Page 43 of The Difference Between

I left Fontain, got too busy to talk to her—to anyone—then stayed too busy to know she died. How is this possible?

“Anyway,” Remy continues, “then his dad died a few months ago. Why the niece is with him—Addie. She’s the sweetest and Bennie’s age.”

I remember I made a joke about him having a brother. I’m such an asshole.

And Amanda and Greg are gone.

Gone.

They didn’t see the sunrise this morning and they won’t see it set tonight. They won’t see anything ever again.

I need something to do, so I get a glass of water and drink the entire thing.

Of course it’s Gavin—he looks just like him.

If the him of twenty-three years ago was over six feet, had broad shoulders, a tattoo, and facial hair that resembled shag carpeting.

When Mom says, “Reese might be able to help,” it makes me jump.

“What?” I set my empty glass on the counter.

“I’ll never admit she did wonders for Old Vines,” Rue adds.

I give her a sweet smile—her and Mom’s antique store was bleeding money over the summer when I saved their asses. “Bet that hurt.”

She sticks her tongue out.

“Help with what?” I look at Gavin. “Because my rates for tutoring have gone up.”

“Noted.” He works his tongue across his bottom lip and shifts his weight between his grass-covered boots, making debris fall to the floor. I’ll be sweeping that mess up later. “But I don’t want to interfere with her busy schedule.”

“Nonsense,” Mom says. “She needs something to do.” To me: “Nancy wants to sell the vineyard to downsize, and Gavin doesn’t like the deal.”

That doesn’t have much to do with me—I know very little about real estate or vineyards—but there’s a flicker of excitement at the prospect of busyness. If Gavin’s appearance is any indication of the state of the property, it probably needs a lot of work. Which means a lot of time.

Which means I’d have to get the firm on board with me taking on a project while I’m supposed to be sabbaticaling—that will never happen.

“I do have something to do,” I remind her. “Make sure people don’t ring doorbells so you can recover.” I give Gavin a fake smile he returns with a genuine one.

“Oh, Ree,” Rue says in a tone I hate, “there’s more to it than that, isn’t there? Baby . . . sister.”

Out of Mom’s view, I flip that bitch off.

“I don’t need you to take care of me,” Mom interjects. “I’m fine.”

“You had brain surgery!”

“All I do is sleep!” she cries. “And I’m supposed to be transitioning into normal everyday activities. Isn’t that what the therapist said?”

“Supervised everyday activities.”

She scoffs. “You’ve barely left, and it’s making me claustrophobic.”

“I left this morning!” The appointment at the fertility clinic was only an hour, but still. “And I’ve barely been here three weeks.”

“Three weeks of making me claustrophobic.”

The entire room collectively raises their eyebrows like I don’t have a leg to stand on.