Chapter 4
She dressed in the dark: jeans, thermal shirt, thick wool sweater, and made her way downstairs.
Through the kitchen window, the world had turned monochrome.
At least eighteen inches had fallen overnight, transforming the inn's property into something from a snow globe.
The harbor was invisible behind a wall of white.
The coffee maker gurgled to life as Kate stood at the window, watching dawn struggle through the storm clouds.
A truck engine rumbled outside, not Marcy's car, something bigger. Kate opened the back door to find Ben Calloway in the driveway, plowing. His truck had a plow attachment she hadn't noticed before, and he was methodically clearing the parking area, snow flying in neat arcs from the blade.
She bundled into her parka and walked out. He stopped when he saw her, rolling down his window.
“Figured you'd need plowing,” he called over the engine noise. “Your guests won't be able to get out otherwise.”
“I have a service.”
“Johnny's backed up. Heard him on the radio saying he won't get to the commercial properties until afternoon.” Ben gestured at the half-cleared lot. “I was out anyway, doing the neighbors’.”
The kindness of it caught her off guard. In Kennebunkport, especially among the year-rounders, people looked out for each other. But she wasn't used to being on the receiving end of that care. She'd always been the one doing the looking after.
“Thank you,” she managed. “What do I owe you?”
“Nothing. Neighborly gesture.” He shifted the truck into park and lingered, as if he wanted to say more. “You okay?”
The question was simple, but something in his tone, genuine concern without prying, made her throat tight. “I will be.”
“Good.” He nodded toward the inn. “I could start on those emergency repairs today. Weather's supposed to clear this afternoon. I put a tarp up yesterday, so I’ll have to clean off what came down last night. At least I can stop any more water getting in.”
“In this snow?”
“Snow's easier than rain. Safer, too. Everything's frozen, less likely to shift.” He paused. “That is, if you've decided to go ahead.”
Five thousand dollars. She had three thousand in the emergency fund, could probably scrape together another thousand from the operating account. The last thousand... she'd figure it out. She always did.
“Yes,” she heard herself say. “Let's do it.”
“I'll finish plowing, then get my gear.”
Kate went back inside to find Pop in the kitchen, wearing his robe and looking confused.
“Where's Elizabeth?” he asked.
Her heart sank. He was having one of those mornings. “She's not here right now, Pop.”
“But she was here last night. I saw her.”
Kate guided him to his chair, poured him coffee, half regular, half decaf, the way the doctor recommended. “That was Dani, Pop. And Grandmother Lillian.”
“Lillian.” His face darkened. “She wants to take everything.”
“No one's taking anything.”
But even as she said it, Kate wondered if it was true. Wasn't Lillian trying to take something? Not the inn itself, but something more precious: their independence, their right to struggle on their own terms, their carefully maintained distance from that world?
Rosa arrived at seven-thirty, her son having driven her in his four-wheel drive. She took one look at the dining room, still set with the good china, candles burned to stubs, and started clearing without questions. That was Rosa's gift: knowing when to talk and when to work in silence.
“I’m sorry, Rosa,” Kate said. “I started cleaning last night, but I guess I got distracted.”
“Don’t be silly,” Rosa responded. “You shouldn’t worry about such things.”
Marcy arrived next, stamping snow from her boots. “Roads are worse than yesterday. Took me forty minutes from my place.” She unwound her scarf, revealing cheeks red from cold. “How'd the fancy dinner go?”
“About as expected.”
“That bad?”
Kate thought about it. “I’m pretty sure I saw a tear.”
“The grandmother? Didn't know her type could cry.”
“Apparently they can, when they have to.”
Marcy started pulling out ingredients for breakfast: eggs, bread for French toast, the maple syrup from the local farm that guests always commented on.
The familiar routine of morning preparation filled the kitchen, and Kate felt something in her chest loosen.
This was real: the work, the inn, the people who showed up every day regardless of snow or family drama.
Dani arrived at nine, looking like she'd stepped from a catalog in her wool coat and pristine boots. She found Kate in the office, going over the books for the hundredth time, trying to make the numbers work.
“We need to talk,” Dani said, closing the door behind her.
“I'm working.”
“The bills will still be there in an hour.” Dani sat in the chair across from the desk, their mother's chair, with its worn arms and squeaky wheel. “Kate, about Lillian…”
“No.”
“You should at least look at the trust documents.”
“I’m not interested.”
