Chapter 22
Kate's phone started ringing at eight-fifteen the next morning and didn't stop. The article had gone viral overnight, picked up by travel blogs and hospitality industry newsletters. She sat at the front desk, fielding cancellations.
“Yes, Mrs. Merrick, I understand your concerns... No, the inn is not closing... Yes, we still have full service...” She listened to the fifth cancellation of the morning while pulling up the reservation system on the ancient computer. “Of course we'll refund your deposit.”
Dani appeared with coffee and the reservation book. “How bad?”
“Three wedding venue inquiries withdrawn, four room cancellations for next month, and...” Kate's email pinged. “The Gardiner anniversary party just canceled. That's forty guests for dinner.”
“Can we survive this?”
Kate pulled up the spreadsheet she'd been maintaining for years.
Even with Lillian's money covering the mortgage, they needed consistent occupancy to cover operations.
“We have thirty days of operating capital without new bookings. Maybe forty-five if I cancel the linen service and we do laundry ourselves.”
“I can do laundry,” Dani offered.
“You don't know how to do commercial laundry.”
“I can learn.”
The phone rang again. Kate braced herself for another cancellation, but it was Rick from Coastal Supplies.
“Kate, I'm sorry, but I need payment on your account before I can deliver today's order.”
“We're only thirty days past due.”
“I know, but with the article... my boss is nervous about extending more credit.”
Kate looked at the invoice. Eight hundred dollars for cleaning supplies, toilet paper, basic necessities. “I can pay half now, half next week.”
“Cash only. Sorry, Kate.”
After she hung up, Kate stared at the computer screen. They had the money, technically. But if vendors were getting nervous, demanding cash, that would shrink fast.
Rosa appeared in the doorway. “Miss Kate? Room 7 is complaining about noise from the renovation. Room 3 says their shower isn't working. And Mrs. Porter wants to speak to you about the article.”
Of course she did. When she wasn’t visiting family in Massachusetts, Mrs. Porter stayed at the inn most of the year, always in Room 2, always complaining about something.
Kate found her in the dining room, where Marcy was serving breakfast to their remaining guests. Only six people in a room that could seat forty.
“Mrs. Porter.”
“Kate.” The older woman's face was pinched with disapproval. “This article is deeply concerning. I didn't realize the inn was in such dire straits.”
“We're not. We're under renovation, fully funded.”
“By your grandmother who abandoned your family.” Mrs. Porter sniffed. “The whole thing seems sordid.”
Kate bit back her first response. “The inn is improving. You'll benefit from the upgrades.”
“Will I? Or will you price us loyal customers out?” Mrs. Porter gestured at the half-empty dining room. “I come here because it's affordable and familiar. Not fancy.”
Before Kate could respond, a crash came from above. Plaster dust drifted down from the ceiling. Ben's crew was starting on the second-floor bathrooms.
“Unacceptable,” Mrs. Porter declared. “I'll be checking out.”
“Mrs. Porter, please...”
But she was already heading upstairs to pack.
Kate returned to the desk to process yet another checkout. Tom appeared, looking worse than yesterday. His shirt was wrinkled, his usually perfect hair unkempt.
“I've been on the phone with my contacts at the paper,” he said. “They won't retract without proof of inaccuracy.”
“It's all accurate, just private.”
“Exactly the problem.” Tom pulled up a chair. “We need damage control. Maybe a counter-article? Human interest piece about Pop's care, family reunion, renovations?”
“More publicity?”
“Strategic publicity.”
The front door opened and Ben came in, covered in plaster dust. “Sorry about the noise. We found rot in the bathroom subfloor. Have to fix it now or risk the ceiling below collapsing.”
“How much?” Kate asked automatically.
“Three thousand, maybe four. The wood's not salvageable.”
Kate felt her chest tightening. The renovation fund wouldn't cover unexpected repairs like this. That would have to come from operations.
“Do it,” she said. “We can't have ceilings collapsing.”
After Ben left, Tom studied her. “How bad is the financial situation?”
“It's manageable.”
“Katie.”
Kate showed him the spreadsheet. Tom whistled low.
“We're burning through cash faster than expected,” Kate admitted. “The article is accelerating cancellations. If this continues...”
“We'll be broke in thirty days despite Lillian's money.”
“Twenty, if vendors keep demanding cash.”
James wandered in, laptop under his arm. “I've been monitoring online reviews. We're getting killed. People are calling us everything from elitist to pathetic.”
“Can't you do something?” Dani asked, joining them. “Tech stuff? Make it go away?”
“I can't delete the internet, Dani.”
They stood around the desk, four siblings facing a crisis. Kate felt the familiar weight of being responsible for fixing everything.
The phone rang. Another cancellation.
“Yes, Mr. Trainor, I understand... No, we're not closing... Yes, full refund...”
