Chapter 7
The nurse arrived at seven sharp, just as Kate was trying to convince Pop that his coffee mug didn't belong in the bathroom cabinet. Her name was Amy Atkinson, and she came with impeccable credentials, and a smile that seemed genuinely warm rather than professionally practiced.
“Mr. Perkins,” she said, extending her hand to Pop. “I'm Amy. I'm here to help around the house.”
“We don't need help,” Pop said, looking at Kate. “Katie takes care of everything.”
Kate felt her chest tighten. She'd been taking care of everything for so long, she didn't know how to stop. “It’s all right, Pop, Amy's just going to help me with a few things.”
Pop's jaw set in the stubborn line Kate knew so well, she saw it in the mirror every morning.
“I'm actually here to learn about the inn. I heard you know more about this place than anyone.”
Pop's expression softened slightly. “Well, that's true. Been here thirty-six years.”
“Would you show me around? I'd love to hear the history.”
As Pop led Amy toward the lobby, already launching into the story of the 1989 renovation, Kate stood in the kitchen feeling displaced.
She'd expected resistance from Pop, but not this strange emptiness in her own chest. Someone else would manage him now.
Someone else would know his routines, his medications, his good days and bad.
“That was smooth,” Dani said from the doorway, having stayed overnight in her old room. “She's good.”
“Lillian hired her.”
“So she must be the best.” Dani poured coffee, studying Kate over the rim. “You look like someone stole your puppy.”
“I'm fine,” Kate lied.
“You're not. You're wondering what you're supposed to do now that someone else is taking care of Pop.”
Kate wanted to deny it, but Dani was right. For years, her life had been structured around Pop's needs, morning medications, afternoon confusion, evening wandering. Who was she without that responsibility?
Ben's truck pulled up outside, followed by another vehicle, a van with “Coastal Electric” on the side.
“What's that?” Kate asked.
“Electricians,” Dani said. “Lillian's contractor called them. They're rewiring the whole third floor today.”
“Nobody told me.”
“I'm telling you now.” Dani's voice was gentle but firm. “Kate, you have to let people help. That's what the money is for.”
Kate went outside, needing air and distance from the changes already reshaping her life. Ben unloaded more lumber but stopped when he saw her.
“Big day,” he said.
“Everything's happening so fast,” Kate said.
“That bothers you.” It wasn't a question.
“I should be grateful. I am grateful. It's just...” She struggled for words. “For so long I've held everything together with duct tape and stubbornness. Now suddenly there's money and nurses and electricians, and I don't know what I'm supposed to do.”
“You could take a break.”
“I don't know how to do that.”
“You could learn.” He tilted his head, studying her. “When's the last time you did something just for fun? Not for the inn or Pop or anyone else?”
Kate tried to remember. Before Pop got sick? Before Mom died? She honestly couldn't recall.
“That's what I thought,” Ben said. “Come on.”
“What?”
“Come with me. One hour. The nurse has Pop, the electricians have the inn. Dani can take care of the guests. One hour where you're not responsible for anything.”
“I can't just leave.”
“You can. That's the point.” He opened his truck door. “One hour, Kate. The place won't fall down.”
She looked back at the inn, then at Ben's patient face. “One hour.”
They drove to the harbor, where his small boat was moored. The March morning was bright but cold, the water calm and gray. Kate hadn't been on a boat in months, hadn't been on the water without working in even longer.
“Where are we going?” she asked as he helped her aboard.
“Nowhere. Anywhere. Does it matter?”
They motored out past the moored lobster boats, past the point where the Kennebunk River met the sea. Ben handled the boat with easy competence, and Kate found herself watching his hands on the wheel, the way he read the water without seeming to think about it.
“You grew up here,” she said. It wasn't a question.
“Born and raised. My grandfather built half the houses you can see from here.” He pointed toward shore. “That blue one? That was his last project before he retired.”
“And you followed in his footsteps.”
“Eventually. Tried college first, even worked in Boston for a couple years. But this place...” He shrugged. “It calls you back.”
Kate nodded, ”I know what you mean.”
“I’m surprised you don’t remember me.”
“What? When did we meet?” she asked.
“Kate, we were in the same class in high school. Don’t you ever look at your yearbook?”
