Chapter 26
The Mother’s Day brunch had seemed like such a good idea in April. Now, on the first Saturday of May, with twenty-three confirmed guests arriving tomorrow and only half the dining room renovated properly, Kate stood in the chaos and wondered if they’d finally overreached.
Sawdust still hung in the air from where Ben’s crew had worked until an hour ago, racing to finish the crown molding.
Drop cloths covered half the floor, and the new paint smell filled the room strongly enough to make her eyes water despite every window being thrown open to the unusually warm May morning.
Through those windows came the sound of James pressure-washing the porch, the rhythmic spray interrupted occasionally by his cursing when the ancient machine sputtered.
The dining room table where they’d held so many family meetings was pushed against the wall, loaded with boxes of new linens that Dani had ordered.
Kate ran her finger along one of the tablecloths, ivory damask that felt like prosperity itself.
They'd cost more than the inn used to make in a week during the off-season.
Now they were betting everything on tomorrow being perfect enough to generate the kind of word-of-mouth that could save their summer season.
Tom emerged from the kitchen carrying a clipboard, his shirt already soaked with sweat despite the early hour.
He'd been up since four, going through vendor deliveries with the kind of attention to detail that probably made him a good lawyer before his life fell apart.
Now he applied that same intensity to counting dinner plates and arguing with the seafood supplier about the quality of the lobster.
“We’re short six place settings,” he announced. “The rental company says they delivered thirty, but I count twenty-four.”
“They’re probably still in the van,” Kate said, though she moved to help him look. This was how they worked now, the four of them rotating through crises like a tag team, one picking up what another had to set down.
The past month had taught them a rhythm.
Tom handled anything requiring negotiation or contracts, his lawyer voice getting them better deals than Kate had ever managed with her apologetic requests.
James had transformed their online presence, the inn's website now featuring virtual tours and professional photos that made the place look like something from a magazine. Dani had proven to have an almost supernatural ability to make events feel special, turning their limitations into charming features. “Authentic Maine inn experience” she called it, which sounded better than “we can’t afford matching everything.”
Kate had learned to step back, to orchestrate rather than do everything herself. It was harder than the physical work had ever been, this trusting, this delegating, this believing things would get done without her direct hand on them.
The kitchen was its own controlled disaster.
Marcy had been there since yesterday, preparing what she could ahead.
The walk-in cooler now showed how thoroughly she’d arranged it, stacked like a game of Tetris with containers of hollandaise waiting to be finished, fruit salad in massive bowls, pounds of bacon ready for the oven.
She moved through her domain with the confidence of someone who’d cooked for forty before, though never with this much pressure, never with the inn’s survival hanging on a single meal.
Dani burst through the back door, phone pressed to her ear, her hair already escaping from the bun she’d twisted it into.
She’d been on calls since six, confirming last-minute details with guests, several of whom had specific dietary requirements that were causing Marcy to quietly reinvent half the menu.
“Yes, Mrs. Whitcomb, we absolutely can accommodate gluten-free. And yes, we have alternatives to eggs. Of course, no nuts in anything at your table.” She rolled her eyes at Kate while maintaining her cheerful phone voice. “We’re so looking forward to seeing you tomorrow.”
When she hung up, she immediately pulled up her spreadsheet on the tablet she carried everywhere now. “Mrs. Whitcomb’s table is going to be a nightmare. One gluten-free, one vegan, one kosher, and one person who apparently only eats white foods.”
“White foods?” Marcy called from the stove.
“Some kind of sensory thing with her autistic son. No colors on the plate.”
“My goodness,” Marcy muttered, but she was already adjusting, pulling out potatoes, cauliflower, making mental changes to her prep list.
Through the window, Kate saw Ben’s truck pulling back into the drive.
He’d left at dawn to get more paint for touch-ups, the kind of last-minute run that had become commonplace as they discovered everything that wasn’t quite right.
He moved with the easy efficiency she’d come to rely on, unloading cans without being asked, knowing exactly what needed attention.
They’d barely spoken about anything personal in the past month, both too exhausted and focused on the renovation to navigate the space between them.
But she was aware of him constantly, noticed when his truck arrived each morning, felt his absence when he left each night.
Sometimes she caught him looking at her, something patient and knowing in his expression, but neither of them had energy for anything beyond the work.
Rosa arrived with her daughter and two nieces, the extra hands they brought on for tomorrow.
Kate walked them through the service plan Dani had created, complete with floor diagrams showing traffic flow and table arrangements.
It was the kind of professional document that made Kate wonder again at her sister’s transformation from scattered dreamer to competent event planner.
“We’ll have two seatings,” Kate explained, pointing at the timeline. “First at ten, second at twelve-thirty. Full turnover between, which gives us exactly forty minutes to reset.”
“That’s not much time,” Rosa’s daughter said nervously.
“It’s enough if we work together,” Rosa said firmly, the kind of confidence that came from years of making difficult things look easy.
The morning accelerated as these Saturdays always did now, each hour bringing new problems to solve. The flowers Dani had ordered arrived half-dead, requiring an emergency run to three different stores to find replacements.
Lillian arrived at noon, moving more slowly than ever, her walking stick not quite enough to hide how much effort each step required.
She’d been coming by daily, observing their chaos with an expression that might have been approval or might have been the kind of exhaustion that came from watching people learn lessons the hard way.
