Eby was surprised how easily Kate accepted what Eby had told her. But it all made sense when Kate said, “She was never the same after he died.” Quinn was as high-strung as her mother had been. And Quinn had obviously been as torn up after her own husband died. Kate had seen it, and Eby was sorry that she had.

“It’s the Morris curse.”

“It almost happened to me—when Matt died,” Kate said quietly, looking up at the ceiling. Eby wondered if it was telling her anything.

“But it didn’t,” Eby said. “If we measured life in the things that almost happened, we wouldn’t get anywhere.”

They stayed there, side by side, for a while. Eby decided, once she sold Lost Lake, that she would stay in touch with Kate. This felt good, to finally be able to be in a room with her family and feel nothing but camaraderie, where conversation and moral support were the only things asked for and given freely. It took fifty years for this to finally happen.

Kate stood and dusted herself off. She put her hands in her pockets and considered Eby for a moment. “It’s not official, is it? You haven’t signed over Lost Lake yet?”

“Not yet.”

“So it’s still a thing that almost happened.”

Eby smiled to herself. She caught on quickly. “For now.”

“So no inventory yet.”

“Not physical inventory, at least. Now, mental inventory; I’m doing a lot of that.”

“What are you going to do,” Kate asked, “when you sell?”

“Travel,” Eby said. “George and I always wanted to go back to Europe.”

“What about after?”

“After what?”

“After you travel, where will you come back to?”

Eby laughed. “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

Kate’s brow lowered. She looked like she was going to say something, then thought better of it. “I’ll leave you to it.” She turned to go, then stopped. “Thank you, Eby.”

“For what?”

“For being a misfit.” She smiled. “You give the rest of us hope.”

Amsterdam, The Netherlands

Amsterdam, The Netherlands
Winter 1963