After she hung up, Kate looked at her siblings. “We need new bookings. Fast.”
“I could reach out to my contacts,” Dani offered. “Fashion people, media types. Offer them deals?”
“My tech network might be interested in a retreat location,” James added.
“I know some firms that need meeting space,” Tom said.
They were trying, but Kate knew the math. They'd need at least sixty percent occupancy to survive, seventy to thrive. They were currently at twenty percent and falling.
Marcy appeared from the kitchen. “The food delivery's here. They want payment upfront. Seven hundred fifty.”
Kate reached for the checkbook, hoping it would clear.
“Wait,” Lillian's voice came from the doorway. She stood there with her walking stick, looking like she was about to faint. “How much do you need? For everything?”
“Lillian, we have your renovation money...”
“Which is earmarked for renovations. How much for operations? To get through this crisis?”
Kate did quick math. “Fifty thousand would give us breathing room. But...”
Lillian pulled out her checkbook, wrote a check, handed it to Kate. “Consider it an advance on your inheritance.”
“We can't...”
“Yes, you can. This is my fault. The article mentions me, my money. It's created this problem. But I need to remind you of what I think you all need to do. We talked about this before. Dani should run the events program. She has good instincts. Since James understands technology, he should update and handle a better and more modern booking system. It wouldn’t hurt to update your online social media presence. Tom can manage vendor relationships and legal issues.” She looked at Kate.
“And you focus on guest experience and overall management. Stop trying to do everything. Take this money, it will be yours soon enough anyway.”
“I don't know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything. Cash that check today and give these people their money.
You put one foot in front of the next, keep moving and don’t stop.
You answer phones, manage bookings, handle vendors, deal with complaints, oversee renovations, and apparently do laundry.
But, you don’t do it alone. Do you hear me?
” Lillian asked, moving to the closest chair.
Before Kate could argue, Amy appeared. “Kate? The facility called. Your father had a fall.”
Everything else forgotten, Kate grabbed her keys. “Is he hurt?”
“Bruised but okay. He's asking for Elizabeth.”
“I'll drive,” Ben said.
“I can drive myself.”
“No,” Tom said firmly. “Ben drives. We'll handle things here.”
Kate wanted to argue, but the panic was rising again. Pop had fallen. In the facility that was supposed to keep him safe. She looked at Lillian, who was frail as ever. “Thank you.”
Looking as if she’d used up every ounce of her strength, Lillian nodded.
At the facility, they found Pop with a bandage on his forehead, looking confused but calm.
“He tried to go home,” the nurse explained. “Thought his boat was in danger from the storm. We've adjusted his medications.”
“There's no storm,” Kate said.
“In his mind there is.”
Pop looked at Kate without recognition, then at Ben.
“You're the one who fixes things,” Pop said to Ben.
“That's right.”
“Good. Everything's broken.” Pop closed his eyes. “Tell Elizabeth I tried to come home.”
Kate sat with him until he slept, Ben waiting patiently in the uncomfortable visitor chair.
“I failed him,” Kate said quietly.
“He's safe. He's cared for.”
“He fell trying to escape.”
“He fell because his brain is failing, not because you failed.”
Kate's phone buzzed. Dani: “Coast is clear. Three new bookings and Mrs. Porter changed her mind.”
“How?” Kate texted back.
“Tom charmed her. James fixed her Wi-Fi. I comped her breakfast. Team effort.”
Kate stared at the message. Her siblings had handled it. Without her.
“They don't need me,” she said.
“They don't need you to do everything,” Ben corrected. “But, they still need you.”
“For what?”
“To be their sister. To lead without controlling. To trust them.”
The drive back was quiet. Kate watched the familiar scenery pass, thinking about Lillian's money and her desire to stay as close as she could to her family, and for a moment she felt sorry for her grandmother.
At the inn, she found organized chaos. Dani was giving a tour to potential wedding clients, professional and polished. James had two laptops running, responding to reviews and updating their website. Tom was on the phone with vendors, negotiating payment terms with his lawyer voice.
“How's Pop?” Dani asked during a break in her tour.
“Bruised but okay.”
“And you?”
Kate considered lying, then decided against it. “Struggling.”
Dani hugged her, quick but fierce. “That's okay. We've got this part. You focus on Pop.”
Kate looked around at her siblings, competently handling the crisis. Maybe Lillian was right. Maybe she didn't have to do everything. Maybe trusting others wasn't weakness but wisdom.
The phone rang. Dani answered with professional warmth. “Whaler’s Landing, Dani speaking. How may I help you?”
A new booking. Then another call, another booking. The tide was turning.
Kate stood in the lobby, watching her family work, and felt something she hadn't experienced in years: the possibility of not being essential for every single task.
It should have been freeing.
Instead, it terrified her.