Chapter 37
THIRTY-SEVEN
KRISTA
Wednesday
By late afternoon, Krista’s grandparents’ cabin smelled like lemon and lavender, thanks to the fresh blooms delivered by Zoe.
Krista stood at the kitchen table with her laptop open and three different brochures fanned out in front of her. Home health agencies, meal delivery services, and a flyer for a company that installed ramps and railings.
Alice napped in her recliner in the living room with a blanket over her lap and The Great British Baking Show murmuring low on the TV. From the window, she could see Walt and Joe down by the dock, consulting over what looked like building plans.
Krista could only shake her head, wondering what new project her grandpa had cooked up for Joe to work on.
Robyn, barefoot, hair in a loose braid over one shoulder, curled in the chair across from her, mug of tea cupped in both hands and a closed book on her lap.
“So,” Robyn said, nodding toward the brochures, “if you got three afternoons of in-home care a week, and the meal service for dinners, Gramps wouldn’t have to worry so much. And then when I’m here, I’ll be cooking and doing half their laundry anyway.”
Krista huffed out a breath. “You say that like it doesn’t make me feel like a terrible granddaughter.”
“It makes you human,” Robyn said gently. “You’re already doing the work of three people, Krista.”
Krista smiled weakly, tracing a fingertip over the printed bullet points. “Still, it’s expensive.”
“Yeah,” Robyn said. “But between the swap money, the campground bookings, and if you sell the Hideaway?—”
Krista’s chest tightened. “I have to, Robyn.” Even though she hadn’t even looked at that offer yet…
Robyn took a breath. “And if—if—you go to Europe at least for part of Joe’s assignment, you won’t be leaving them helpless. They’ll have a schedule and help. It won’t be you white-knuckling everything.”
Krista stared at her. “You really think I could pull it off? Europe and not leaving a mess behind me here?”
“I think,” Robyn said, “that if anyone can find a way to do it, it’s you. And I also think you’re allowed to want something that doesn’t put everyone else’s needs above yours.”
Heat prickled behind Krista’s eyes. She blinked hard and looked away, out toward the lake.
She could almost see it, the mornings in some sun-splashed café, Joe leaning over his camera to show her a shot; evenings walking rain-slick streets, coming back to whatever tiny rental they were sharing and falling into bed exhausted and happy.
Then home again to Maple Falls, to the campground and whatever came next.
Joe might always be traveling lots, but now he’d have somewhere to come back to. Somewhere to call home. A life that wasn’t either/or. A life that was…both .
Footsteps thudded on the porch.
Krista glanced at the clock. Walt and Joe were still out by the lake. The knock that followed was brisk, familiar in a way that made her stomach drop.
The door opened and for a second, the whole room seemed to shift, or maybe it was more like the temperature dropped two degrees just from who had entered.
Her mother stepped in first, dressed as if she’d been invited to a luncheon with her tailored slacks and pressed blouse instead of driving straight through for hours.
Her hair was pinned back in a smooth, no-nonsense twist that didn’t allow for fly-aways or excuses.
She smelled faintly of expensive perfume and air-conditioned car.
Behind her came Krista’s father in a charcoal business suit that looked as if it had never met a wrinkle.
His tie was perfectly knotted, his shoes polished, his expression reserved in that careful way that suggested he’d already decided what he was going to say and when.
He paused just long enough to take in the room, his gaze sweeping from the table to the couch to Krista, calm and assessing.
They didn’t look like they belonged in Maple Falls.
They looked like they belonged in a hotel lobby where people lowered their voices without being asked.
“Hey, Mom,” Robyn said, sitting up straighter. “Dad.”
Krista’s heart stuttered. “What are you doing here?”
“Nice to see you too,” her mom said, but there was an edge under the words. “We drove straight through. Your father hit every red light between Chicago and here.”
Her dad gave a weak smile. “Traffic was fine.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” Krista asked, wiping her palms on her shorts.
“We needed to talk,” her mom said. “In person.”
Krista’s gaze flicked automatically to Robyn, who suddenly found the pattern on her mug very interesting .
Oh, no.
Robyn refused to make eye contact, giving away her guilt. Krista could only imagine how much her parents already knew.
