Chapter 30
June arrived with a burst of tourists and a heat wave that had everyone in Kennebunkport complaining about the inadequacy of their air conditioning.
Whaler’s Landing, with its ancient window units and sporadic ceiling fans, became a testament to what Dani cheerfully marketed as “authentic coastal charm” to guests who'd expected something more modern for their money.
Kate stood in the office at five in the morning, reconciling the previous week's receipts while the inn slept around her.
They'd survived their first full week at capacity, eight rooms occupied, since the siblings stayed in the other four.
The numbers were better than they'd been in years, but Kate couldn't shake the feeling that it was all built on sand, ready to shift with the next crisis.
Lillian’s funeral felt strangely unreal.
It was held at the Episcopal church she’d supposedly belonged to, though none of the grandchildren could remember her ever attending a single service.
Still, the pews were crowded with Kennebunkport’s old guard, the polished women in pearls and the men in summer seersucker who had served alongside her on committees, charity boards, and garden-club projects.
They moved through the receiving line offering condolences that sounded practiced, speaking fondly of a woman the siblings barely recognized, gracious, tireless, devoted to every cause she touched.
Kate stood there listening, trying to be polite, even as she could feel most of the brittle judgment beneath their smiles, that sharp edge of curiosity and gossip that had always trailed Lillian wherever she went.
They weren’t mourning her, not really. They were observing the occasion, showing up because it was what one did, filling the silence with stories that didn’t match the woman who’d raised their mother.
And as Kate glanced at her siblings, she realized they all felt it, that odd dissonance, as if they were attending the funeral of someone entirely different from the grandmother they had known, and not known, all at once.
Tom had given the eulogy, his lawyer's eloquence serving him well as he spoke carefully of family complications and eventual reconciliation, of love that transcended misunderstanding.
He'd managed to be both truthful and kind, never mentioning the depths of Lillian's betrayal while acknowledging the distance that had separated them.
It was, Kate thought, an act of generosity their grandmother hadn't earned but their mother would have appreciated.
The will reading had happened without much fanfare.
Arthur Holbrook, Lillian's attorney and apparently her only real confidant, had gathered them in his office overlooking Portland harbor.
The terms were exactly as Lillian had warned: everything to the inn but structured through a trust that required unanimous agreement from all four siblings for any major decisions.
Selling, mortgaging, or significantly altering the property would need all their signatures.
They were bound together by legal documents as firmly as by blood.
“She wanted to ensure you'd stay connected,” Arthur had explained, his voice carefully neutral. “She spoke often of her regret about the family's estrangement.”
The irony of it, Lillian trying to force the closeness she'd destroyed, wasn't lost on any of them.
But the money was substantial. After taxes and expenses, they'd have enough to complete all renovations, establish an operating fund, and pay for Pop's care indefinitely.
It was freedom and chains simultaneously.
Kate heard footsteps on the stairs and turned to find Ben in the doorway, carrying two cups of coffee. He'd been arriving earlier lately, sometimes before she was even up, working on projects that didn't seem urgent but gave him reasons to be there.
“You're up early,” she said, accepting the coffee gratefully.
“Wanted to fix the window in Room 7 before guests arrive. Mrs. Horwitz mentioned it kept getting stuck.”
Mrs. Horwitz had mentioned it to Kate three days ago. She'd added it to the endless list of small repairs, but Ben had apparently been keeping his own list, handling things before she even had to ask.
“You don't have to.”
“I know.” He cut her off gently. “I don't have to do anything. But the inn needs it, and I'm here.”
They didn’t speak, instead looked out at the harbor, drinking coffee while the morning light gradually illuminated the office.
This had become their routine, these stolen moments before the day's chaos began.
They didn't talk about that night in his workshop, about Melissa who'd left town with her hopes unmet, about the way Kate had clung to him outside Lillian's cottage. They just existed in the same space. Ben had become family, and his presence was never questioned, even though Dani wanted to talk about him to Kate, who wasn’t having any of it.
“We're installing the new signs today,” Ben said eventually. “The ones Dani designed.”
