Chapter 21
The inn felt wrong without Pop in it. Kate stood in the kitchen at five in the morning, having given up on sleep, and listened to the unnatural quiet. No footsteps overhead. No confused wandering. No one to check on.
She made coffee out of habit, then realized she'd made a full pot when she only needed one cup. Pop always wanted coffee first thing, even when he couldn't remember how to drink it.
“You're up early,” Amy said from the doorway.
Kate jumped. “What are you doing here? Pop's not...”
“I know. But my schedule still has me here for two more weeks. My boss likes it when I stay a bit longer to help with the transition. Sometimes it’s those left behind who need the most care.” Amy poured herself coffee. “How was the visit yesterday?”
“He didn't know me half the time.”
“That's normal. New environment increases confusion initially.”
“Define normal.”
Amy sat at the table, in Pop's usual spot. Kate wanted to tell her to move but bit her tongue.
“Have you thought about what you'll do now?” Amy asked. “With your days?”
“Run the inn. Same as always.”
“But without the constant worrying. That's a big adjustment.”
Kate didn't want to talk about adjustments. She wanted Pop to shuffle in, confused but present. Instead, she had this empty kitchen and too much coffee and Amy sitting in the wrong chair.
Her chest tightened suddenly, her heart raced. The room felt too small, the air too thin. Kate gripped the counter, trying to breathe normally.
“Kate?” Amy was beside her instantly, professional concern in her voice. “Are you having a panic attack?”
“I'm fine.”
“You're not. Sit down. Breathe slowly.”
Kate let Amy guide her to a chair and focused on her breathing.
“In for four, hold for four, out for four,” Amy repeated several times.
The tightness eased gradually, leaving Kate shaky and embarrassed.
“First one?” Amy asked.
“I don't usually have panic attacks.”
“You do now. It's common for caregivers after their role changes. You've been in crisis mode for years. Your body doesn't know how to not be on high alert.”
Before Kate could respond, Dani appeared, already dressed and styled despite the early hour.
“I have an idea,” Dani announced, then noticed Kate's face. “What's wrong?”
“Nothing. What idea?”
Dani hesitated, then forged ahead. “I want to create a proper events program for the inn. Weddings, retreats, corporate gatherings. I've been researching all week.”
“We're not an events venue.”
“We could be. With the renovations, we'll have beautiful spaces. I've already had inquiries.”
“From who?”
“You mean, from whom?”
Kate rolled her eyes. “Fine, from whom?”
Dani pulled out her phone, showed Kate a spreadsheet. “Three wedding inquiries for next summer, a corporate retreat, two family reunions. Word's getting out about the renovations.”
Kate stared at the screen. Dani had created comprehensive packages, pricing, menus. Professional work.
“You did all this?”
“I'm good at this stuff, Katie. I just never had the confidence before.” Dani sat down, excitement dimming slightly. “But if you don't want...”
“No, it's... it's really good.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Tom wandered in, looking haggard. “Coffee?”
“Full pot,” Kate said, noticing the shadows under his eyes. “You okay?”
“Fine. Just couldn't sleep. Reviewing contracts.”
But Kate saw him check his phone repeatedly, saw the wedding ring he kept twisting. Something was wrong, but Tom was Fort Knox when it came to personal information.
Ben's truck pulled up outside. Kate's stomach did that flutter she was trying to ignore.
“Contractor's here early,” Tom observed.
“He's always early,” Dani said with a knowing smile.
Kate escaped to the porch before Dani could elaborate. Ben was unloading lumber, his breath clouding in the cold morning air.
“You don't have to start at six-thirty,” Kate called.
“Couldn't sleep. Figured I'd be useful.” He looked up at her, concern flickering across his face. “You okay? You look...”
“Tired. I know.”
“I was going to say worried.”
“That too.”
He climbed the porch steps, stopped a foot away.
“Pop?”
“He's... adjusting.”
“And you?”
“I'm fine.”
“Kate.”
Just her name, but the way he said it made her throat tight. Like he could see through the automatic response to whatever was really happening inside her.
“I should get back,” she said.
“Kate, wait.” He pulled something from his pocket. A small, wrapped package. “I found this at an estate sale. Thought of you.”
Inside was an antique compass, brass and glass, beautifully preserved.
“It's from a ship that used to dock here in the 1890s,” Ben said.
Kate stared at it, this perfect, thoughtful gift that had nothing to do with the inn's repairs or Pop's care or any crisis at all.
“Why?” she asked.
“Because you need something that's just yours. Something beautiful that serves no practical purpose except to be beautiful.”
Kate smiled. “Like the lipstick?”
“Like the lipstick.”
The front door burst open and James appeared, phone in hand. “Katie, we have a problem.”
“Of course we do. What now?”
“That journalist who approached you at the pond? She published an article. About the family, the inn, Lillian.”
Kate's stomach dropped. She grabbed James's phone, read the headline: “Whitfield Fortune Rescues Failing Inn: A Story of Pride, Dementia, and Delayed Reconciliation.”
The article was worse than the headline. Personal details about Pop's condition, speculation about the family dynamics, quotes from “sources close to the family” about Kate's struggles.
“How did she know all this?”
“Small town,” Tom said from the doorway. “Everyone talks. She must have interviewed half the people in Kennebunkport.”
Kate read more, her anger building. There were details only someone close to them would know. Comments about Kate being overwhelmed, about the siblings abandoning her, about Lillian trying to buy forgiveness.
“This is going to kill our bookings,” Dani said quietly.
“It's going to kill Lillian,” Tom added. “Her social circle reads this paper.”
Kate's phone rang. Lillian.
“Have you seen it?” Lillian's voice was controlled but Kate could hear the hurt underneath.
“Just now.”
“I need to see you. All of you. This afternoon.”
“Lillian... “
“Please. This changes things.”
After Lillian hung up, Kate stood in the middle of her family, Ben still on the porch, Amy hovering nearby. Everyone looking to her for answers she didn't have.
Her chest tightened again. The panic rising.
“I need a minute,” she managed, escaping to the garden.
But Ben followed. “Hey.”
“I can't breathe.”
“Yes, you can. Look at me.”
She did, focusing on his steady eyes while her heart raced.
“Breathe with me.”
They breathed together until the panic eased, leaving her exhausted and embarrassed.
“Amy says it's normal,” she said. “Panic attacks. After being a caretaker.”
“Amy's smart.”
“I hate this. Feeling out of control.”
“You're not out of control. You're adjusting. There's a difference.”
“Everything's falling apart.”
“No. Everything's changing.”
Kate wanted to argue but didn't have the energy. She stood in her mother's garden, holding an antique compass, trying to find her direction while everything shifted around her.
“I should deal with this article crisis,” she said.
“Or you could let your siblings handle it. You don't have to fix everything.”
“I don't know how to not fix everything, or at least try.”
“Learn.”
Simple. Like it was that easy to undo years of being the only one responsible, the only one present, the only one who stayed.
But Ben was still there, patient and solid, and her siblings were inside strategizing. Amy made sure Kate was okay, and even Lillian tried to help in her way.
Maybe she wasn't as alone as she felt.
Maybe that was part of the panic: realizing she could let go a little and things wouldn't immediately collapse.
The compass was cool in her hand, its needle pointing steadily north no matter how she turned it. A fixed point in a world of variables.
“Thank you,” she said. “For the compass.”
“You're welcome.”
She wanted to kiss him then, standing in her mother's garden with crisis swirling around them. But that was another change she wasn't ready for, another letting go she couldn't quite manage.