While I was wondering if now was finally the time to insist she unpack what she’d gone through all those years ago, Frannie called everyone to the table. Before I could even remind April that I was here if she ever wanted to talk, she jumped off the couch and headed for the dining room.

Slowly, I rose to my feet and followed her, thinking that no matter how well you knew a person, you could never really know the depth of what they were feeling.

Everyone was so good at hiding things.

* * *

I took April’s advice and stayed away from the winery for the next three days. It wasn’t easy, especially because I saw Henry’s truck in the lot every single one of those days from morning until night, but I told myself April was right. Why torture Henry or myself by spending time alone together? Maybe if we gave this thing a chance to cool down, it would.

I used the time to contact a real estate agent my mom recommended, discuss with her what I was looking for in a home and what my budget was, and upon receiving her list of available properties, drove by them all with my dad. Many I was able to cross off my list right away, but there were several I was interested in going through. I asked my agent to schedule appointments for the following week, after January first.

I also spoke with the realtor who had the listing for the Santa Barbara house, who said she’d put up the sign and had many interested clients already. Would it be okay to start showing it?

I said of course, hung up, and took my kids to a movie to prevent myself from curling up in a ball on my bed and crying over the thought of strangers traipsing through what had been my dream home, trampling over all my happy memories—as if Brett hadn’t trampled them enough.

The kids had finally reached him on Christmas Day, and thankfully, the asshole had had the heart to spend time talking to both of them. Whitney was actually smiling when they hung up. “He said we can go to Aspen next week,” she told me excitedly. “Without Kimmy—just the three of us!”

“That would be fun,” I said, wondering how he had talked Kimmy into that.

Turns out, he hadn’t.

On Saturday afternoon, the day before the kids were scheduled to fly out and stay with him for the last half of the break, he texted me.

Brett: Call me. Need to talk.

The last thing I wanted to do was talk to him, but in case it was something related to the kids’ visit, I called back—from the privacy of my bedroom, in case I had to swear.

Which I did.

“Yes?” I said when he picked up.