Chapter 14
The insurance adjuster arrived at seven-thirty the next morning while Kate was still clearing branches from the parking area.
His name was Paul Leavitt, and he had the harried look of someone who'd been assessing storm damage for the past twelve hours straight.
He walked around the fallen oak with a tablet, taking photos from every angle, occasionally making small sounds of dismay.
“That's a big tree,” he said finally, which seemed like an understatement.
“It missed the building,” Kate pointed out. “The damage is minimal.”
“Lucky.” He photographed the scraped siding, the broken windows. “Could've been much worse. You have someone who can remove it?”
“Yeah, I think so. I’ll figure it out.”
Paul looked at her over his glasses. “Kate, that tree's going to cost five thousand minimum to remove. Maybe more. It's not a DIY situation.”
Five thousand they didn't have, even with Lillian's money covering the mortgage and repairs. The trust funds were specific: Pop's care and essential inn repairs. Tree removal probably didn't qualify as essential.
“I said I'll figure it out.”
He put his hand up as if to give up. “Okay.”
After he left, promising an estimate within forty-eight hours, Kate stood staring at the massive trunk.
In daylight, she could see what Ben had done: the ropes still attached at strategic points, the way he'd guided its fall.
Without his intervention, the tree would have crashed through the eastern wing.
“Impressive,” Tom said, joining her with coffee. He'd stayed another night, claiming the roads were too bad to drive to Boston, though Kate suspected other motives. “Ben knew what he was doing.”
“He always does.”
“That bothers you.”
Kate took the coffee, grateful for its warmth. The morning was cold and damp, everything still dripping from the storm. “It doesn't bother me.”
“Sure it doesn't.” Tom studied the tree. “You know, most people would be grateful when someone saves their building.”
“I am grateful.”
“You have a funny way of showing it.”
Before Kate could respond, they heard vehicles in the drive. Three pickup trucks pulled in, and Kate recognized several of Ben's crew. Ben himself got out of the lead truck, chainsaw in hand, dressed for heavy work.
“What are you doing?” Kate called.
“Removing your tree.” He was already assessing the trunk, directing his guys to positions. “Should take most of the day.”
“I can't pay for this. Not yet.”
Ben looked at her with something like exasperation. “I'm not asking you to pay.”
“I don't need charity.”
“It's not charity. It's neighbors helping neighbors after a storm.” He turned to his crew. “Jake, start with the crown. Mike, get the chipper ready.”
Kate watched, frustrated, as they began the methodical process of reducing the massive oak to manageable pieces. The chainsaws roared to life, drowning out any further protest she might have made.
“Let them help,” Tom said quietly beside her. “It won't kill you.”
But it felt like it might. Every act of kindness, every moment of care from Ben, felt like another brick removed from the wall she'd built around herself. Soon there'd be nothing left to protect her when he inevitably left, moved on, found someone less complicated.
Dani appeared with a tray of coffee and sandwiches for the crew. She'd made them herself. Kate could tell. Not Marcy's usual style.
“Boys need fuel,” Dani said cheerfully, offering food to the workers who accepted gratefully. Jake smiled at Dani who smiled back. Kate rolled her eyes, realizing her sister’s motivation wasn’t completely altruistic.
Kate retreated to the office, burying herself in paperwork. But she could hear the chainsaws, chipper, and voices of men working together to solve her problem without being asked. Through the window, she caught glimpses of Ben directing the work, completely in his element.
Around noon, Lillian arrived.
She stepped carefully around the debris in the parking lot, her expression unreadable as she surveyed the damage. Today she looked frailer than usual, using a walking stick Kate hadn't seen before.
“I heard about the storm damage,” Lillian said, finding Kate in the office. “Is everyone all right?”
“We're fine.”
“The tree?”
“Ben's removing it.”
“That's generous of him.” Lillian sat carefully in the chair across from the desk. “The repairs are covered by insurance, I assume?”
“Most of them.”
“And the rest?”
“I'll manage.”
Lillian studied her for a long moment. “You know, your mother was the same way. Allergic to accepting help.”
“She accepted your help once. Look how that turned out.”
The words were cruel, and Kate immediately regretted them. Lillian's face went pale, then composed itself into that perfect mask she wore.
“Yes,” Lillian said quietly. “She accepted my conditions for paying for her education. But then all that changed when she met your father. She chose love over those conditions, and I cut her off. It's not the same situation.”
“Isn't it? Money with strings attached? Must everything be transactional for you?”
“My strings now are simply wanting to know my family before I die.
Your mother's strings were choosing between her family and the man she loved. What you fail to understand is that it can go both ways. Choosing family, obligation, stubbornness over love is as much a tragedy as what this family has already endured.” Lillian stood slowly, gripping the walking stick.