Her mother’s eyes scanned the table. Krista watched her take in the brochures, her laptop, and a printed copy of the Hideaway listing. Heather reached out, picked up the listing, and read the headline.
“ Charming lakeside café with established clientele and strong seasonal revenue ,” she read aloud. “ For sale .”
Krista’s mouth went dry.
Her mom’s gaze snapped up. “So it’s true.”
“Okay,” Krista said carefully. “Before you?—”
“When were you planning on telling us?” her mom demanded. “When the sign went up? When some stranger was handing out ‘Hot Honey Margaritas’ in your place?”
“Mom,” Robyn said quietly. “I told you?—”
“Yes,” her mom said, pinning her with a look. “You did. After we asked why your tenure plans suddenly involved ‘maybe’ and ‘we’ll see’ and ‘there’s this apartment above a bookshop in Maple Falls.’”
Krista stared at her sister. “You’re staying in Maple Falls?”
“Maybe. I’m not sure…I’m still figuring things out,” Robyn tried to explain. “I just wanted to take a brief academic break.” She directed the word to her parents. “And one thing led to another, and I might stay here for a semester. It’s not a big deal. Please don’t make it one.”
Her dad lifted a placating hand. “We’re not here to attack you.”
Her mom snorted. “No, we’re here because you tipped us off to your sister’s mistake.” Her attention snapped back to Krista. “Why do you do this? Not tell us things until it’s too late to stop the fallout?”
The words hit Krista’s chest so sharply that it was as if her mother had a voodoo doll and a pin .
“Fallout?” Krista repeated. “I’m not detonating a bomb; I’m selling a business I can’t sustain. For Grandma. For Gramps. For their care.”
“You’re walking away,” her mom shot back.
“Again. From something you insisted on taking on, something you made such a big performance about. ‘My dream café, my big risk, watch what I can do.’ And now, what—?” She tossed the listing back on the table.
“You’re bored? It’s too hard? You’ve decided to run off to Europe with a photographer? ”
“Sorry,” Robyn mouthed to her sister as Krista realized she’d told her parents far too much.
Krista’s face burned. “That is not what’s happening.”
Her mom’s eyebrows arched. “No?”
“She’s doing what’s best for Grandma and Grandpa,” Robyn said quietly. “Grandma needs more help than Krista can give alone.”
“And we would have helped figure that out,” her dad said. “If anyone had bothered to call us before putting their life on Instagram.”
Krista swallowed, because they were right.
“You run away, Krista. It’s what you do. You make these…dramatic decisions,” she said, gesturing vaguely, “and then everyone else has to clean up after you.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“Mom,” Robyn said, voice low. “That’s not fair.”
“Not fair?” Her mom turned on her. “You’re the one talking about taking a ‘sabbatical’ to stay here. Putting off your career because this town is ‘so inspiring.’ I wonder where you got the idea that you can just abandon responsibilities whenever your feelings change?”
Robyn flinched.
“Stop it,” Krista said, her own voice shaking now. “Don’t drag her into this. This is my mess.”
Her mom looked back at her, eyes bright with something that looked too much like fear. “Exactly,” she said. “It’s always your mess, Krista.”
Her father shifted, unhappy. “Heather…”
But her mom was in full swing now, hands moving as she spoke.
“You are so unreliable and irresponsible sometimes, I don’t even recognize you.
It’s just one failure after another—you quit stable jobs, you chase half-baked ideas, and now you’re dragging your sister into your chaos and ruining her life too. ”
The words landed like a slap. Krista actually took a step back.
For a second, all she could hear was her own pulse and the faint whirr of the ceiling fan.
Unreliable. Irresponsible. One failure after another.
Robyn’s face went pale. “My life is not ruined,” she said, voice thin but firm. “The choices I make are mine.”
The back door opened then, letting in a gust of humid air.
“Hey,” Joe called lightly, stepping inside. “Sand’s settling nicely. The beach looks?—”
He stopped.
Four sets of eyes swung toward him. He seemed to take in the scene like a photograph. Krista stood rigid by the table, her parents stiff and tight-lipped, Robyn gripping her mug like it was the only solid thing in the room.
“Uh,” Joe said. “Bad time?”
