“You missed me,” she said, almost childlike. “That’s why you’re here? Not for him?”

“I’m not here for him.” As much as he’d tried to put all this behind him, he was still angry. He was still broken. “But I didn’t come home because I missed you, either.”

Hurt flashed across her face. “What, then? You thought you’d come collect some sort of inheritance? I’ve got news for you. Your father didn’t love either of you boys.” She paused, let the words sink in. “Not the way I did.”

It was just like her to twist everything like that. To couple her love with pain.

“Right. By letting him hurt me?” The words escaped Kaden’s lips before he could stop them. He knew she’d been one of his father’s victims, too, but that didn’t lessen the weight of his pain. She’d chosen her husband over him. Again, and again, and again.

“By making you stronger,” Sylvia said.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and took a step back.

“Strong enough to leave, maybe.” He laughed bitterly. “But now that I’ve come back to Yarrow, no one remembers me unless I tell them my name. You wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with that, would you?”

“The memory harvest took that summer from everyone,” Sylvia said. “The town chose not to write it down because they didn’t—because we didn’t—want to remember, ever.”

“So I keep hearing.” He leaned back on his heels.

“Let’s sit down and catch up,” she said. “Maybe a little early for a glass of bourbon, though we are burying your father today…”

He shook his head.

“Coffee, then.”

He didn’t tell her that all he wanted was tea.

She led him through the grand entryway, past the ballroom, and to the kitchen, where the staff was preparing food for his father’s funeral. Death was supposed to be marked by homecooked meals from your neighbors and your heart falling to pieces every time you remembered you’d never see a person again—not catering.

“Mrs. Bonner, is there something you need?” The question came from another woman in a black polo whom Kaden didn’t recognize.

“Bring us a pot of coffee in the sitting room, please,” Sylvia commanded, her grip on Kaden not quite tight enough to be uncomfortable but close.

“Two cups?” the woman asked.

Sylvia nodded, almost preening, “One for each of us.” She gave a small, calculated laugh, so much like the woman of Kaden’s childhood. “I’m half tempted to ask for champagne. My son Kaden has returned home.”

The woman’s eyes widened as she took him in. A few others looked up from around the kitchen. Soon, the news of his return would spread like wildfire. “Should I get a bottle, or…”

“Coffee is fine,” Sylvia said.