Dani pulled a folder from her bag, placed it on the desk between them. “Just look. Please.”
Kate could see the lawyer's letterhead through the translucent cover, could make out numbers that seemed impossible, enough to fix everything, enough to stop worrying, enough to breathe.
“I see she’s sent you to do her bidding. What's the real cost?” Kate asked.
“There isn't one. That's what I'm trying to tell you.”
“There's always a cost with people like her.”
“People like her? You mean our grandmother?”
“I mean people who think money solves everything.”
Dani leaned forward, and Kate could smell her perfume, something light and expensive, nothing like the vanilla body spray she used to wear in high school.
“It doesn't solve everything. But it solves some things. Like Pop getting proper care. Like the inn not falling down. Like you not killing yourself trying to hold it all together.”
Through the window, Kate could see Ben getting tools from his truck, already at work despite the snow.
He moved carefully but confidently, securing a ladder and then a bright blue tarp over the damaged section.
His breath clouded in the cold air, and she found herself watching the sure way he handled his tools, the methodical approach to the repair.
“Kate?” Dani's voice pulled her back. “Are you even listening?”
“I'm listening.”
“No, you're watching the contractor.”
Heat rose in Kate's cheeks. “I’m making sure he’s doing what we need.”
“Right.” Dani's tone was knowing. “He's cute.”
“He's fixing our roof.”
“He can be cute and work on the roof.”
Before Kate could respond, they heard a crash from the kitchen. Both sisters ran, finding Pop on the floor, a shattered plate beside him, his hand bleeding from trying to pick up the pieces.
“I dropped it,” he said, looking up at them with confused eyes. “Elizabeth's going to be upset. It's her good china.”
Kate knelt beside him, gently taking his hand to examine the cut. It wasn't deep, but blood welled steadily. “It's okay, Pop. Accidents happen.”
“She loved that pattern. Roses. Always roses.”
Kate grabbed the first aid kit while Dani helped him into a chair. Marcy and Rosa came into the kitchen as Kate cleaned and bandaged his hand.
Kate noticed how thin her father’s skin had become, how prominent the veins were. His tremor was worse this morning, and there was something vague in his eyes that scared her more than any cut.
“Maybe we should call Dr. Cramer,” Dani suggested quietly.
“I'm fine,” Pop insisted, but he was looking at Dani strangely. “You look just like her. Elizabeth. Same eyes.”
Dani knelt beside him. “I'm Dani, Daddy. Your daughter.”
“Dani's in New York. Big city girl now.” He smiled sadly. “Never could keep her here. Too much like her mother that way.”
Kate and Dani exchanged glances. Their father was sliding between times again, mixing past and present into a confusing swirl.
“Why don't you rest for a bit?” Kate suggested, helping him stand.
“I need to check the guests. Breakfast service…”
“All taken care of,” Kate assured him. “You trained us well.”
She got him settled in his chair in the sunroom, tucked a blanket around him. He was asleep within minutes, his bandaged hand resting on his chest. In the kitchen, Dani swept up the broken china, tears running down her face.
“He's getting worse,” Dani said.
“He has good days and bad days.”
“Kate, this isn't just a bad day. He didn't know me.”
“Sometimes he doesn't know any of us.” Kate took the broom from her sister. “It's the disease. It's not personal.”
“How do you stand it? Watching him disappear bit by bit?”
Kate didn't answer because she didn't know how to explain that you don't stand it, you just keep going because stopping isn't an option. Instead, she finished sweeping, noting that the broken plate was indeed their mother's favorite pattern, roses around the rim, delicate and old-fashioned.
Ben came in through the back door, bringing the cold air with him. “Got the snow off the roof and the tarp secured. That'll hold until we can do the proper repair.” He paused, taking in Dani's tears, the broken china in the dustpan. “Everything okay?”
“Pop had an accident,” Kate said.
“Is he hurt?”
“Small cut. He's resting.”
Ben nodded, seeming to understand more than she'd said. Small towns meant everyone knew everyone's struggles. “I'll be back tomorrow to start the real work. Need to get materials today.”
“In this weather?”
“Storm's supposed to break by noon, and they’re clearing the roads. Besides,” he smiled slightly, “the hardware store won't be crowded. Everyone else will be home.”
After he left, Dani returned to her campaign. “Lillian could pay for a nurse. Someone trained in dementia care.”
“Pop doesn't want strangers in the house.”
“He might not notice.”
