Chapter 17
Kate left the inn at four in the morning, before Amy arrived, before her siblings woke, before she had to face anyone's concern or questions.
The ice on Goose Pond was still thick enough, though March waned and soon the season would end.
She needed this: the silence, the solitude, the simple clarity of ice and fish and cold.
She drilled her holes in the gray predawn light, her movements automatic.
The auger bit through with that familiar crunch, and she felt her shoulders drop from their perpetual position near her ears.
Out here, no one needed her to make decisions about paint colors or renovation budgets or whether to let their dying grandmother become part of their lives.
The first flag popped within twenty minutes. A decent perch, nothing special, but Kate wasn't here for the fish. She was here for the emptiness, the way the cold made everything simple, binary. Frozen or liquid. Fish or no fish. Stay or go.
She reset the line and sat back on her bucket, looking out across the pond. Other fishermen were starting to arrive, their trucks rumbling across the ice, but they gave her space. Everyone knew Katie Perkins needed her distance on the ice.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She ignored it.
The sunrise came slowly, painting the ice pink and gold. Beautiful and temporary, like everything else. In two weeks, maybe three, the ice would be too dangerous. Then it would be gone entirely, and the pond would return to its liquid state, all evidence of this solid surface erased.
Kate thought about Ben's arms around her yesterday, the solidity of him, the way he'd offered comfort without demanding anything in return.
It had felt too good, too easy to lean into him.
She'd spent the rest of the day avoiding him, finding excuses to be elsewhere when he came to work on the temporary repairs.
Another flag popped. This time a bigger fish, a bass that fought hard before she pulled it through the hole. She should feel satisfied, but all she felt was empty. Even ice fishing, her last refuge, couldn't quiet the noise in her head.
“You're Kate Perkins.”
She looked up to find a young woman, maybe twenty-five, wearing expensive ice fishing gear that looked brand new.
“Yes.”
“I'm Jenny Tremblay. I'm writing a piece for Down East magazine about women in traditional Maine industries. I'd love to interview you about running the inn, especially now with all the changes happening.”
Kate's stomach dropped. “Changes?”
“The Whitfield money. Your grandmother returning. The renovations. It's quite a story... the reconciliation after all these years.”
“There's no story.”
“But...”
“There's no story,” Kate repeated firmly. “Excuse me.”
She packed up quickly, pulling her lines, dumping the fish back. Let them live another day. The morning was ruined now, contaminated by the outside world's interest in her family's drama.
By the time she got back to the inn, it was nearly eight. She entered through the back door, hoping to avoid everyone, but found Dani in the kitchen with someone Kate didn't recognize... a woman about Dani's age, polished and professional looking.
“Katie! Perfect timing. This is Serena, my friend from New York. She's a hospitality consultant.”
Kate felt ambushed. “Hospitality consultant.”
“I asked her to come look at the inn,” Dani said quickly. “Just for ideas. With the renovation money, we could really transform this place.”
“Into what?”
Serena smiled professionally. “Into a destination property. You have incredible bones here, amazing location. With the right positioning, you could be commanding three times your current rates.”
“We're not a destination property. We're a family inn.”
“You could be both,” Serena said smoothly. “Look at the Whitby in Nantucket, or the Osprey in Bar Harbor. Authentic charm with modern luxury.”
Kate looked at Dani, who was practically glowing with excitement.
Her sister wore designer jeans and a cashmere sweater, her hair professionally styled, looking every inch the successful New York professional she'd become.
Next to her, Kate felt like exactly what she was: someone who'd been ice fishing since dawn, who smelled like bait and pond water, whose hair was shoved under a wool cap that had seen better decades.
“I need to shower,” Kate said, looking directly at Dani.
She escaped upstairs, passing the room where Amy helped Pop with his morning routine.
Through the open door, she could see him struggling with his sweater, confused about which hole his head went through.
The man who'd once navigated by stars, who could repair any engine, who'd built half this inn with his own hands, defeated by a sweater.
In her room, Kate stood before the mirror and pulled off her hat. Her hair fell flat and lifeless around her face. When had it gotten so long? She couldn't remember the last time she'd had it cut properly, not just hacked at it herself with kitchen scissors when it got in the way.
She stripped off her layers... thermal underwear, fleece, flannel, all of it practical and worn.
