The Journey Home. Fiona Hood-Stewart

I suppose I should go and see it at least.” India mulled over the idea, lifting the wilted gardenia to her nose. “Professionally it would be a great opportunity.”

      “Go,” Dolores said firmly. “Don’t be afraid of taking chances. If you don’t, you’ll grow into a regretful old lady. Believe me, I know too many of them. But then look at me,” she said, smiling, her eyes mischievous yet nostalgic. “I’ve had my ups and downs, buried three husbands, and had my aventures along the way. But if I could go back, I wouldn’t change a thing. Life is to be lived, not looked at from a distance. I only wish there was more of it. Time seems to fly by so quickly. Before you know it, you’ll be sitting on some veranda, proffering excellent advice to a lovely young person like yourself.” She gave a tinkling laugh, the laugh of a young girl. “Stop being afraid, India,” she chided. “Why not bring the boys over sometime? We can have a big asado, and your American friend will enjoy seeing a real estancia.”