Had one of his mother’s usual loser boyfriends followed her to Magnolia?

Gabe’s breath caught in his throat as he came to the threshold of his grandfather’s office. The room had remained largely untouched for decades. He knew his grandma hadn’t been able to bring herself to use the large cherry desk that had belonged to her late husband.

Instead, she’d set up a smaller, delicate writing desk in one corner of the room. Gabe had gone through it when he’d first arrived in Magnolia, although most of her paperwork for the business was kept at the store.

He took in the scene before him with a clawing sense of frustration. Papers and books were strewn across the floor along with several empty beer cans and a jar of peanut butter with a dirty spoon lying next to it. He quickly walked over to the old amplifier and cassette player on the bookshelf and flipped it off.

“Mom, what the hell?” he demanded as Poppy looked up, the sudden silence alerting her to his presence.

“She kept all my old cassette tapes,” his mom told him, as if that was the answer to his question. “My parents hated my music, so I can’t believe she didn’t relish tossing them to the trash just like she did me.”

“Your revisionist history isn’t going to work with me,” he said, setting his jaw so he didn’t yell the words. His mother would love nothing more than a big, dramatic argument and the ability to turn him into the bad guy, the way she had her parents. “Gran took care of you, and she took care of me. She kept a ledger, you know. Every payment she made to you, Mom. She was sending you money up until her fall. So let’s not pretend otherwise.”

His mother’s eyes narrowed. “Not the money I needed. She saved that for her precious town and business.”

“What are you doing?” He took a step forward. “Did you sleep at all, Mom?”

Her lip curled and she swiped a finger under each eye. His mom had always favored coal-lined eyes, which seemed strange given the fact that she didn’t seem to care about taking off her makeup at night. As he remembered from so many mornings of his childhood, she had the appearance of a hungover raccoon, only now the lines at the corners of her eyes were deeper, the day-old liner sunk into them like tar on a cracked driveway.

“How can I sleep when I feel your hatred toward me? It’s hard to breathe in this place between your judgment and my mother’s lingering disappointment.”

“She’s gone,” Gabe reminded his mom. “Can you give her a break now?” Give me a break, he wanted to add but didn’t bother. When he left home at eighteen to join the army, he’d made a vow that he’d never ask his mother for another thing.

A vow he had no intention of breaking.

“Are you hiding the will?” she asked, eyes narrowed. “Trying to cut me out of what’s rightfully mine?”