"Whenever you want."
"I can come this weekend."
Walter looked toward the orchard.
The trees were beginning to change color.
"Your room is still here."
Sarah became quiet.
Then she said:
"I know."
They ended the call.
Walter remained seated for several minutes.
Duke approached and rested his head on Walter's knee.
"Well, old boy," Walter whispered. "Looks like we're having company."
Sarah arrived on Saturday afternoon.
She drove a silver sedan that looked far too modern for the old farmhouse driveway.
Walter stood on the porch waiting.
When she stepped out, he noticed that she had Eleanor's eyes.
She had inherited her mother's dark hair, too, although it was now streaked with gray.
For a moment, neither knew what to say.
Then Sarah walked toward him.
"Hi, Dad."
Walter opened his arms.
She embraced him.
He held her carefully.
Not because she was fragile.
Because he was afraid that if he held her too tightly, she might disappear again.
"I'm glad you're here," he whispered.
Sarah closed her eyes.
"Me too."
They spent the first hour talking about ordinary things.
The weather.
Her work.
Daniel's job.
The price of groceries.
The condition of the old barn.
Then Sarah noticed the motorcycle parked near the porch.
She looked toward the clubhouse-style leather vest hanging on a chair.
"Dad?"
Walter smiled.
"Long story."
"Why is there a motorcycle club at your house?"
"Because I helped a woman during a storm."
Sarah stared at him.
"You helped someone?"
"Apparently, that's still allowed at my age."
She laughed.
Then he explained everything.
Mara.
Gabriel.
The bank.
Blackridge Development.
The forged documents.
The threatened families.
Sarah listened without interrupting.
When he finished, she looked genuinely frightened.
"Dad, this is dangerous."
"Yes."
"You need to get away from these people."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because they're trying to take my farm."
"You could sell it."
Walter looked at her.
Sarah sighed.
"I'm not saying you should. I'm saying your safety matters more than a piece of property."
Walter nodded.
"You're right."
She looked surprised.
He continued.
"But so does justice. And so do the people who have already lost their homes."
Sarah sat down.
"Dad, you can't save everybody."
"No."
"Then why are you trying?"
Walter looked at the photograph of Eleanor.
"Because once, somebody helped me."
Sarah followed his gaze.
"What happened?"
Walter took a breath.
"Before your mother and I got married, I had almost nothing. My father had died, and I was working two jobs. One winter, the truck broke down in the middle of nowhere. I had no money for repairs."
He smiled faintly.
"An old mechanic stopped. He spent three hours fixing the engine. When I asked how much I owed him, he told me to help somebody else when I could."
Sarah listened.
"I never forgot that."
Walter looked at her.
"Your mother never forgot it either."
Sarah lowered her eyes.
"I'm sorry I stayed away."
Walter didn't answer immediately.
Then he reached across the table and took her hand.
"Your mother used to say that families aren't always broken by one big argument. Sometimes they're damaged by a thousand little silences."
Sarah's eyes filled with tears.
"I thought you blamed me."
Walter shook his head.
"I blamed myself."
"For what?"
"For being too proud to call."
Sarah began crying.
Walter moved closer.
For the first time in years, they spoke about the things they had avoided.
They discussed the argument that had occurred after Eleanor's funeral.
Sarah had wanted Walter to move closer to her family. Walter had refused.
He had believed she was trying to take away the last part of his life that still felt familiar.
She had believed he was choosing the farm over his daughter.
Neither had understood the other's fear.
By the time the conversation ended, the afternoon sunlight was fading.
Sarah wiped her eyes.
"Can I stay tonight?"
Walter smiled.
"Your room is still made up."
She looked toward the staircase.
"Does it still have that awful yellow wallpaper?"
Walter laughed.
"Your mother chose it."
"Of course she did."
They both laughed.
And for the first time in six years, the farmhouse sounded like a family home again.
But the peace did not last.
At 2:17 on Sunday morning, Duke began barking.
Walter woke immediately.
The dog was standing beside the bedroom door, his ears raised.
Walter listened.
A faint noise came from downstairs.
Something scraping against the porch.
He reached for his flashlight.
Sarah appeared in the hallway.
"Dad?"
"Stay upstairs."
"What is it?"
"I don't know."
He moved slowly down the staircase.
Duke followed.
The kitchen was dark.
Walter looked through the window.
A shadow moved near the barn.
Then another.
He heard a metallic click.
And suddenly the smell of gasoline filled the air.
Walter's heart began pounding.