“That’s what I thought. And I doubt you want to spend your time reroofing the barn or harvesting the garden?”

“It’s honest work.”

“It is. But does the idea of listening to me bitch about the cost of new fermentation tanks appeal to you?

I chuckle. “Not exactly.”

“Then go back to Boston. Your team needs you.”

I consider his words. “And what about you guys?”

“We’ll manage. Just like we always do.”

With the oil topped off, I wipe my hands and turn to face Graham. “You really want me gone that badly?”

He scoffs. “Of course not. I want what’s best for you.”

There’s a sincerity to his words.

“And when you retire, move back here, if you like. Build yourself a nice house on that ten acres on the other side of the river.” He points his chin in the direction of the acreage I’ve had my eye on.

I nod. “That might be nice.”

Graham agrees. “It would. It’s a prime spot. Far enough away from Mom and Al to be private, but not so far that you can’t easily swing by for a homecooked meal.”

He has a point. But thinking about my future . . . about a future without Summer by my side? It’s not something I can let myself do right now.

“One other thing,” Graham says, rubbing a hand over his stubbled jaw. “When you get back to Boston, stop with the fighting. That’s not what Dad would want either.”

I hang my head. “Okay.”

Graham clutches my shoulder and gives it a good hard squeeze. “We’re all proud of you, kid. You know that, right?”

“Thanks.” I break into a smile because sometimes it’s just nice to hear those words. Lately, I’ve felt like everything I touch turns to shit.

A warm feeling rushes through me. The other thing that’s surprising is the fact that these encouraging words are leaving Graham’s mouth.

“Damn, dude, I didn’t think you had it in you.” I grin at him.

“Had what?”

“The patriarch thing. Giving advice. Filling in for Dad. Those are the most words I’ve heard you string together . . . ever.”

He chuckles. “Well, who the hell knows? Maybe I’m rising to the occasion. Maybe we all will.”

That’s a nice thought.

“What about Mom? How’s she doing?” I ask, knowing she confides in Graham more than she does the rest of us.

He pauses to consider his response. “She has good days and bad days, just like anyone else. But she’ll be okay. We all will. One day at a time, right?”

“I guess so.”

I toss the empty motor oil container in the trash can and fire up the snowblower to make sure it starts. After letting it run for a minute, I shut her off.

“Should we head back?” I ask.