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They didn’t get together until after I left for New York. I didn’t even believe they were together until I got the wedding invitation in the mail.
    Mari rolled her eyes. “The boys stayed home with the nanny. You know how they drive Dad crazy.”
    Mari and Charlie’s sons were only a year apart. Dad always said they had the devil in their eyes, and acted more like a hostage around them than a grandfather. I was there for both births, but I hadn’t seen them since the youngest, Landon, was born.
    Aunt Rose marched into the dining room carrying a plate of chicken. “Ava, Mari, bring in the rest of the food, will you?”
    Eight years and Elliot family dinners hadn’t changed much. Dad still enthused about the anti-aging benefits of garlic, Beth ignored everyone in the room except Dad and her smartphone, Mari alternated between shoveling food into her mouth and gabbing about nothing and Aunt Rose presided over the whole thing as if it were her house, her family. The only thing out of place was Shelby Clay.
    I passed my aunt the Tuscan salad Beth had made. Or rather, poured the lettuce from the bag and then left me to finish. Without a cook around, what had I expected, really?
    “Thank you, Ava.” Aunt Rose sat primly at the long dining table, her cream blouse a stain magnet for the cranberry juice she was sipping. Not that she would ever spill a drop. Aunt Rose never made mistakes, unless you counted her ex-husband, which she didn’t. “It’s all in the past,” was all she would ever say about her short-lived marriage. She never had kids, and I’d never even met the guy. She had adopted us as her family and never bothered with one of her own. I’d always wondered why, but never had the guts to ask.
    “So, I’ve got huge news which I’ve been dying to share,” Mari said, bouncing in her seat.
    “You’re pregnant,” Beth said.
    “You’re getting a divorce,” Aunt Rose said.
    “You finally lost those last few pounds of baby weight,” Dad said.
    Mari scowled at him. “Noooo.” She paused for dramatic effect. “Charlie found someone to rent Kellynch.”
    Dad’s fork clattered onto his plate. His mouth opened but no words came out.
    “Who is it?” Aunt Rose asked.
    “It better not be some twenty-year-old bum who plays video games all day,” Dad said, “like that husband of yours.”
    “Dad,” I warned.
    “You know what? Never mind. Find someone yourself.” Mari pushed away from the table. “Some fifty-year-old bum who slathers lotion on himself all day.”
    “ Mari !” I barked. Wow, things really hadn’t changed at all.
    “Sit down, Mari,” Aunt Rose said, “and apologize to your father.”
    For a moment, Mari just glared at Aunt Rose. I thought she would storm off, but instead she gave my dad a slow but graceful, “I’m sorry,” and returned to her seat.
    I blinked. Maybe some things were different after all.
    “Now, tell us about this renter,” Aunt Rose said.
    Mari glanced at me. “It’s a couple in their forties. Married, no kids.”
    Mari’s insult hadn’t fazed Dad at all. He seemed more shaken up about the possible renter. “Who are these people? What do they do for a living?”
    Mari swallowed even though she had no food in her mouth. Her eyes darted to me again. “He’s a music producer. She’s a nurse.”
    Something tickled at the back of my mind.
    “Music producer? No. Absolutely not.” Dad jabbed his finger on the table with each word. “I’m not having some strung out hippie with long hair and tattered jeans living in my house. And a nurse?” He shuddered.
    “Dad,” I objected. “You have no idea what he looks like.” Dad was the exact opposite of a hippie. Tall, handsome, dark brown hair lacking a single gray, few wrinkles, and always decked out in immaculate designer clothing. Never a thing out of place, like George Clooney.
    Dad ignored me. “He probably chain smokes. Our handmade furniture, the curtains I bought in Greece, everything will reek of