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because apparently he thought he could come out of nowhere and steal Dottie and just make her get rid of a place so special, so historic in so many ways (many of them personal for me), just get rid of it , sell it to—whom? Some developer? In two years would those ninety acres be some fussy neighborhood full of one-acre McMansions on half-acre lots? Perhaps with big stone gates at the entrance, announcing the neighborhood as “Grace Farms,” a tiny, tacky nod to what had once been a noble tradition?
    “What’s the matter, Quinn?”
    I found my voice. “Dottie, I just can’t imagine you not being at the farm. I can’t imagine the farm belonging to someone else.” And it wasn’t like I could ever have any hope of buying it. My business was variable at best, but it would never generate half the income required to buy that amount of property.
    She chuckled indulgently and put a hand on my forearm, apparently thinking I was just being altruistic, thinking of her instead of panicking at the dissolution of my old dream, which should have died ten years ago when I put my gum-and-grime-dotted wedding dress on a bonfire and vowed to never look back.
    It was a lie. I looked back all the time. And the moment the tulle caught fire—like a News 4 demonstration of the dangers of flammable Halloween costumes—I’d wanted to drag it out and bat the flames down. But I’d already made my big “To hell with Burke Morrison!” declaration and couldn’t risk my life and limb to turn back on a stand I’d made for my own dignity.
    “Honey, that place has become an albatross around my neck, I’ll tell ya. I am so damn tired of thinking about who’s doing the work and how much it’s going to cost. Lyle and I want to get a little place on Lake Michigan and then travel the world, see things we’ve never seen before.”
    I flinched at the sound of his name, and I was afraid that was rapidly going to become a habit, but I could see in her watery blue eyes that she had dreams that didn’t involve remaining in a life that didn’t fit her anymore. A dream that wasn’t hers.
    And I couldn’t be such a baby as to whine that the world wasn’t accommodating me by staying exactly in place so that I could take out my little box of ancient wishes every now and then and turn them over in my hand like some pretty bauble in a consignment shop.
    Besides, I had no voice here anyway. No horse in the race. But I knew Burke and Frank would fight for it. Somehow. They’d keep this from becoming the catastrophe it threatened to become.
    “I don’t blame you for that,” I said, trying to picture her in some “little place on Lake Michigan,” but failing. I could, however, picture her traveling the world, a feisty old cat, eager to see, hear, taste, and try everything. If that was what she wanted, she deserved it. Not everyone gets a second chance. Believe me, I knew it. “I’m sorry, Dottie, it’s just so sad to think of you going that I’m probably raining on your parade.”
    “Don’t you worry, missy.” Another indulgent pat on my arm. “This is nothing compared to the stink Burke put up.”
    “Just Burke?”
    “Mmm.” She nodded absently. “I don’t think Frank is eager to stop what he’s doing in the city and come here for manual labor, but he gave me a few bits of practical advice about the financial aspects of selling and I think he’s going to be all right with it.”
    That surprised me, but what did I know? I hadn’t seen Frank or Burke for a long time, I had no way to know or guess what their positions might be on anything . “It’s good that he can help you with that.”
    “Oh, he’s a financial whiz , he truly is. You should see his place up in Northwest. It’s like a palace. All from his clever investing.”
    And, undoubtedly, Burke’s design and contracting, but I didn’t want to ask. For some reason, Frank had always seemed to be the favorite in the family. Certainly he was viewed as the smarter of the two