Her body underneath was strong but utilitarian, shaped by work rather than exercise, function rather than form.
She had her father's broad shoulders, his sturdy build.
Hands that were rough and competent, nails torn and dirty.
There were calluses on her palms from tools, scars on her arms from years of maintenance work.
Kate tried to remember the last time she put on makeup for any reason other than a funeral or wedding. The last time she'd felt pretty rather than just presentable.
In high school, before everything went wrong, she'd been different. Not beautiful like Dani, but she'd cared about her appearance. She'd worn lip gloss and painted her nails. She'd gone to dances and flirted with boys and spent hours getting ready for dates.
When had that girl disappeared?
During her mother's illness, probably, when there was no time for anything but hospital visits and keeping the inn running.
Or maybe during graduate school, when she'd been the oldest student in her program, already marked by loss and responsibility.
Or maybe it had been a slow erosion, each crisis wearing away another piece of who she might have been until only the essential Kate remained: the one who stayed, who fixed, who endured.
She thought about Ben looking at her, the way his eyes softened when he watched her work. He saw something in her that she couldn't see in herself. Yesterday, he'd called her beautiful. Not pretty, not attractive. Beautiful. As if it were just fact, like saying the sky was blue or water was wet.
Kate touched her reflection, trying to see what he saw. All she saw was tired. Worn. Practical.
A knock at her door interrupted her self-examination.
“Katie?” Dani's voice. “Can I come in?”
Kate grabbed her robe. “Yeah.”
Dani entered and stopped short, taking in Kate's appearance. “You okay?”
“Why does everyone keep asking me that?”
“Because you look like you're falling apart.” Dani sat on the bed. “Katie, when's the last time you did something just for yourself? Not for Pop or the inn or anyone else?”
“I went ice fishing this morning.”
“That doesn't count. You go ice fishing to escape.”
“What do you want from me, Dani?”
“I want you to let me help you. Let Serena help with the inn. Let yourself have something beyond survival.”
Kate sat at her old vanity, a piece their mother had refinished years ago. The mirror was slightly clouded with age, making everything look softer than it was.
“I don't know how to be anything else anymore,” Kate admitted. “I look in the mirror and I don't see Katie. I see Pop's caregiver, the innkeeper, the responsible one. I don't even remember who I was before all that.”
Dani moved behind her, started gently untangling Kate's hair with her fingers. “You were funny. You laughed all the time. You used to steal my lip gloss and flirt with the summer boys at the harbor.”
“That was a lifetime ago.”
“That was you.” Dani found a brush, started working through the tangles more systematically. “She's still in there somewhere.”
Kate chuckled. “Ben thinks she is.”
“Ben's right.” Dani sectioned Kate’s hair and began braiding it loosely. “He sees who you could be if you stopped punishing yourself for being the only one who stayed.”
“I'm not punishing myself.”
“Aren't you? You wear Pop's old clothes. You cut your own hair with kitchen scissors. You haven't been on a real date in five years...”
“I went to dinner with Ben.”
“One dinner where you spent the whole time looking for exits doesn't count.” Dani finished the braid, studied Kate in the mirror. “You're allowed to want things, Katie. To want Ben. To want to feel pretty. To want more than just getting through each day.”
Kate looked at their reflection: Dani polished and confident, herself rough and worn. Sisters who'd chosen such different paths.
“What if I don't know how to want things anymore?”
“Then you start small. A haircut. A new sweater. Dinner with Ben where you don't run away.”
“He says he's not waiting forever.”
“Good. You need a deadline. You're excellent with deadlines.”
Before Kate could respond, they heard commotion downstairs. Pop’s voice raised and angry. They ran down to find him in the lobby with Amy, pointing at Serena.
“Who is this person? Why is she touching Elizabeth's things?”
Serena had been examining the restored chairs, taking photos with her phone. She stepped back, looking alarmed.
“Pop, it's okay,” Kate said, moving between them. “She's Dani's friend.”
“I don't know her. She doesn't belong here.” Pop's agitation was increasing. “Where's Elizabeth? She'll make her leave.”
Amy tried to redirect him, but he pushed past her, surprisingly strong in his confusion. He grabbed Serena's phone, threw it against the wall.
“Pop!” Dani gasped.
“Get out!” Pop shouted at Serena. “This is our home! Elizabeth's home!”