“For a time,” Sylvia said. “After ten years in the barrel it starts to taste more like wood than anything. But I keep some of the honey barrels here and a few bottles from our best years.” Sylvia stepped up to the shelf and trailed her fingers over the glass. “Norabel and Webb were some of my favorites.”

“I’ve always loved that you named the bourbon,” Addison said as she turned around to watch Sylvia over the back of the couch. “It felt to me like I was having a conversation with someone while I drank.”

“All part of the Bonner’s charm.” She pulled a bottle from the bottom-right corner. It refracted the overhead lights in a rainbow of amber. “This one’s from the year that Kaden left. Feels appropriate, with everything that’s been going on. I hoped he’d stay the night tonight instead of going with your mother, but he has new loyalties, I suppose.”

She sighed sadly as she broke the wax around the top and poured two glasses. Then she carefully capped the bottle and slid it back into place. She offered one glass to Addison before settling into one of the armchairs with the other.

“Nate laughs at me for keeping the best bottles,” Sylvia said as she held the glass up to the light. “Christian would get mad and tell me we could sell these for a pretty penny. But what’s the point if we can’t enjoy it ourselves?”

Addison stared into her own glass. “I should’ve realized something was wrong with the garden sooner,” she said. “Kaden mentioned your husband wasn’t… a great dad. But I didn’t mean to ruin his funeral. I feel like this is all my fault.”

“It’s not your fault,” Sylvia said. “It’s our corn, too, remember?”

“I don’t know if that’s any better,” Addison said.

Sylvia held out a hand, and Addison accepted it.

“So, what do we toast to?” Addison asked, wanting to talk about anything but the garden.

Sylvia smiled sadly over the rim of her glass. “I’m not sure this is a night for toasting. Not anymore. Let’s just drink.”

When Addison lifted her glass to savor the scent, she didn’t smell the bourbon as much as she felt it—in her nose, on the roof of her mouth, tickling the back of her throat. It hit her tongue, too sharp to distinguish much of anything at first, and her eyes spotted over. She took another sip. It warmed the back of her throat when she swallowed. The heat lingered, then spread until her whole head felt the burn.

She closed her eyes to savor it, but when she did, the world fell out from under her.

Chapter 30

Irene, 1997