Stunned, Kate stared at him. “First, the answer is no, I never look at my yearbook, and second, are you serious? We graduated the same year? How is it that we never noticed each other?”
Ben laughed. “Although I can’t speak for your high school experience, I certainly noticed you.”
Kate didn’t know what to make of this new development. Not remembering Ben Calloway, or even acknowledging a passing interest in him, seemed insulting. She suddenly wished she’d pretended to remember him but said nothing more hoping they’d move on to another subject.
They anchored in a quiet cove, the boat rocking gently. The silence was comfortable, not demanding to be filled. Kate found herself actually relaxing, her shoulders dropping from their permanent position near her ears.
“My ex-wife hated it here,” Ben said suddenly.
Kate looked at him, surprised. She hadn't known he'd been married.
“She was from away. Thought it would be romantic, living in a coastal town. But the reality, the isolation in winter, the way everyone knows everyone's business, the limited options for everything, she couldn't handle it.”
“How long were you married?”
“Three years. Been divorced for four years, longer than I was married.” He smiled ruefully. “She said I loved my work more than her. She wasn't entirely wrong.”
“And now?”
“Now I know the difference between someone who accepts who you are and someone who's always trying to change you.” He looked at her directly. “You're not someone who needs changing, Kate.”
The compliment, if that's what it was, made her uncomfortable. She wasn't used to being seen as fine the way she was. Everyone in her life seemed to have opinions about what she should do differently.
“I should get back,” she said.
“It's been twenty minutes.”
“The electricians…”
“Will be fine.” But he started the engine, anyway, understanding her anxiety even if he didn't share it.
On the ride back, Kate watched the shoreline, picking out the inn on its rise above the harbor. From here, it looked solid, permanent, like it had always been there and always would be. The new roof work was invisible from this distance, all the flaws hidden by perspective.
“It looks different from the water,” she said.
“Most things do. Sometimes you need distance to see clearly.”
When they got back to the inn, Kate expected chaos. Instead, she found Pop and Amy in the sunroom, Pop showing her his collection of sea glass, completely calm. The electricians were working steadily on the third floor. Dani was at the desk, actually checking in guests.
“Everything's fine,” Dani said, reading Kate's face. “The world didn't end because you took a break.”
But it felt like something had ended or maybe started. Kate couldn't tell which.
The next few days fell into a strange new rhythm. Amy managed Pop's medications, his meals, his confusion with a grace Kate envied. Pop seemed to like her, called her “that nice lady,” and didn't fight when she suggested activities or redirected his wandering.
Kate found herself with time for things that needed her attention. Time to actually review the books properly. Time to plan renovations beyond emergency repairs. Time to sit with a cup of coffee and watch the sunrise without mentally running through Pop's medication schedule.
She hated it.
“You're pacing,” Marcy observed on the third day. “Like a caged animal.”
“I'm not pacing. I'm... checking things.”
“You've checked the dining room four times this morning.”
Kate stopped mid-step. She had been pacing. “I don't know what to do with myself.”
“You could try enjoying life a little.”
“I don't know how to do that.”
Marcy studied her with those knowing eyes. “Your mother did. Even when things were hard, she found joy. Little moments.”
“I'm not my mother.”
“No,” Marcy agreed. “But you could learn from her.”
That afternoon, Kate found herself in the attic, going through boxes she'd been avoiding for years. Now that the electricians had improved the lighting, she could see everything clearly. Boxes of Christmas decorations, old guest registers, her mother's things she'd never been able to sort through.
She opened one box marked “Elizabeth—Personal” and found photo albums. Her parents' wedding, small and simple. Her mother pregnant with Tom, radiant despite the morning sickness Kate knew she'd suffered. Birthday parties, Christmas mornings, ordinary Tuesday afternoons captured and preserved.
In one photo, her mother stood on the inn's porch, paint in her hair, laughing at something off-camera. She looked so young, so alive, so unaware of what was coming.
“Found treasure?”
Kate jumped. Ben stood at the top of the ladder, tool belt around his waist.
“Just memories.” She closed the album quickly, feeling exposed.
“Good ones?”
“Complicated ones.”
He climbed the rest of the way up, sat beside her on the dusty floor. “Families are complicated, Kate.”
“Is yours?”