“This must be Joe,” Krista’s mom said, giving him a once-over that could have stripped paint. “The ‘travel journalist.’”
Joe straightened a bit. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Joe Valerio. I’ve been?—”
“Helping,” Walt said from the doorway before anyone could say more. He’d come in behind Joe, hat in hand. “He’s been helping a lot. With the campground. And Krista.”
Her mom’s mouth tightened. “And you’re helping her how exactly? Being the man who swoops in, plays summer boyfriend, and then disappears when the assignment’s over? ”
“Mom,” Krista said, mortified.
Joe took it on the chin, expression smoothing into something gentle but resolute.
“No, ma’am,” he said. “I’m the man who asked your daughter if she’d come with me to Europe.
I made it clear she shouldn’t go unless she was okay with the plan for her grandparents.
I’m not trying to steal her from this town, from her family.
I’m trying to build something with her.”
“This is what you’re settling for? Some traveling circus of a life?” Krista’s mom said.
“Okay, that’s enough,” Joe said, the first edge entering his voice. “It’s not a circus.”
Krista’s mom talked over him. “It’s not the life we planned for her. What was the point of it all? The piano lessons, the foreign language courses, the advanced mathematics? We didn’t do it for us. We did it for you and you’ve thrown it all away. Can’t you accomplish anything?”
Krista’s hands curled into fists at her sides. Her cheeks burned, shame and love and fury all tangling up until she could barely breathe.
“What are you talking about?” Joe shot back, breath hot.
“Please.” Krista reached out. Her voice hoarse. “Don’t.”
Joe looked at her. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t defend me,” she said. “They’re right.”
“Krista,” Robyn said sharply.
“They are,” she insisted, laughing once, brittle.
“Look at the last decade of my life. I start things I can’t finish.
I juggle too much. I drag people into my big plans—my coworkers, my friends, half this town—and then I burn out and everyone else has to scramble.
I started the Hideaway, and now I’m selling it.
I thought I could balance everything here and still go to Europe, and that’s just me repeating the same pattern. ”
“That’s not what’s happening,” Joe said, eyes dark with concern. “You’re allowed to want?—”
“That’s the problem,” she cut in. “I want too much. And when I reach for it, people get hurt.” Her voice cracked. “You get hurt.”
He stepped closer, like he wanted to take her hand, but didn’t quite dare with her parents watching. “You are not?—”
She shook her head hard. “You deserve more than this. More than me. Go to Europe, Joe. Do your dream. Don’t wait for me. I’ll just hold you back.”
His jaw flexed. “Don’t say that,” he said again, quieter now. “You’re my?—”
“Stop,” she whispered. If he said anything like my person , she was going to break wide open on the spot. “Please. Stop. Go to Europe. Live your life. Just leave me here.”
He searched her face, his expression pained, like he was looking at the door she had just slammed shut and he couldn’t quite believe it was locked.
“If that’s really what you want,” he said finally, voice rough.
Her chest screamed No , but her mouth stayed traitorously closed.
He nodded once to Walt, once to Robyn, and even managed a polite tilt of his head to her parents.
Then he turned and walked back out into the late-day light, the screen door creaking shut behind him.
The silence he left behind was so loud, Krista’s ears rang.
Her mom exhaled slowly, rubbing her temples. “You see?” she said. “This is what I’m talking about. You make everything so…dramatic.”
“I can’t do this right now,” Krista said, backing away from the table, from the brochures, from all the versions of her life she was supposed to be holding together. “Not with you. Not with…any of it.”
Krista barely heard the murmur of voices as she moved toward the back door. She caught fragments of her dad apologizing, her mom saying something about “only wanting what’s best,” Robyn snapping back that maybe they should reconsider what “best” looked like.
The door closed. The air stilled.
Krista sank onto the porch steps, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes until stars burst behind her lids.
She tried to picture Joe on a plane, camera bag in the overhead bin, heading for Rome or Lisbon or Paris without her.
It hurt so much she couldn’t see straight.
She’d wanted both. A life here, a life out there. Him beside her wherever they were. But now all she had was a hollow ache of staying put, while someone she loved walked away.
And the worst part? She’d been the one to tell him to go.