“Maura did this?” Sylvia accepted the flowers. She gently touched her fingers to the petals. Though she smiled, Addison could see it for the mask it was. Maura would’ve said Sylvia was a woman full of falsehoods, but to Addison, she only looked like a woman grieving her husband. “For me?”

“We’re sorry for your loss,” Addison said. The words felt hollow, but none of the condolences her grams had suggested had been even close to appropriate.

Sylvia set the arrangement on the receptionist’s desk. “Please call someone down from the house to pick this up. I’d like to put them in my room.”

“I’ll be sure to tell her that you like them,” Addison said as she stepped away.

“Leaving so soon?” Sylvia asked. “While you’re here, at least let me show you around. Have you ever been on a tour of the distillery?”

Addison shook her head. “I’ve always been interested, especially knowing the corn started with seeds from our crops. But I’m sure now isn’t the best time.”

“This will be fun, then,” Sylvia said.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly…” Addison protested.

But Sylvia took Addison by the hand and led her out the door and onto the distillery grounds. A golf cart sat in a parking space marked with Sylvia’s name. She patted the seat beside her, and Addison slid into place.

“Maura’s lucky to have you taking care of that garden for her,” Sylvia said. “I wish Nate had decided to have children. I’d hoped to leave all of this to a granddaughter someday. He does well with the bourbon, but he doesn’t have a woman’s touch. You wouldn’t happen to be interested in making bourbon, would you?”

Addison laughed softly, not sure what to say. “My hands belong in the dirt.”

Sylvia stopped the golf cart in front of one of the buildings right along the river. This close, Addison could see the thin, sooty lines the gloom had left in the brick.

“You want to look at the corn?” Sylvia asked.

“I was hoping to see the fields, actually.”

“We’ll start here. This is where the magic really happens,” she said with a wink.

Inside, Sylvia led her to a large vat. Nate Bonner stood several feet above them on the catwalk beside it. His brown hair was thinning on top, and though the cut of his shirt looked expensive, it didn’t quite hide the gut that came from too many years of too much bourbon. Addison squinted and tilted her head to the side. It was hard for her to imagine her mother with this man.

“Mom,” he said with a nod to Sylvia. “Giving a private tour?” He narrowed his eyes at Addison. “Damn, never thought I’d see the day you’d be walking a Haywood through here. Addison, right?”

“Right,” Addison said.

“Your mom still hate me?”

Addison winced.