“My parents moved to Florida five years ago. They wanted me to come, start over somewhere warm.” He picked up a photo that had fallen out, Kate at maybe five, covered in flour, helping her mother bake. “But you can't start over, not really. You just take yourself somewhere else.”
Kate looked at the photo in his hand. She didn't remember that day specifically, but she remembered the feeling: safe, loved, part of something bigger than herself.
“I don't know who I am without responsibility,” she admitted quietly.
“Maybe this new routine is a gift,” Ben said. “You’re getting a chance to find out.”
Their shoulders touched, just barely. Kate was acutely aware of the contact, of his warmth in the cold attic. She wanted to lean into him and pull away simultaneously, caught between desire and fear.
“Kate?” Amy's voice from below. “Your father's asking for you.”
The spell broke. Kate scrambled to her feet, Ben rising with her.
“I should go.”
“Kate.” He caught her hand gently. “You don't have to run every time.”
“I'm not running.”
“Aren't you?”
She pulled her hand free, confused by the hurt in his eyes. “Pop needs me.”
“He has Amy.”
“It’s not the same.”
“No,” Ben agreed. “But maybe it could be enough.”
Kate climbed down, leaving him in the attic with the boxes of memories. She found Pop in his room, Amy beside him, looking concerned.
“He's having a difficult afternoon,” Amy said quietly. “He thinks your mother is missing.”
Pop sat on his bed, fully dressed including his coat. “We have to look for her,” he said when he saw Kate. “Elizabeth went for a walk and hasn't come back.”
“Pop, Mom's not…”
Amy touched her arm lightly, shook her head. “Mrs. Perkins is probably just running errands,” Amy said to Pop. “Why don't we wait for her here?”
“But it's getting dark. She doesn't like the dark.”
Kate's throat tightened. Her mother had been afraid of the dark and had always left lights on throughout the inn.
“I'll go look for her,” Kate said. “You stay here with Amy where it's warm.”
“You'll find her?”
“I'll find her.”
Pop relaxed slightly, allowing Amy to help him out of his coat.
Kate left them, walking through the inn with no destination in mind.
The electricians had finished for the day, leaving behind new outlets, modern fixtures, the smell of fresh wiring.
The inn was being renewed, reborn, made safe and solid.
But Pop was sliding away, further into the past where her mother still lived, where Kate was still a child covered in flour, where everything made sense.
She found herself at the harbor as sunset painted the sky pink and gold.
Other people walked by, couples, families, dogs running free.
Normal people living normal lives, not caught between past and present, between duty and desire, between who they were and who they might become.
Tears formed in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.
“Thought I might find you here.”
She didn't turn, recognizing Ben's voice, and wiped her eyes just in case. “How did you know?”
“You always come to the water when you're upset. Like you're looking for answers in the waves.”
“Do you watch me that closely?”
“Yes.”
The simple honesty of it made her shiver. She felt him move closer, not touching but near enough that she could feel his warmth.
“Pop thinks my mother is missing,” she said.
“Amy told me. I'm sorry.”
“He's going to forget me eventually. One day he'll look at me and see a stranger.”
“But not today.”
“No. Not today.”
They stood together watching the light fade, the water turning from gold to gray to black. Kate wanted to say something about the attic, about running, about the fear that sat like a stone in her chest. But the words wouldn't come.
“I should get back,” she said finally.
“Should you?”
She looked at him then, really looked. He was patient and kind and present in a way that terrified her. He saw her, not the innkeeper, not the caregiver, not the stubborn daughter. Just Kate.
“I don't know how to do this,” she admitted.
“Do what?”
“Want something for myself.”
He smiled slightly. “It's not that complicated. You just... want.”
“It is complicated. You're working on my inn. My grandmother is paying for it. I'm a mess of obligations and grief and…”
“Kate.” He said her name like it was complete sentence. “I'm not asking for anything. I'm just... here. Whenever you're ready. If you're ever ready.”
He walked away, leaving her at the harbor with the darkening sky and the sound of waves on stone. Kate wrapped her arms around herself, cold now without his warmth beside her.
When she got back to the inn, she found Pop calm, eating dinner with Amy. Dani was in the kitchen with Marcy, laughing about something. The inn felt warm and alive and full of people taking care of things.
For the first time in years, Kate wasn't needed urgently anywhere.
It should have felt like freedom. Instead, it felt like falling.