Chapter 9 #2
Kate stared at the text. Everything was not okay. Everything was falling apart. And the last thing she needed was some contractor who'd known her for five minutes acting like he understood her.
She didn't respond.
Another text: Would you like to have dinner? Tomorrow night? Just us?
Kate's first instinct was to say no. She didn't need this complication. She didn't need Ben Calloway thinking he could fix her with dinner and sympathy. But then she thought about how the whole town was watching, judging. Maybe being seen with someone respectable, someone local, would help.
Fine, she typed.
Great! How about seven?
Okay.
She immediately regretted it. Now she'd have to sit through dinner with a man who thought he knew her because he'd seen her cry once over some chairs. He probably thought she was fragile, needed protecting. The strong, silent type who would save the struggling innkeeper.
I don't need saving, she thought. I don't need anyone.
That evening, Dani returned from Portland with catalogues and samples, excited about new linens and amenities. She spread everything across the dining room table.
“We could offer spa services,” she said. “Partner with local massage therapists. Maybe yoga on the lawn in summer.”
“This isn't a spa.”
“It could be more than just rooms, Katie. It could be an experience.”
Kate noticed Dani had a new ring, expensive-looking. “Where did that come from?”
Dani touched the ring self-consciously. “Lillian gave it to me. It was Mom's, from when she was young.”
“She's giving you Mom's jewelry now?”
“She said Mom would want me to have it.”
“How would she know what Mom wanted? She wasn't here. Besides, how does she even have anything of Mom’s after all this time? This is ridiculous.”
“Katie…”
“No, this is exactly what I'm talking about. She comes in with money and suddenly she's family? Suddenly she knows what Mom would want?”
“Maybe she does know some things. She was Mom's mother for eighteen years.”
“And then she wasn't for twenty more.”
They were interrupted by Tom calling. Dani put him on speaker.
“I've been reviewing the trust documents,” he said without preamble. “Did you know Lillian put in a clause about maintaining the inn's 'historical character'?”
“What?” both sisters said simultaneously.
“She actually protected against over-modernization. Any changes have to be approved by a family committee, all four of us.”
Kate felt a spark of hope. “So she can't just redesign everything?”
“Not unilaterally. Though she can make suggestions. And,” Tom paused, “she does have experience. Did you know she ran three hotels in Boston before she retired?”
“She what?”
“Boutique properties. Very successful. She knows what she's doing, Kate.”
After Tom hung up, the sisters sat in silence. Then Dani said quietly, “Maybe we should actually listen to her. She might want to make a few changes, but she wouldn’t have put that clause in unless she understands about maintaining the history of the inn.”
“You're already listening. You're wearing her jewelry, taking her suggestions, acting like she belongs here.”
“Maybe she does belong here. She's our grandmother.”
“She's a stranger with a checkbook.”
Dani stood to leave, then paused. “You know what your problem is, Katie? You think suffering makes you noble. You think accepting help makes you weak. But all it really makes you is alone.”
Dani stormed out of the room, leaving Kate frustrated and angry.
After her sister left, Kate sat in the empty dining room. Alone.
Her phone rang. Ben.
She let it go to voicemail.
A text followed: Just wanted to make sure you're okay. You seemed upset this morning.
I'm fine, she typed back. Stop worrying about me.
Someone should.
The presumption of it made her angrier. I've been taking care of myself for years. I don't need you or anyone else.
This time, he didn't respond.
Kate went to check on her father and found him looking through photo albums with Amy.
“This is Elizabeth,” he told her, pointing to a picture. “My wife. Isn't she beautiful?”
“She is,” Amy agreed. “You must miss her.”
“Every day. But Katie looks after me. She's a good girl. Too good, maybe. Never does anything for herself.”
“Maybe she doesn't know how,” Amy said gently.
Kate backed away before they could see her. Even Pop and Amy thought she needed help, needed to change, needed something more than what she had.
Her father’s awareness that his wife was gone was also difficult to hear. Although Kate was happy for these moments of clarity, she felt conflicted over her father’s acknowledgment that he missed his wife.
She went to her room and pulled out the photo album from the attic. There was a picture of her mother at maybe thirty-five, standing in front of the inn with all four children. She looked tired but happy, surrounded by her family, her home secure behind her.
Kate studied her mother's face. Had Elizabeth ever felt this lost? This pulled between past and future, independence and need, staying strong and letting go?
A knock at her door interrupted her thoughts. Pop stood there in his pajamas.
“Katie-girl, I’m supposed to take a nap but I can't sleep.”
She patted the bed beside her. He sat, looking at the album.
“Your mother,” he said, touching the photo gently. “She was stubborn too, you know. Took her three years to admit she needed help after Tom was born. Tried to do everything herself.”
“What changed?”
“She realized that accepting help didn't make her weak. It made her smart.” He looked at Kate with surprisingly clear eyes. “Don't make her mistakes, Katie. Don't wait until you're drowning to take the life preserver.”
After he went to bed, Kate sat with the album, thinking. Everyone seemed to think she needed saving, Ben with his patient understanding, Lillian with her money, Dani with her improvements. But what if she didn't want to be saved? What if she just wanted to be left alone to manage things her way?
Tomorrow she'd have dinner with Ben, pretend to be grateful for his concern. She'd deal with Lillian's suggestions and Dani's plans. She'd keep the inn running, keep Pop safe, keep everything together the way she always had.
She didn't need anyone else. She didn't need Ben Calloway thinking he understood her after a few weeks of roof repairs. She didn't need romantic dinners or gentle touches or someone to worry about her.
She was fine on her own. She'd always been fine on her own.
But as she lay in bed, she couldn't shake the image of those chairs in Ben's workshop, being carefully restored by hands that had saved them from the dump. He'd done that for her, without being asked, without expecting anything in return.
No, she told herself firmly. He expects something. People always do.
Tomorrow she'd go to dinner, make it clear she wasn't interested in anything more than a professional relationship. She didn't need complications. She didn't need romance.
She didn't need anyone.
The inn creaked around her in the darkness, and for the first time, the sound didn't comfort her. It sounded lonely, like a house holding its breath, waiting for something that might never come.