could. Crazy week.
So I went.
Again.
And again.
But I wasn’t a martyr.
I genuinely came to love Frank.
We talked in doctors’ waiting rooms in ways we never had around Thanksgiving tables.
He told me about Margaret.
About the first time Daniel drove a car.
About almost bankrupting themselves buying Gull Lake in the late eighties.
“Margaret bought that place,” he once told me.
“I thought you bought it together.”
“She found it.”
“That sounds more accurate.”
“She saw the dock and decided our children were going to