Kate couldn’t stop wondering about their grandmother’s plans for theatrics the next day. She had to remind herself to focus on the Mother’s Day event, and that thinking about whatever Lillian had to say would have to wait.
“It’s coming together,” she said, settling into one of the restored chairs that had become her spot.
“It’s a disaster,” Kate corrected, wiping sweat from her forehead. She’d been painting baseboards for the last hour, the detail work that Ben’s crew hadn’t had time to finish.
“All events feel like disasters the day before. Then guests arrive and never notice the things you think are obvious.”
Lillian watched Dani wrestling with a tablecloth, trying to make it lie flat on a table that had probably never been level.
“Coffee maker’s fixed. James is some kind of YouTube university genius. Also, I found your missing place settings. They were in Tom’s car… as usual.”
The gentle teasing in his voice about Tom’s oversight made Kate smile despite her exhaustion. This was what they’d become, the four siblings and Ben and Marcy and Rosa and even Lillian: a strange kind of family, bound by this impossible task of saving the inn.
The afternoon brought its own challenges.
The health inspector arrived unannounced, requiring Marcy to drop everything and walk him through the kitchen while maintaining the kind of cheerful professionalism that kept him from looking too closely at the ancient refrigerator they hadn’t had time to replace.
A seagull somehow got into the attic and had to be chased out by James wielding a broom while Dani filmed it for social media because “it’s authentic Maine content. ”
Mrs. Porter arrived to inspect the preparations for her book club, finding fault with everything before declaring it “adequate” in a tone that suggested she was doing them a favor by not canceling.
Tom handled her with a patience Kate couldn’t have managed, adjusting seating arrangements three times until she was satisfied.
By five o’clock, the dining room finally looked ready.
The new paint gleamed in the afternoon light, the tables were set with Dani’s expensive linens and the good china their mother had saved for special occasions, and Dani added branches she’d cut from the garden to supplement Rosa’s flower arrangements, creating centerpieces that looked intentional rather than desperate.
Kate stood in the doorway, taking it in.
For the first time, she could see what they were trying to create.
Not just a meal, not just an event, but a possibility.
The inn could be this, could be a place where people came for occasions, for memories, for the kind of experiences that justified higher prices and generated loyalty.
“It looks beautiful,” Ben said from beside her. She hadn’t heard him approach, but she was getting used to him appearing when she needed reassurance.
“If nothing goes wrong tomorrow.”
“Something will go wrong. Something always does. But you’ll handle it.” He looked at her, paint still in his hair, dust on his clothes, this man who’d spent his Saturday doing work he wouldn’t be paid for because he believed in what they were building. “You all will handle it. Together.”
The word hung between them, weighted with meaning beyond tomorrow’s brunch. Together was what they were becoming, the siblings who’d scattered, the grandmother who’d been estranged, the collection of people who’d chosen to pour themselves into saving this place.
Dani appeared, tablet in hand, a new crisis in her expression. “Three more dietary restrictions just came in. One person is apparently allergic to everything except rice and chicken.”
“Rice and chicken for Mother’s Day brunch?” Marcy called from the kitchen, incredulous.
“We’ll figure it out,” Tom said, already pulling up his phone to source ingredients.
“We always do,” James added, coming in from the porch, finally finished with the pressure washing.
This was their rhythm now, Kate realized. Not her solving everything, but all of them catching what fell, adjusting to each crisis, finding ways through impossibilities. She wasn’t alone in the responsibility anymore, and the relief of that was almost as frightening as the burden had been.
Lillian stood carefully, preparing to leave. “I’ll see you all tomorrow?”
The reminder cast a shadow over the room.
Tomorrow, after the brunch, after the crisis and triumph or disaster, Lillian would tell them whatever truth she’d been carrying.
Kate touched the pocket where she kept the photo showing her mother and Lillian reunited, the secret she’d kept that might not be the whole secret after all.
“We’ll be here,” Kate said.
After Lillian left, they worked until nearly midnight, pushing through every task possible.
Kate found herself beside Ben more often than coincidence would suggest, their hands brushing as they adjusted table settings, their bodies navigating around each other with an awareness that had nothing to do with the work.
When they finally stopped, when they had done absolutely everything they could, the five of them stood in the finished dining room.
It wasn’t perfect. The floors still sloped slightly, the windows were still old and drafty, and if you knew where to look, you could see where the new paint met the old in not-quite-matching shades.
But it was theirs. They’d built this together and tomorrow would either prove they could make it work or teach them an expensive lesson about ambition.
“To tomorrow,” Dani said, raising an imaginary glass.
“To not poisoning anyone,” Marcy added from the kitchen doorway.
“To Mom,” Kate said quietly. “She would have loved this.”
They dispersed to their beds, exhausted and anxious, leaving Kate alone in the dining room. She stood there, imagining it full of guests, imagining success, imagining failure, imagining all the ways tomorrow could go.
Ben appeared one last time, heading for the door. “You should sleep. Tomorrow’s a big day.”
“I can’t sleep. Too nervous.”
He crossed to her and stood close enough for her to look into his eyes. “It’s going to be wonderful. You know why?”
“Why?”
“Because you all care so much it hurts. That kind of caring shows in everything. People will feel it.”
He touched her face gently, just his fingertips against her cheek, then left before she could respond. Kate stood in the dining room, her face warm where he’d touched her, looking at what they had built, and let herself believe, just for a moment, that he might be right.