Behind her, Dean’s voice sharpened.
“Mother!”
He always used that tone now.
Not loving.
Not worried.
Managerial.
Like she was a folder he needed to file before lunch.
Vivian crouched low, hurried along the hedge, and slipped through the side gate to the street where a rideshare car waited with its engine running.
The driver looked at her in the rearview mirror, then at the dirt on her sleeve, then wisely said nothing.
“Maple Ridge RV Sales,” Vivian said, breathless.
The driver blinked.
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