Cass told me. And I can’t believe it’s true. Hope it’s not true that you’re blaming Brianna for Mom dying when you weren’t there.”

“First of all, it’s none of your business, and secondly, I’m not blaming Brianna for Mom’s death. I’m just really pissed off that Brianna wouldn’t call any of us when she saw that Mom was getting ready to go. She could have called us. We were just minutes away—”

“So you are blaming Bree.”

“I just don’t think it’s fair that Brianna was the only one who got to say good-bye—”

“But life isn’t fair! You of all people have to know that by now.”

She stiffened, shoulders drawing back as she pressed her fingers against her throbbing temple. “What do you mean, me of all people?”

“Being married to Boone. His career as a major league baseball player. The whole professional sports world.” He gave her a puzzled look. “What do you think I meant?”

“I don’t know.” She rubbed at her brow, starting to feel sick. “I don’t feel so good.”

Tommy’s gaze rested on her face. “You need to eat.”

“I do.”

“Do you want me to get you something?”

“No, I’ll find something.”

“Most of the food has been put away, with just desserts now in the dining room. But you don’t need a cookie. You need a sandwich, or some lasagna, something—”

“I know what I need,” she said, gagging at the idea of eating lasagna. That would make her throw up. But maybe a sandwich, or a toasted bagel. Something light, something to cut the acid from all that wine on an empty stomach.

Entering the kitchen, Sarah found Meg’s husband, Jack Roberts, at the old farmhouse-style sink, elbow-deep in hot sudsy water.

“Hey, look at you,” Sarah said, surprised to see him alone. “Where is everyone? Who is helping you? You shouldn’t be in here by yourself.”

“I’m fine. I don’t need help,” he answered, rinsing the pan he’d just washed and placing it on the counter to his left, where it joined a dozen other Pyrex dishes, ceramic casseroles, and wooden salad bowls. “If you’re looking for something to drink, I think there’s an unopened bottle of wine in the fridge—”

“I’m good,” she said, cutting him off, embarrassed. Make that horrified. Did everyone associate her with wine these days? “Actually I wanted something to eat. But let me give you a hand first—”

“Don’t. Honestly. I’m good, Sarah. I really don’t want help. I like doing this, makes me feel”—he broke off, his expression suddenly wistful—“better. I need to do something. For your mom. Your family.”

Sarah went to her brother-in-law and gave him a swift hug.