leave with drama. That might have been easier. She left gently, with tears and exhaustion, saying she could not spend the rest of her life competing with ghosts, land, and grief. My father had died the year before, my mother two years before that, and I had buried myself in work because fences, timber plans, cattle leases, and tractor repairs did not ask me to explain myself. Rebecca wanted a husband. I became a caretaker for acreage and memory.
By the time I understood the difference, she was gone.
So