The harsh truth of it hit Kate. Pop might not notice. He was sliding away from them, day by day, and soon he might not know if there were strangers or family caring for him.
“Can I ask you something?” Dani said suddenly. “Why do you hate her so much? Lillian. I understand being angry, being hurt. But this feels like more.”
Kate thought about it, really thought about it. Why did she hate Lillian Whitfield with such intensity? She'd been young when everything happened, had barely known her grandmother existed until the lawyers came.
“She made Mom choose,” Kate said finally. “Between her family and Pop. No one should have to make that choice.”
“But Mom chose Pop. Chose us.”
“And Lillian punished her for it. Cut her off completely. What kind of mother does that?”
“A proud one. A hurt one. A human one.”
Kate stared at her sister. “You're defending her?”
“I'm trying to understand her. There's a difference.” Dani moved to the window, looking out at the snow-covered garden. “Did you know Mom tried to reconcile with her? Years before she got sick?”
“What?”
“Lillian told me. Mom wrote letters, trying to bridge the gap. Lillian never answered. She says it's her biggest regret.”
“She should have answered.”
“Yes. She should have. But she didn't, and now Mom's gone, and all any of us have are regrets and what-ifs.” Dani turned from the window. “Don't you see? We're doing the same thing. Holding on to pride while time runs out.”
Kate wanted to argue, but Rosa appeared in the doorway. “Miss Kate? The couple in Room 3 wants to check out early. The storm has them worried.”
Kate nodded. “I’ll take care of it.” Kate looked back at Dani, “Well talk about this later.”
The rest of the morning dissolved into the familiar rhythm of running the inn. Checkout procedures, breakfast for the remaining guests, laundry to start, beds to strip and remake. Dani helped, though she moved through the tasks like someone playing at innkeeper rather than being one.
By noon, as Ben had predicted, the storm broke. Patches of blue appeared between clouds, and weak sunlight made the snow sparkle. Kate stood on the porch, breathing in the clean, cold air. The harbor was visible again, gray-green water dotted with ice.
“Pretty,” Dani said, joining her.
“It's always pretty after a storm.”
“No, I mean this.” Dani gestured at the inn, the view, the whole scene. “I forgot how beautiful it could be here.”
“Easy to say when you're not the one maintaining it.”
“That's not fair.”
“Isn't it?” Kate turned to face her sister. “You left, Dani. You and Tom and James. You all left, and I stayed, and now you want to come back and tell me how to save everything?”
“I want to help.”
“With Lillian's money.”
“It's our mother's money, really. What she would have inherited.”
“Mom didn't want that money. She chose this instead.” Kate gestured at the inn, tired and worn but still standing.
“Maybe she would have changed her mind. If she'd lived. If she'd seen how hard it would be.”
The words hung between them like icicles, sharp and ready to fall. Before Kate could respond, her phone rang. Brian from the bank.
“Kate, I need those projections we discussed. The board meets Friday.”
“I'll have them to you by Thursday.”
“Good. And Kate? I heard Lillian Whitfield is in town.”
Small towns. Nothing stayed secret long.
“She is.”
“That could be good for you. For the inn, I mean.”
Frustrated that everyone in town seemed to know more about her family history than she did. “I'll send the projections Thursday, Brian,” Kate repeated and hung up.
Dani looked at Kate. “The bank?”
“They want a business plan. Proof the inn can survive.”
“Can it? Without help?”
Kate didn't answer because they both knew the truth. The inn was dying, slowly but surely, like Pop, like Lillian, like everything she loved.
“You’re impossibly stubborn, do you know that?” Angry, Dani got in her car and drove away.
“You have no idea,” Kate whispered to no one.
Later that night, after Dani had returned to her hotel and Pop was safely in bed, Kate sat in the office with Lillian's folder. She didn't open it, just held it, feeling the weight of possibility. Outside, the moon rose in the sky, turning the snow-covered world silver.
She thought about her mother, young and in love, choosing this life over that one. Had Elizabeth ever regretted it? In those last days, when the cancer was winning, had she wished for reconciliation?
Kate set the folder aside, still unopened, and pulled out her laptop. She had a business plan to write, numbers to make work somehow. She would save the inn her way, without Lillian's money, without strings or conditions or the weight of forgiveness she wasn't ready to give.
But as she worked, she could hear Pop's voice from this morning, confused and lost: “Where's Elizabeth?” And wondered how much longer she could hold everything together on her own.