“Don’t you go asking about your father,” my mother hissed as we drove up to the old farmhouse. These grandparents were on my father’s side. My mom’s parents had died sometime before I had been born and we don’t talk about Sara’s parents. Sara sat in the back looking as depressed as she normally did as our mother pulled the car to a stop in front of the building. She sighed and glanced back at us, “did you hear me, Alexander?”
“Yes,” I answered.
“What about you, Sara?” she called out, “do not ask about him.”
“He’s not my father,” she snapped, “why would I care?”
“Good,” she nodded, “now, it is only for a few days, okay?”
“Okay, mother,” I said, smiling as I jumped out of the car. I held onto the phoenix necklace as I faced the elderly couple. The woman, small and narrow looking, turn
