Still, he knew the inn was having a hard time, but he didn’t know it wasthisbad.
He should have paid more attention. Miles should have spent more time here, noticing things, instead of only driving back during the holidays and long weekends. He’s always said he preferred that Mom and Gabby visit him in the city instead of the other way around, and while that was mostly because the inn reminded him too much of Dad, he should have at least prodded them more about how everything was going.
The door opens, and Mom walks in. “Hello! Gabby said you’d be here. I went downtown to pick up some of your favorite sweets—”
“Ma?” Miles holds the papers up. Eyebrows knit together and his mouth a thin line, he doesn’t try to hide how upset he is. “What is this? Why didn’t you tell me?”
She blanches, her fingers going straight for the pendant hanging from her neck. Dad gave her that pendant decades ago, and she always fiddles with it when anxious. Mom’s silent for a long moment, and he waits. Finally, she sits by the chair across the desk. There are lines on her forehead that he has never noticed before, and just like that, she seems much older and tired than he ever realized.
“Your father told me not to tell you.”
“Has this been happening since Dad was here?”
“The inn has been struggling, even before your dad… left. We had to take out loans for repairs and renovations, and to keep our staff with us. It was getting better, but then your dad got sick… and we had to take out more loans.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Your father asked me not to,” she repeats.
He pinches the bridge of his nose, a mixture of surprise and anger taking over, and the latter’s directed at himself. How stupid could he have been? He should have seen all the signs.
“Seriously? Why hide this from me?” he asks. “I could have helped more.”
“We’ve been slowly paying it off,” she says. “But with the recent struggles…” She must mean the new hotel that’s taking all the prospective guests. “Well, we’re struggling all over again. And I’m… well, I’ve never been suited to run an inn. That was all your dad.”
“You’re alright with the bank taking the inn?”
She grips her armchair so hard her knuckles are practically white. “Of course I wouldn’t be alright with that, but there are some things that are unavoidable. We were doing okay; we were paying back the loans, but then it went downhill quickly in the last few months.”
“If I had taken up a business course, or marketing, or didn’t go to the city—”
“Your dad wanted you to pursue your art degree,” she says, voice rising a bit. “It’s what made you happy.”
“I could’ve done both,” he states with more confidence than he feels.
“No.” She shakes her head. “You didn’t want to stay in Ridgeford—all you did was talk about art school, and we could tell that running the inn wasn’t in your plans.”
A cold sensation washes over him. He leans back and says in a low voice, “Is this my fault…?”
“Absolutely not!” Mom suddenly rises from her seat. He hasn’t seen her lose her cool like this in a very long time, and it’s alarming. “That’s exactly why your dad didn’t want to tell you about how much the inn’s struggling. He knew you’d blame yourself. Just because it was your dad’s dream doesn’t mean it has to be yours.”
“I know you didn’t want to worry me, and there’s not much I can actually do, but Dad’s gone.” Miles scrubs a hand over his face. “You need to tell me these things so I can help you. This isn’t something you should be taking on alone.”
She rounds the table and takes the papers from him, stuffing them back in the drawer where he found them. “You’re being ridiculous. You need to be living your life in the city, focusing on your career. This isn’t something you even need to think about.”
“Okay, okay.” He can tell this conversation won’t go anywhere, so he concedes. Mom draws the curtains and opens the windows and a gust of fresh air enters the room, drawing in the scent of leaves and the sound of kids playing by the lake.
“Your dad made me promise that if there was nothing else that could be done, I would sell the inn and retire.” She gives him a weak smile. “I’m getting too old. I’ve tried my best, but this inn was your dad’s… It was never mine.”
But that was it, wasn’t it? This innwasDad.
It’s the piece of him he left behind. There are memories of himin every corner, and his personality shines through here. He frowns, refusing to acknowledge how his eyes sting.
“You’d sell the inn?” he asks in a weak voice.
“No… maybe. That’s the last resort. It wouldn’t be such a bad thing, honey. We… we both need to move forward.” Hesitatingly, she shrugs. It makes his insides churn. “I would be able to tend to my garden all day, maybe finally take that trip to Europe.”
She chuckles, but he can tell she’s not joking. Mom’s been talking about the trip for years now.
