My Brother Didn’t Speak to Me for 25 Years. His Will Left Me Half of His Maine Blueberry Farm, and a Partner I’d Never Met

I drove up for the reading. Mr. Gray had an office above a hardware store, all wood paneling and old law books.

Patrick had left me half of everything. Half of Downeast Wild Blueberry Farm, 300 acres of blueberry barrens on the coast. Half of the house. Half of the equipment and the business.

“And the other half?” I asked.

“Belongs to his business partner,” Mr. Gray said. “Ms. Sarah Quinn. They’ve owned the farm together for eighteen years.”

Then he handed me an envelope with my name on it, in Patrick’s handwriting.

I didn’t open it. I put it in my jacket pocket. I wasn’t ready.

My plan was simple. I’d meet this Sarah Quinn, get the farm appraised, figure out the inheritance tax and the capital gains, and offer to sell her my half at a fair price. Then I’d go home to New Jersey and put this whole thing behind me.

I drove out to the farm that afternoon.

If you’ve never seen the wild blueberry barrens of Maine, it’s hard to describe. Low, rolling fields that run right down to the ocean, covered in tiny bushes. In August they’re blue. In September, they turn red as fire.

The fog was rolling in when I got there.

Sarah Quinn was out in the field with a hand rake, harvesting the last of the berries. She was about 59, with dark curly hair going gray, a fisherman’s sweater and rubber boots.

She looked up at me, in my good wool coat and my city shoes, and didn’t smile.

“You’re the brother,” she said.