Page 79 of The Difference Between

“And it’s full of people.” My brows raise. “And I’ve never freaked out once.” The light in her eyes is the most validating sight I’ve ever seen. I gesture with the script. “Should we try reading again?”

She nods with a little more enthusiasm this time, gripping the paper in her little fingers as I read my line. At her turn, she says, “My children are the spawn of hell, and you’re the devil.”

“What?” My eyes bug out as I flip through my own script; that line is nowhere.

Addie says, “Joanna says that in Overboard.”

The laugh that bubbles out of me surprises both of us and is followed by a thought smashing into me. “Addie—” I point to the highlighted line. “Do you know how to read this?”

Tongue between her lips, she stares at it. “I . . . was . . . at . . . the . . . barn . . . l—oo—k—ing—locking⁠—”

“Looking,” I correct her.

She smiles, repeats me, and continues sounding out the words as she confirms what I should have known: Addie isn’t reading the script because it’s easier for her not to.

Gavin knew, that bastard. You helped me, he had said.

This was never about the play.

When she finishes her line, I stack the scripts and toss them aside. I’ll do some research on different ways for us to do this tomorrow but today is a wash.

“Mom,” I shout, not surprised when she appears in the kitchen less than a nanosecond later. “Can you bring us some nail polish?”

She holds up a clear cosmetic bag filled with colorful bottles. “Would you believe I was already holding this?”

Delighted, Addie clambers for the polish.

She struggles to hold the brush and her fine motor skills make containing the paint to my nails impossible, but with her tongue pinched between her lips, she makes every one of my fingertips hot pink then beams when she’s finished.

“Perfect,” I tell her.

She grins. “I think Uncle Gav loves you.”

I snort a laugh, pinching her pinky between my fingers to paint it. “Why’s that?”

Her voice lowers to a whisper. “He’s going to the shop.”

That makes as much sense as the butterflies it makes me feel. “It’s for work,” is all I say.

After nails are painted and checkers are played, she hugs me goodbye and thanks me.

She runs home and I wave to Gavin across the yards. I’m so content it takes a moment to name the feeling. I rarely feel this at work. One win turns to the next goal. It’s illogical to feel this way—there was no win—Addie didn’t learn a single line—yet here it is just the same, me feeling like we did everything we set out to do.

Mom hums like she lives in my brain. “I knew it would be good for you.”

I barely even consider sticking a knife in her incision.

Twenty-Two

“Your forced work break now consists of you revitalizing a vineyard, undermining privacy laws, and hiding from Gavin who wants to jump your bones between tutoring sessions with his niece whom we all want to adopt?” Rue couldn’t be more of a condescending asswipe if she tried. “Did I get that right?”

“Gavin doesn’t want to jump my bones.”

Remy laughs at this. “You’re an idiot.” On her tiptoes, she digs through Mom’s organized tea cabinet and settles on mint. “And I like that shirt. Purple suits you.” She does a double take. “And that lipstick.” She temporarily abandons the tea to rummage through my purse on the counter.

I snatch it from her. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Seeing if that color’s in here so I can try it on.”