Chapter 6
Kate hadn't slept. She'd spent the night staring at the ceiling, listening to the old inn creak and settle, wondering if she'd just saved everything or lost it all.
At five-thirty, she gave up and went downstairs to find Pop already in the kitchen, staring at the coffee maker as if he'd forgotten how it worked.
“Morning, Pop.”
He turned, and for a moment his face was blank. Then recognition flickered. “Katie. I was trying to... the machine...”
“I've got it.” She started the coffee, noting how he watched her movements carefully, as if memorizing them. “Couldn't sleep?”
“Dreams,” he said vaguely. “Elizabeth was here. But young. So young.”
Kate's throat tightened. “Want some eggs?”
“I'm not hungry.” He sat at the table, his hands folded like a child in school. “Is something happening today? I feel like something's happening.”
Everything was happening. Lillian would arrive at ten to discuss terms. The bank needed documents.
Tom had already sent three emails about legal structures for the trust. But looking at Pop's confused face, Kate just said, “Nothing special. Come on, let’s get you to the living room. Your favorite game show is on.”
It wasn’t true. The game show was a recording Kate played over and over for her father. Something about the old show kept his anxiety at bay.
Dani arrived at seven, carrying a box of pastries from the bakery in town. She looked like she'd slept about as well as Kate, shadows under her eyes, her usually perfect hair pulled back in a messy bun.
“Peace offering,” she said, setting the box on the counter.
“For what?”
“For pushing you. For bringing Lillian into this. For leaving in the first place.” Dani poured herself coffee with shaking hands. “Take your pick.”
“You did what you thought was right.”
“Did I? Or did I just do what was easier?” Dani sat across from Pop, who was dozing in his chair. “It was easier to leave. Easier to let you handle everything. Easier to accept Lillian's money without questioning it.”
“Dani…”
“No, let me say this.” Her sister's eyes were bright with unshed tears. “You stayed. You gave up everything to take care of Pop and the inn. And I went to New York and failed at three different careers and dated men who treated me like I was disposable. So who made the better choice?”
Kate didn't know how to answer that. Was staying the better choice if it meant watching everything slowly fall apart? Was leaving worse if it meant trying to find yourself?
“We both did what we had to do,” Kate said finally.
“Very diplomatic.” Dani managed a small smile. “You sound like Mom.”
The comparison caught Kate off guard. She never took seriously any comments about her being like Elizabeth; that was Dani's role, the pretty one who looked like their mother. But maybe there were other ways of resemblance.
Tom and James arrived together at nine, Tom in another suit, James in jeans and a MIT hoodie. They commandeered the dining room, spreading out legal documents and laptops like they were preparing for battle.
“I've reviewed the trust documents,” Tom said, all business. “They're solid. No hidden clauses, no tricks. She's essentially giving us full control of the money with only one stipulation.”
“Which is?” Kate asked.
“She wants to be involved in decisions about Pop's care. Not controlling them, just... consulted.”
“It would appear that she wants to be family,” James translated.
Kate looked out the window to where Ben was already working, securing new boards to the roof structure. He'd been there since eight, hadn't even knocked, just started working. She envied him the simplicity of his task, see the problem, fix it, move on.
At exactly ten o'clock, the Mercedes pulled into the drive. Lillian emerged, today in navy blue instead of black, still elegant but somehow softer. She walked to the door slowly, as if giving them time to change their minds.
Kate let her in. “Mrs. Whitfield.”
“Lillian. Please.” She looked tired despite her perfect makeup. “Thank you for agreeing to see me.”
They gathered in the dining room, the five of them around the table like some corporate board meeting. Lillian sat at one end, very straight, her hands folded on a leather portfolio.
“First,” she said, “I want to be clear. This money comes with no strings except one; I want to be part of your father’s care decisions. Not to override you, Katherine, but to be included. To help.”
“Why?” Kate asked bluntly.
“Because he loved my daughter. Because he made her happy. Because I owe him years of apologies I can never fully make.” Lillian's voice was steady, but Kate caught the slight tremor in her hands. “And because I'm dying, and I don't want to die knowing I could have helped and didn't.”
“How long?” James asked gently.
“Three months. Perhaps six if I'm fortunate.” She said it matter-of-factly, like discussing the weather. “The treatments aren't working. So I've stopped them.”
Dani made a small sound of distress. Lillian glanced at her with something that might have been affection.
