CHAPTER TEN
Emily ended her days with a ritual: clean the family kitchen, have Daniel take out the trash, and preset the coffeemaker for the morning.
By eight that night, the kitchen was already rinsed in lemon-mint sanitizing spray, and the sink full of soapy, soaking mugs from the tea she’d made for Roy.
She wiped down the stove with a ferocity that rattled the top of it, not caring about the ghostly afterimage the cleaner left on the glass top.
Every swipe was a small attempt at order.
The dishwasher ran its marathon under the window, cycling the last traces of dinner off of plates, pots, and pans.
Emily leaned against the edge of the sink, eyes closed, letting the vibration of the appliance settle her nerves.
A wave of nausea crested, the now-familiar assault that felt less like “morning sickness” and more like being on a roller-coaster drop at any odd hour her body decided.
She breathed in through her nose. The scent of disinfectant helped.
The sound of boots in the hall made her straighten.
Daniel stepped into the kitchen; hair still damp from his shower but already mussed by nervous hands.
He wore his favorite flannel—third button down missing, cuffs frayed—and a pair of sweatpants that had once belonged to Roy, that she had found in the attic.
Daniel’s face was pale; lips pressed in a flat line.
She knew, before he said a word, that Roy was being difficult. Daniel hovered at the threshold, as if the room might spit him back out. “He’s up,” he said. “Didn’t eat anything I brought in there. Says he wants to walk the grounds, but I don’t think he’s steady enough.”
Emily wiped her hands on a towel, forced her voice level. “I’ll call my mom to come back. She can run interference if he gets stubborn.”
He nodded, then sat at the kitchen table, both palms flattening against the grain.
“You need to sleep,” she said.
“Yeah. Didn’t get enough last night. Charlotte had me up at three.” He kneaded the heel of his palm, a stress tic she’d mapped long ago. “You feeling okay?”
She shook her head, hair falling forward to curtain her face. “Between the bathroom and my brain? Awful.”
Daniel sighed. “Em, we need to talk about the lighthouse.”
She dried her hands and turned, every muscle coiling tight. “We’ve talked about it.”
He shook his head. “Not really. We’ve danced around it, but the deadline to put in our offer is coming. They need our answer by Monday. And with Roy like this—” He let the sentence hang.
Emily crossed to the table, setting herself directly across from him. “We can still do it, Daniel. The price is good, and the city wants us to have it. They’re not just looking for a caretaker. They want someone who gives a damn.”
He ran both hands through his hair, pushing it up in peaks.
“I’m not saying we don’t care. But it’s a huge commitment.
It’s not just summer lectures and fun trivia nights.
The whole lighthouse needs restoration, the safety codes alone—” He pressed his finger to the table, hard enough to blanch the nail.
“You’ve seen the place. I know I was dreaming right along with you, but now, with the baby—”
Emily bristled. “You think I haven’t thought about that? This lighthouse is part of the town’s legacy, just like the inn. You think I’m going to let the whole place go to rot?”
Daniel’s eyes softened. “I know what it means to you. But—”
“No,” she snapped. “You don’t. You keep acting like this is just another business pitch. Like the island, or Trevor’s house. The spa. Raven’s place. It’s not. It’s where my parents met. It’s—” She broke off, air shivering in her chest. “It matters.”
Because I can hold onto the lighthouse, even if I can’t hold onto my dad.
He drew a slow breath, the kind that said he was recalibrating, trying not to make it worse. “Em, I just want to make sure you’re okay. That we’re okay. The doctor was clear about the risks. You need rest, not another project.”
She set her jaw. “If I rest any more, I’ll lose my mind. I need to do something. You’re right that the inn practically runs itself now. I can’t just sit around waiting for Roy to—” The words stuck.
They stared at each other across the expanse of lemon-scented table. Daniel finally looked away, tracing the swirl of a coffee ring with his thumb. “I’m scared,” he said. “I don’t want to lose you. Or the baby. And we can’t be everywhere at once.”
Emily suddenly felt the baby move, a small, slippery shift under her skin. She inhaled, then exhaled, pulse tripping at her throat. “You’re not going to lose me. I’m not going anywhere. We’ll figure it out. But we’re not giving up on the lighthouse.”
Daniel threw up his hands, exasperated.
Emily mimicked the move. “You want to play it safe. You always do. You want me to shrink down to what—what, Daniel? A wife who keeps quiet and doesn’t risk anything?”
His eyes flashed, anger briefly unmasked. “That’s not fair.”
Emily’s breath came quick, heat flooding her face. “I am not waiting around for the universe to decide if it wants me, geriatric me, to have this baby safely. I am not going to sit in this house and watch Roy fade. And I’m not going to wait for you to tell me I can go out and live my normal life.”
Daniel pressed his palms into the tabletop, knuckles white. “You could lose the baby if you overdo it!”
She shook her head. “I’m not fragile.”
He lowered his voice, controlled. “Dr. Lieberman was explicit about the risks.”
“So what?” Emily’s voice trembled with effort. “There’s always risk.”
“I want you,” he said. “Not a lighthouse. Not a monument. Just you. Our family. I don’t want to choose.”
She stared at him, hating the way he made her feel both selfish and cruel. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have to.”
He blinked. The silence grew, filling the room with a pressure that made her scalp tingle.
“Let’s revisit it after the baby comes,” he said, careful, as if coaxing an animal from a trap. “We can see how things stand. Maybe no one else will buy the place.”
Emily turned away, hand on her belly, the baby now fluttering inside her like a coin in freefall.
“Fine,” she said. “Let’s revisit everything, then.”
Daniel’s eyes widened. “I think your judgment is clouded right now—between the pregnancy hormones and worrying about your father, you’re not thinking clearly.”
The words sliced, clean and cold, leaving her gasping. Here yes suddenly felt hot. She couldn’t even form the words to respond, her chest so tight that her vision blurred at the edges. A tear streaked down her cheek before she could will it away.
She stood quickly, her chair crashing back, and left the kitchen. The sound of the chair echoed. Emily didn’t look back.