“I learned that lesson too late. Don't make the same mistake, Katherine.”
She left, moving more slowly than when she'd arrived. Kate watched from the window as Lillian stopped to speak with Ben, who was taking a water break. Their conversation was brief, but Ben helped her navigate around the debris to her car, his hand steady on her elbow.
The small kindness of it, the automatic care, made Kate's chest tight.
Amy appeared in the doorway. “Your father's having a good afternoon. He's asking for you.”
Kate found her father in the sunroom, looking out at the harbor, which was still brown with storm runoff. He turned when she entered, and his face lit up with recognition.
“Katie-girl. Hell of a storm last night.”
“Yeah, Pop. It was.”
“That Ben fellow did good with the tree.” Pop patted the chair beside him. “Sit with your old man.”
Kate sat, and they watched the harbor together. The boats that had survived bobbed on their moorings, a few showing damage but most intact.
“Your mother loved storms,” Pop said suddenly. “Used to stand on the porch, watching them come in. Said they cleaned everything, made it new.”
“I remember.”
“You're like her that way. Always facing the storm head-on.” He took her hand, his papery and warm. “But Katie, she also knew when to come inside, when to let others help board up the windows.”
“Pop...”
“That boy's not going anywhere.” Pop nodded toward the window where Ben was visible, still working. “Men who show up in storms and stay for the cleanup, those are the keepers.”
“It's not that simple.”
“Love's not supposed to be simple. It's supposed to be worth it.”
Kate wanted to argue, to explain all the reasons she couldn't afford to love Ben, couldn't risk that vulnerability. But Pop's eyes were clear and knowing, and she realized he understood more than his fractured mind usually allowed.
“I'm scared,” she admitted quietly.
“Good. Means it matters.” Pop squeezed her hand. “Your mother was scared too, choosing me over everything else she'd known. But she said the scariest thing would've been not choosing at all.”
By late afternoon, most of the tree was gone, reduced to neat stacks of firewood that Ben's crew piled beside the inn. The damage to the siding had been temporarily patched, the broken windows boarded up. The parking lot was clear, the debris removed.
Kate stood on the porch watching Ben direct the final cleanup. He was exhausted, she could see it in the slope of his shoulders, the way he moved. He'd been up all night in the storm, worked all day on her tree, and would probably go work on other storm damage after this.
“Thank you,” she said when he approached the porch.
“You're welcome.” He was dirty, covered in sawdust and sweat, but his eyes were warm. “Insurance should cover the real repairs. This'll hold until then.”
“What do I owe you? For the labor, the equipment?”
“Nothing.”
“Ben...”
“Kate, stop. Not everything has a price. Sometimes people just help because it's right.”
“And sometimes people help because they want something.”
His face changed, a flash of hurt quickly hidden. “Is that what you think? That I'm doing this to... what? Manipulate you into caring about me?”
“I don't know what to think.”
“Then let me be clear.” He stepped closer.
“I help because I care about you. Not because I expect anything in return, but because seeing you struggle alone when you don't have to makes me crazy.
I show up because I want to, because something about you feels like home to me, even when you're pushing me away with both hands. Not everything is transactional.”
Kate's throat was tight. “I don't know how to stop pushing.”
“Then don't. Push all you want. I'm not going anywhere.” He touched her face gently, just his fingertips against her cheek, and Kate couldn't help leaning into it slightly. “I'm patient. I can wait until you figure out that being loved isn't the same as being trapped.”
He left before she could respond, his truck disappearing down the storm-damaged road. Kate stood on the porch, her cheek still warm from his touch, watching the space where he'd been.
Dani appeared beside her. “He's right, you know.”
“About what?”
“Being loved isn't the same as being trapped. Mom knew that. Even Lillian's learning it.” Dani linked her arm through Kate's. “Maybe it's time you learned it too.”
That evening, the family gathered for dinner.
Even Lillian came, looking tired but determined to be present.
Pop was having a good evening, recognized everyone, told stories about previous storms. The inn felt warm and alive, filled with family despite everything complicated about their relationships.
But Kate kept thinking about Ben's words, about his patience, about the way he'd shown up in the storm and stayed for the cleanup. She thought about her mother, choosing love over security, and wondered if courage was hereditary or learned.
Through the dining room window, she could see the space where the oak had stood for a hundred years. Its absence changed the view, opened up sightlines that had been blocked, let in light that hadn't reached the inn before. Change through destruction, beauty through loss.
Maybe that's what love was: the storm that knocked down what needed falling, the cleanup that followed, the new view that emerged when the debris was cleared.
But knowing that and acting on it were different things, and Kate wasn't ready yet to let her last defenses fall, even for someone who showed up in storms.
Not yet.