Kate had seen the designs, elegant but approachable, “Whaler’s Landing” in script that managed to look both timeless and fresh.
“Tom's already complaining about the cost,” Kate said.
“Tom complains about everything.”
The truth of that made Kate smile. Tom had indeed become the voice of fiscal responsibility, questioning every expense while simultaneously finding ways to afford what they needed.
He'd negotiated better rates with all their vendors, saved them thousands in legal fees by handling contracts himself, and somehow convinced the property tax assessor that their improvements shouldn't trigger a reassessment for another year.
James appeared in the doorway, laptop under one arm, hair standing in all directions. “The reservation system crashed again.”
“It's six in the morning,” Kate pointed out.
“I know. It crashed at midnight, but I just noticed.” He moved past them to the ancient desktop computer, fingers flying over the keyboard. “We really need to upgrade to cloud-based software.”
“How much?” Tom's voice came from behind them. He was dressed for a run that Kate knew he wouldn't take, would instead spend the morning on the phone with suppliers or reviewing contracts.
“Two hundred a month, but it would save us.”
“Do it,” Tom said, surprising them all. “If it stops you from panicking at midnight, it's worth it.”
This too had become routine, the four of them gathering in the office before the day began, solving problems together. Dani usually joined them later, not being a morning person, but even her absence was part of the pattern they'd developed.
The morning accelerated as June mornings did now.
Guests emerged wanting breakfast, coffee, recommendations for beaches and restaurants.
Marcy and Rosa moved through their dance of service with practiced efficiency.
Two families checked out, their rooms immediately attacked by the cleaning crew to prepare for the next arrivals at three.
Kate was manning the front desk when she heard a familiar voice that made her stomach drop.
“This place looks different.”
David stood in the lobby, her ex-boyfriend from six years ago, the one who'd acted like he was better than everyone in town. He looked exactly the same, prep school handsome, confidence that bordered on arrogance, the kind of easy smile that had once made her overlook his selfishness.
“David.” She kept her voice neutral, professional. “Can I help you?”
“I'm in town for a wedding. Thought I'd see the old place.” His eyes scanned the improvements with an assessor's gaze. “Heard you inherited money. Good for you.”
The condescension in his tone made her jaw clench. Before she could respond, Ben appeared from the dining room, paint on his shirt and protective instinct in his eyes. He moved to stand beside her, not touching but close enough that his presence was unmistakable.
“Everything okay?” he asked Kate, though his eyes stayed on David.
David's expression shifted, taking in Ben's work clothes and protective stance. “I see you've moved on to the hired help.”
“You need to leave,” Kate said quietly, anger burning cold in her chest.
“I was just…”
“Leaving,” Ben finished. “Now.”
For a moment, David looked like he might argue. Then Tom appeared from the office, Dani came down the stairs, and James emerged from the kitchen. The siblings formed a quiet wall of solidarity, and David seemed to realize he was outnumbered.
“The place still smells like fish,” he said as a parting shot, then left.
Kate stood frozen, memories flooding back. How had she ever thought she cared for him?
“You okay?” Dani asked, touching her arm.
“I'm fine.”
“He's an ass,” Tom said bluntly. “Always was.”
“You never said that before.”
“You wouldn't have listened before.”
True. Six years ago she'd been desperate for something that looked like escape, even if it came in the form of someone who diminished everything she touched.
“Hired help,” James muttered. “Like that's an insult. Ben's worth ten of him.”
Ben had been quiet through this, but now he looked at Kate. “You need some air?”
She nodded, let him guide her out to the porch. The harbor stretched before them, boats bobbing in the June sunshine, tourists already gathering despite the early hour.
“I'm sorry about that,” she said.
“For what? You didn't invite him.”
“For him insulting you. For me dating someone like that in the first place.”
“We all have pasts, Kate. Things we did when we were different people.”
The weight in his voice made her look at him, really look. He was paint-splattered and tired, having worked long hours to help them prepare for summer season. But his eyes were steady, patient, full of something she was still too scared to name.
“Ben…”
“The new couple for Room 8 is here!” Dani called from the doorway. “And they're not happy about something.”