Still, Marigold and I are both surprised when I park, shut off the engine, and follow her inside.

I hear them before I see them, their laughter filling the slow restaurant. Luke gives me a nod from behind the bar. We head toward the back corner booth. Rebellion’s rustic woods and high ceilings remind me of my cabin—dark, low-lighting, and currently untouched instruments in a nook near the back. Of course, those instruments get played most nights. My baby grand piano at home doesn’t.

“Grady?” Elena gapes. “Are you joining us?”

“Oh, say yes. We’d love to have you. You must stay,” Mom says.

“Calm down. Only for a minute.” I take the lone chair while Marigold slides into the arched booth next to Mom. “Are people saying that Marina’s relationship with Ashe was about money? Seriously? And what’s with the ‘was’?”

“Oh, so talking about Marnie Strange is back on the table?” Mom asks.

I huff.

“People are saying all sorts of things about Marnie,” Elena says. “You’d know if you hadn’t forbidden all mentions of Marnie or the Sullivans at the clinic.”

Mom’s eyes meet mine over her perched phone. “You haven’t embarrassed me, have you? The Wines and Spines group chat is lighting up suddenly.”

“Those women embarrassed themselves,” I correct. “Right, Marigold?”

“No comment,” she says, staring into her water glass.

I grunt and roll my eyes. So much for sisterly loyalty. “You shouldn’t associate with them, Mom. They’re small-minded, big-mouthed busybodies with no right to talk disparagingly of Marina.”

Mom and Elena share a glance and take simultaneous sips from their wine glasses like they’re engrossed in a tantalizing reality show.

“So, you thought it’d be a good idea to give them something else to talk about?” Mom questions, motioning to her phone.

“Better me than her. I said a few choice words. That’s all,” I say, running a hand over my head.

“I don’t like you cussing,” Mom says. “The rule is that adults shouldn’t cuss.”

“That rule is for other people,” Marigold corrects, pulling her sketchbook out of her bag.

I smirk while Mom cocks her head and brow at me. “Mom, spreading lies about people is worse than dropping the f-bomb.”

She gasps, hand to chest. “You dropped the f-bomb?”

“Let’s focus on what’s important here,” Elena says. “Grady, it’s a small town. People talk. And the drama between Marnie and the Sullivans is better than a soap opera.”

“What fu—freaking drama?”

Luke moseys over with Marigold’s usual lemonade and a beer for me. He folds his tatted arms over his broad chest, looking tough, like a club bouncer. “Everything alright over here?”

“Your brother is astounded to learn that this town gossips,” Elena chuckles.

Luke scoffs. “They call you a hermit for good reason. Maybe you should come out of hiding every once in a while?”