Maria:
My father does not waste time explaining things when he is already halfway out the door.
“Be ready in twenty minutes,” he says. “We’re leaving.”
“For what?” I ask, already moving toward my room because there is no point pretending I won’t go.
“A celebration.”
“That could mean anything.”
“It doesn’t need to mean anything to you. Just be ready.”
He hangs up.
I stare at my phone for a second, then drop it on the bed. Of course. Whatever this is, I will understand it later, probably when it is already too late to ask questions.
—
The car ride is quiet, but not the comfortable kind. The kind where something is happening and I am not part of the conversation yet.
“What exactly are we celebrating?” I ask after a few minutes.
“A deal,” my father says.
“With who?”
“The Rothfiel
