After my dad's funeral, I could remember thinking that I hated funerals. Pretending politeness and receiving hugs from people you had never really wanted to hug and filling a plate with foods that you knew you were never going to eat, it was all such bullshit. That wasn't closure. The real closure came after the distant family and friends left and you were alone with your sorrow, alone with the personal memories, not the ones recited by friends or a pastor.

Mom began to stack the dirty plates and then put them back on the table. "These can wait. Do you want some coffee?"

"Coffee sounds good." I stood at the hearth looking at the pictures on the mantle. In one picture I was holding up a newborn calf, my arms smeared fingertip to elbow in blood. My hands had been small enough to fit in the cow when the breech calf needed turning. I had hesitated, as any fourteen-year-old kid being asked to shove his hands inside a cow would have, but Grandpa wouldn't take no for an answer. In the end, I saved the cow. Grandpa had snapped a picture of the disgusting but proud moment. My grandfather had taken over where Dad left off, teaching me never to back away from doing what was right. Even though I'd made plenty of wrong decisions growing up, my dad and grandfather never gave up on me. They both saw something in me that I couldn't see in myself.

I walked to the window and pushed back the thin lacy curtain that had been hanging in the front window since I could remember. Charlie and Cash were standing in the pasture in front of the barn, nibbling the last bits of summer grass. In the distance, the feathery gold tips of spring wheat swayed in unison in the late afternoon breeze. In a few months it would be harvest time, only this year Grandpa wouldn't be standing out there in his favorite blue work shirt and rolled up jeans telling the harvest crew what to do.

Mom's footsteps behind me pulled my attention from the scene outside.

I took the coffee cup from her hand. "After I drink this, I'll get changed and head out to feed the animals."

"Are you sure? Before you arrived, I'd been paying Josh from down the road to come feed. I was just going to call him because I thought you might want to take tonight off."

"No, I'm looking forward to it. It was always my favorite chore of the day. Boone's too." Boone lifted his head at the sound of his name and then dropped it again when he realized there was no treat behind it.

"If you say so." Mom sat on the couch and patted the cushion next to her. The past week, spending hours at the hospital, all the while trying to keep the farm running, coupled with the stress of losing her dad, had taken its toll on her. Dark rings circled her eyes, and she looked even thinner than usual.

"Sorry I wasn't here for most of this, Mom. You should have called me earlier."

"He was doing fine. He took a turn so quickly, I had no time to warn you. I'm just glad you got here before he died. I know it was extremely important to both of you."

My chest tightened as I thought about how close I came to missing his final hours. When I reached his bedside, he looked like a shell of his former robust self, drained of color and with enough tubes sticking out of him to make him unrecognizable. He hadn't opened his eyes when I walked in, but when I took his hand, he said my name. He knew instantly it was me. His last words to me were 'take care of the farm, Fynn'.

Mom reached over and covered my hand with hers. "You're going to have to make a lot of decisions in the next few months. We'll need to harvest this last crop of wheat, and then you'll have to decide whether or not you're going to sell the place."

"Me? Why am I making that decision?"

"Why, Fynn, don't you know? Grandpa left you the farm. It's yours to do with as you please."

"What? No. It's yours. I can't make that kind of decision."

"Sure you can." She squeezed my hand. "Which brings me to my other news. Grandpa left me a nice sum of money. I've grown weary of farm life. I've decided to move to the east coast. Remember my best friend, Paula, from Langston? She lost her husband a few years ago, and her kids are grown and out of the house. I'm going to move into her house in Boston. We're going to travel and possibly even start an antique shop together." She stopped and smiled. "You look speechless. Too much all at once?"

"It's kind of coming at me fast, yeah. I don't get it. Why did he leave the farm to me?"

"I think he thought you might like to run it. You know those wheat fields provide a good income, enough that you can put a good price on this place. Then you're free to move on. Or, you can run the place yourself. But you don't need to decide right away, Fynn." She took a sip of coffee. "I still can't believe the story you told me about Butterfield. And that girl, Ellie—"

"Ella." Just saying her name felt like someone tightening a belt around my heart. I had checked my phone obsessively, but there was no call. I had at least expected a call, even if it was to tell me it was over. I hadn't expected silence.

"Ella. Right. From the look in your eyes when you say her name, it seems you two had a little something going."

"It was more than a little something, but it's over. I never let on that I was Frank Axworthy's son. It was a mistake, a decision I will always regret."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Fynn. Well, you've got a lot on your plate now, so maybe a girl would just get in the way. Besides, Fynn Chandler Axworthy, you have never had a shortage of women in your life."

"Yeah, but this one was different. Pretty much irreplaceable."

"Nonsense." Mom leaned over and kissed my cheek. "I guess those dishes won't clean themselves, and you'd better get out to feed the animals before the goats start chewing through their gate."