“Now,” Lillian continued, opening her portfolio, “the trusts are already established.
One for Daniel's care, it will cover full-time nursing, all medical expenses, any equipment needed. The second is for the inn itself, enough to cover all repairs, pay off the mortgage, and provide operating capital for five years.”
The number she named made Kate's head spin. It was more than the inn had ever been worth, more than she could imagine.
“That's...” Tom started.
“It's what Elizabeth's inheritance would have been, with interest.” Lillian's voice was firm. “It's what she should have had.”
“She chose not to have it,” Kate said.
“No. I chose for her. I gave her an ultimatum no mother should give.” Lillian looked directly at Kate. “I told her if she married your father, she'd be cut off completely. No money, no family, no contact. I thought she'd choose security. I underestimated her capacity for love.”
The room was silent except for the sound of Ben's hammer overhead.
“There's one more thing,” Lillian said. She pulled out an envelope, yellow with age. “Elizabeth wrote to me, several times. I never answered, but I kept the letters. I thought... you might want them.”
Kate took the envelope with numb fingers. Her mother's handwriting was on the front: Mother.
“I'll give you time to discuss,” Lillian said, standing. “But I need to know today. Dani says the bank needs notification by close of business if we're to stop the foreclosure proceedings.”
“That’s right,” Dani confirmed.
“Well then, you’ll need to decide quickly. You have my cell phone number,” she said as she walked out the front door.
After she left, the siblings sat in stunned silence. Pop wandered in, looking confused.
“Was someone here?” he asked.
“Just a visitor, Pop,” Kate said.
“Oh.” He noticed the pastries Dani had brought. “Those look good.”
“Have one,” Dani said, pushing the box toward him.
Pop carefully selected a Danish and then carried it back to his chair.
Tom cleared his throat. “We need to vote.”
“Vote?” Kate asked.
“We're all equal heirs. We should all agree.”
“Katie should decide,” James said. “She's the one who's been here and will continue to oversee things.”
“We all have a stake in this,” Tom argued.
“Stop.” Kate stood. “This isn't a democracy. It's Pop's life, his home. The question is what's best for him.”
She walked to the window, watching Ben work. He was measuring something, marking wood with a pencil, completely absorbed in his task. Behind him, the harbor stretched gray and endless.
“Mom tried to reconcile,” Kate said quietly. “She wrote letters. Tried to bridge the gap.”
“We don't know what the letters say,” Dani pointed out.
Kate opened the envelope, pulled out the first letter. The paper was soft with age, her mother's handwriting young and hopeful.
“‘Dear Mother,’” she read aloud. “‘I know you're angry. I know you think I'm making a mistake. But I love him. I love Daniel with everything I am. Can't that be enough? Can't you be happy that I'm happy?’”
Kate's voice broke. She handed the letter to Tom, who continued reading.
“‘I'm not asking for money. I'm asking for my mother. For my future children's grandmother. Please, don't let pride destroy our family.’”
“When was this written?” James asked.
Kate checked the date. “Six months after their wedding.”
There were three more letters, each more desperate than the last. The final one was dated just after Kate's birth.
“‘Mother,’” Dani read this one, her voice thick with tears. “‘I have a daughter now. Katherine. I look at her and think about how you must have looked at me once, with such love, such hope. Please don't let her grow up without knowing you. Please don't punish her for my choices.’”
The room was quiet when Dani finished. Pop had fallen asleep in his chair, the half-eaten Danish in his hand.
“Lillian never answered,” Kate said. It wasn't a question.
“No,” Tom said quietly. “She didn't.”
“How could she be so cruel?”
“It was a different time. She wants forgiveness,” James said.
“What she wants is absolution. I don’t think I can give her that.”
Kate thought about her mother, young and hopeful, writing letters that were never answered. Then she thought about Lillian, old and dying, keeping those letters for all these years.
“We take the money,” Kate said, her voice firm.
“You're sure?” Tom asked.
“Mom would want Pop cared for. She'd want the inn saved.” Kate looked at her siblings. “It’s the practical thing to do.”
“And what about a relationship with her?” Dani asked.
Kate looked at her. “We don’t really have a choice, do we?”
“Mom would want us to forgive her.”
Kate nodded. “I know. She'd want us to be the family she couldn't have. It’s just…”
“You’ll have to pretend for now,” Tom insisted. “Whatever you truly feel, at least right now, you’ll have to put that aside and meet her terms.”