not.”
“You did.”
Mom folded her napkin.
“His name is Nathan.”
Ava stared at her.
“Mom.”
Grandpa leaned back.
“Nathan who?”
“Reeves.”
“What does he do?”
Mom sighed.
“He helps small businesses get private investment.”
I looked at Ava.
Pieces were appearing.
Not enough to form the picture.
But enough to know the picture existed.
“You met with an investor?”
Ava didn't answer.
“Using my SUV as proof you owned assets?”
“No.”
“Then why did you take it?”
She snapped.
“Because people take you more seriously when you look successful.”
There it was.
The truth Mom had already told me.
Her image.
The car wasn't transportation.
It was costume.
Grandpa looked disgusted.
“What did Nathan Reeves believe about the vehicle?”
Ava swallowed.
“He knew I drove it.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
She said nothing.
Grandpa picked up his phone.
“Perhaps we should ask him.”
Ava's head snapped up.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“He's busy.”
“At seven on a Sunday?”
“Grandpa, don't.”
He searched the name.
Ava moved toward him.
Mom stood between them.
“Dad, please. We can handle this privately.”
“We are private.”
“I mean without dragging another person into it.”
Grandpa looked at her.
“If another person has been shown property belonging to Amelia as part of a financial arrangement, they're already in it.”
My skin prickled.
Financial arrangement.
Until he said the words, I had been thinking of Ava's behavior as stupid.
Maybe dishonest.
But not dangerous.
Grandpa called the number.
It rang twice.
Then voicemail.
He didn't leave a message.
Ava visibly relaxed.
Grandpa placed the phone down.
“We're going to Westlake tomorrow.”
Ava shook her head.
“I can't.”
“That wasn't an invitation.”
“You can't order me around.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“But Amelia can decide whether she wants to report the attempted use of her vehicle.”
The word report landed heavily.
Mom immediately turned toward me.
“Amelia.”
I knew that tone.
Family tone.
Protect us.
“Don't,” I said.
Her lips parted.
“I'm asking you not to overreact.”
“I haven't reacted at all yet.”
That shut her up.
Grandpa stood.
“Dinner is finished.”
Mom stared.
“Dad.”
“I said we're finished.”
He pointed toward the entry hall.
“Ava, leave the keys.”
“I did.”
“Both sets.”
Ava froze.
Grandpa's eyes sharpened.
Mom looked at the floor.
My pulse jumped.
“How many keys do you have?”
Ava said nothing.
Grandpa repeated:
“Both sets.”
Slowly, Ava reached into a small zippered compartment inside her purse.
She pulled out another key fob.
Identical to mine.
I stared.
“Where did you get that?”
“Mom gave it to me.”
I turned toward Mom.
She shook her head.
“I didn't.”
Ava frowned.
“Yes, you did.”
“No. I gave you the key Amelia left downstairs.”
“This was in the kitchen drawer.”
Grandpa looked at me.
“Did the dealership give you two?”
“Yes.”
“Where did you keep the spare?”
“In the envelope with my purchase documents.”
“In your room?”
“Yes.”
Nobody spoke.
Ava looked increasingly uncertain.
“I thought Mom put it downstairs.”
Mom shook her head again.
“I never went into that envelope.”
My anger suddenly shifted into something else.
Because if Mom hadn't taken the second key, and I hadn't given it to Ava, then somebody had gone into my room, opened the folder containing the SUV paperwork, and removed it.
Grandpa understood the same thing.
He looked at Ava.
“Where are the documents?”
“What documents?”
“The ones stored with this spare key.”
Ava's face emptied.
Grandpa stepped closer.
“Ava.”
She took one step backward.
Then her phone rang.
She looked at the caller.
And whatever she saw made every trace of color disappear from her face.
I could see only one name on the screen.
NATHAN REEVES.
She rejected the call.
Three seconds later, a message appeared.
Grandpa read the preview over her shoulder.
Then he looked at me.
May you like
The message said:
We have a problem with the ownership documents. Call me before Amelia finds out.
